“I am afraid I don’t know,” said Powys, who was bright enough to see the manufactory of conversation which was being carried on, and was half amused by it and half distressed. “We have no old churches in Canada. I suppose they could scarcely be looked for in such a new world.” “Tell me what sort of churches you have,” said Sara. “I am very fond of architecture. _We_ can’t do any thing original nowadays, you know. It is only copying and copying. But there ought to be a new field in a new world. Do tell me what style the people there like best.” “You strain Mr. Powys’s powers too far,” said Jack. “You can not expect him to explain every thing to you from the vicar’s principles upward--or downward. Mr. Powys is only mortal, I presume, like the rest of us. He can’t know every thing in heaven or earth.” “I know a little of that,” said Powys. “Out there we are Jacks-of-all-trades. I once made the designs for a church myself. Miss Brownlow might think it original, but I don’t think she would admire it. We have to think less of beauty than of use.” “As if use and beauty could not go together,” said Sara, with a little indignation. “Please don’t say those things that every body says. Then you can draw if you have made designs? and I want some cottages so much. Papa, you promised me these cottages; and now Mr. Powys will come and help me with the plans.” “There is a certain difference between a cottage and a church,” said Mr. Brownlow; but he made no opposition to the suggestion, to the intense amazement and indignation of Jack. “You forget that Mr. Powys’s time is otherwise engaged,” he said; “people can’t be Jacks-of-all-trades here.” Mr. Brownlow gave his son a warning glance, and Sara, who had been very patient, could bear it no longer. “Why are you so disagreeable, Jack?” she said; “nobody was speaking to you. It was to Mr. Powys I was speaking. He knows best whether he will help me or not.” “Oh, it was to Mr. Powys you were speaking!” said Jack. “I am a very unimportant person, and I am sorry to have interposed.” Then there came a very blank disagreeable pause. Powys felt that offense was meant, and his spirit rose. But at the same time it was utterly impossible to take offense; and he sat still and tried to appear unconscious, as people do before whom the veil of family courtesy is for a moment blown aside. There are few things which are more exquisitely uncomfortable. He had to look as if he did not observe any thing; and he had to volunteer to say something to cover the silence, and found it very hard to make up his mind as to what he ought to say.