"But they don't have sermons." "Don't they? Hours long, especially when they bury each other." "Oh!" said Harold, evidently taken aback, and somewhat reconciled to the church. "When I am grown up," said Denis, "I mean to be the same church as Aunt Cissy." "And what may that be?" inquired the Canon. Denis was silent and looked perplexed; but some time afterwards, when we were talking of other things, he called out, with the joy of one who has captured that elusive thing, a definition: "In Aunt Cissy's church they climb trees and make toffee on Sundays." After which Lady Atherley seemed glad to take them both away with her. It was perhaps this remark that led the Canon to ask, on the way to church-- "Is it true that Mrs. de Noël attends a dissenting chapel?" "No," said Lady Atherley. "But I know why people say so. She lent a field last year to the Methodists to have their camp-meeting in." "Oh! but that is a pity," said the Canon. "A very great pity--a person in her position encouraging dissent, especially when there is no real occasion for it. Clara's nephew, young Littlemore, did something of the kind last year, but then he was standing for the county; and though that hardly justifies, it excuses, a little pandering to the multitude." "Cissy only let them have it once," said Lady Atherley, as if making the best of it. "And, indeed, I believe it rained so hard that day they were not able to have the meeting after all." Then the carriage stopped before the lych-gate, through which the fresh-faced school children were trooping; and while the bell clanged its last monotonous summons, we walked up between the village graves to the old church porch that older yews overshadow, where the village lads were loitering, as Sunday after Sunday their sleeping forefathers had loitered before them.