"John," said Fred Stanley, coming to the front again, "do you know anything about the scringeing that goes on about here?" This time John did understand. "Me, sir?" he replied—as if such a question were an insult to the dignity of his office. And perhaps he would have gone on to protest as earnestly as his good-humoured laziness would allow, that he had no knowledge of any such illegal practices, but that Mary Stanley intervened, and carried her party off with her to church. Of course it was the English portion of the day’s services that they attended, in the little, plain, ill-ventilated building. The sermon was so severely doctrinal that they could not follow it very well; while the occasional appeals to the heart, uttered in that high falsetto sing-song, fell with a somewhat unnatural note on the ear. Yet the small congregation listened devoutly—with an occasional sigh. Mary Stanley’s attention was not occupied much with the pulpit: she was looking rather at the sad, withered, weather-worn faces of certain of the older people—and thinking what their lot in life had been. She recalled a saying she had heard somewhere in the Black Forest—"The world grows every day harder for us poor folk that are so old;" and she was wondering when her modest, but at least assiduous and sincere, efforts to somewhat better their condition and introduce a measure of cheerfulness into their surroundings would be accepted with a little goodwill. As for the middle-aged and younger men, she was less concerned about them. If they meant to break the windows of Lochgarra House next day, or pillage the garden, or set fire to the kennels, she would stand by and let them do their worst. But she did not think she had deserved such treatment at their hands. When they came out of church again Miss Stanley and her friends lingered awhile, for she wished to intercept the Minister; and eventually Mr. Pettigrew made his appearance. As he approached them, Mr. Pettigrew’s gaunt and grey-hued face wore a certain look of apprehension, and he was nervously stroking his long and straggling beard. But Mary received him pleasantly enough. "How do you do, Mr. Pettigrew?" said she. "I thought I should like to know whether you are going to the gathering to-morrow. If these placards that are scattered about mean anything, it may be necessary for someone who is well acquainted with the people to be present to speak a quieting word; and as you have lent the church for the purposes of the meeting, I suppose you accept a certain responsibility——"