Indeed, I soon learned that there were spiritual enemies to be feared more dreadful than those of flesh and blood. She suddenly said: "You have a great many dissenters in the 'States,' have you not?" "Oh, no," I said. "We have none." "You surprise me. Roy [her son] has written me that there seem to be more of them than of church people, and that their chapels are often more beautiful than the churches. I was also sorry to hear that he had gone with a young lady to one of their places of worship, 'The Fifteenth Avenue Church,' I think he called it." "Oh," I said, "I see, you mean non-Episcopalians. Yes, there are millions of those. But, as we have no established church, of course there can be no dissenters." I confess I thought this rather neat. But she solemnly answered: "They are dissenters from the church of Christ!" Fortunately, at that moment the daughter came in from tennis, and I hoped that by giving a more worldly turn to the conversation I might fare better, so said: "I have been trying to induce your mother to pay your brother a visit, but she does not seem to like the idea. Perhaps you might enjoy it more." "Indeed I should not," she cried. "I hear the hotels are dreadful." I thought of London! but meekly replied that I did not think she would find them unbearable. "I am sure I should. A friend of mine--Bessie Salter, you know, Mumsie--went over to the 'States' a year ago, and told me, when she returned, that if one wished to have one's boots blacked, one must go down into the cellar and cock one's feet up on two iron pegs, and have them brushed by a grinning 'nigger.'" I now gave up "for keeps," and wondered why I had come! However, I consoled myself with the thought that it was part of one's education. I felt that I had got to the heart of the great middle class of England. It is religious, kindly, and self-satisfied to a degree unequalled in the world. I was rather depressed that evening as I gave an account of my day to Ruth. But she laughed till the tears came. "If only I had been there to see your face! Why, it is perfect. If one read it in a book one would think the writer was trying to parody Dickens on America. Honestly, did it really happen, or have you embroidered it?" "I give you my word, it is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!" "Well, I hope it will be blest to you! A hundred years and more of independence, and the dear old things think of us as an unworthy 'colony,' with dissenters and brigands and boot-blacks! My dear, I hope I may never hear you brag of that unhappy country again! And now come down and get some dinner. They are going to have cherry tart and custard--for a change!" XIX THE PISTON-ROD