Lena Lakeman, haunting the green landscape like an uneasy spirit, watched Mrs. Vincent and Hannah go into the church. "I wonder what little Margaret does with her morning when she's left alone?" she thought, as she went through the gate that led across the fields, and played about the field searching for clover, counting the blades in a tuft of grass, or resting beneath the outreaching hedge of honeysuckle like a lizard. From sheer sleepiness, she stayed there almost without moving till presently she heard the country voices in church singing "Oh, be joyful in the Lord all ye lands." She opened her eyes then and looked at the beauty round her. The land did rejoice, she thought--in the summer time. If God would only let it last His people would rejoice all the year round; but how could they, how could they be religious, when the climate was bad? Perhaps one reason why Roman Catholics took their religions so closely into their lives was that it had generated in those places that were filled with sunshine. The voices had ceased. She tried to remember the order of the prayers, so that she might know how much longer the worshippers had to stay, but she could not hear with sufficient distinctness to recognize the words. Suddenly there was the sound of wheels coming towards the church and the road that led to the farm. She sat up and listened, then knelt and looked through the hedge till she saw, going along at a brisk pace, a fat gray pony and a little dog-cart, in which sat a spruce young man with a handkerchief looking out of his pocket, a flower in his button-hole, and a bowler hat stuck jauntily on his head. "It's Mr. Garratt," she exclaimed, "he's going to see Margaret; they will have a happy time together while the others are at church." She watched the dog-cart vanish in the distance, then stole along the field, keeping close to the hedge lest she should be observed from the farm. And suddenly a thought struck her. "Margaret will take him to her wood," she said to herself; "presently I should find them together, but they mustn't see me coming." She crossed the field twenty minutes later, keeping close to the hedge so as not to be seen, and made for the high ground. On the side of the hill a young copse grew, reaching up to the great trees that Margaret called her cathedral; the undergrowth of bracken and briar went up with it and formed a green wall round the summit. Between the columns of the cathedral, and over the green wall, the sweet country-side could be seen stretching long miles away to the blue hills, with here and there a patch of white suggesting a homestead, or a speck of red that betrayed a cottage.