Neither was Winnie--in the little church at Nether End--convicted of sin; after all, that is not the particular note sought to be struck by a Christmas service--the Church has its seasons. But she was overcome by an unnerving sense of insignificance. The sermon dwelt on the familiar, yet ever striking, theme that all over the world, in well-nigh every tongue, this service was being held in honour of, and in gratitude for, the great Event of this day. That seemed a tremendous thing to stand up against. There is majesty in great organizations, be they spiritual or secular. Are insignificant atoms to flout them? Or can the argument from insignificance be turned, and the rebel plead that he is so small that it does not matter what he does? The organizations will not allow the plea. Insignificant as you are, they answer, little as your puny dissent affects us, yet it is of bad example, and if you persist in it we will, in our way, make you unhappy and uncomfortable. Now mankind has been, in the course of its eventful history, from time to time convinced that many things do matter and that many do not, and opinions have varied and shall vary thereanent. But nobody has had any real success in convincing mankind that it does not matter whether it is happy or not--in the long run. Mankind is obstinately of the contrary opinion. At the church door Dennehy was waiting for her and Alice--his Mass heard and ten good miles of country road behind him; spiritually and physically fortified. He was not handsome, but middle-age on its approach found him clean in wind and limb--temperate, kindly (outside politics), and really intensely happy. "It's a concession for me to come as far as the door of this place," he said, smiling. Winnie glanced warningly at Alice. "You needn't mind her--the poor child hears everything! But it's my belief that Heaven has made her a fine old Tory, and they can't hurt her." "You approving of Tories! Mr. Dennehy!" She turned to the child. "You liked it, Alice?" "Didn't you hear me singing?" It seemed a good retort. Alice had sung lustily. She did not seem inclined to talk. She walked beside them in a demure and absent gravity. Over her head they looked at one another; the child was thinking of the story of the Child, and finding it not strange, but natural and beautiful, the greatest of all her beloved fairy stories--and yet true. Dennehy gently patted Alice's shoulder. "In God's good time!" he murmured. "What do you mean?" Winnie asked, in a low voice. "True people will find truth, and sweet people do sweet things," he answered. Then he laughed and snapped his fingers. "And the Divvle take the rest of humanity!" "Everybody except the Irish, you mean?" "I mustn't be supposed to let in Ulster," he warned her with a twinkle. "But there's an English soul or two I'd save, Mrs. Ledstone." "I don't like your being false to your convictions. I've one name that I've not denied and that nobody denies me. It's Winnie."