"Couldn't say as to that, ma'am; but I don't find church-going help me, so I don't go." "Dear, dear--that's bad," said Mr. Bamsey, while his wife put further searching questions. "Do you say your prayers, or do you not, if I may ask?" "I say my prayers--yes." She looked at him very suspiciously. "We're bid to go," she said; "and you didn't ought to feel any doubt as to whether you're a Christian or not, did he, Ben?" "Certainly he did not," answered her husband. Then he brightened and made a suggestion. "You come along of us to-night. Won't hurt you, and you'll very like catch a grain that'll sprout. That's the beauty of church-going: 'tis like rough shooting--you never know what you're going to flush. And our parson's a man that abounds in plain truths. So like as not he'll get one home on you." "Come, Mr. Maynard," said Dinah. "Certainly I will if I may," he replied. "I've no feeling for, or against." "If us can throw a light for your soul, you won't have come to tea in vain," suggested Mrs. Bamsey. "And have got supper by it in the bargain," added Ben, "for you'll have to bide after." "No, no--no occasion at all." "Yes, you must," said Dinah. "They'll have finished at Falcon Farm long afore you can get back." Therefore Lawrence Maynard joined the party at evensong and sat between Jane and Dinah. Jane was indifferent, but Dinah shared her hymn-book with him. He did not sing, however, though it gave him pleasure to hear her do so. She was devout and attentive; Jane was not. He praised the sermon afterwards and told Mr. Bamsey that it was full of sense. When supper had ended, he thanked them very earnestly for their great kindness to a lonely man, and Benjamin trusted that he would come again. Dinah also pressed him, and Jane, who was now in a very fascinating and gracious mood, ordered him to do so. "If you don't, we shall think you don't like us," she said. He was grateful, and left them in an amiable spirit. They discussed him after he had gone, and Dinah praised him, but Mrs. Bamsey felt dubious. "He's rather a secret sort of man in my opinion," she said. "He is," admitted Ben; "but he's secret by accident, not nature, I believe. I took note of him. He's got a grievance against life I reckon; but what it may be, of course, we don't know." "I'll get it out of him," said Jane. "No you won't, my dear," answered her father. "Dinah's more like to than you." "I don't want his secrets," declared Dinah. "We'm often burdened with secrets we don't want," replied Ben. "It's part of duty sometimes to listen to 'em; though I grant the folk most ready to tell their secrets are often the hardest to help. Silliness is a misfortune that little can be done for." "He won't be in no hurry to tell his secrets, if he's got any," prophesied Mrs. Bamsey. "He's not that sort." CHAPTER VIII THE OLD FOX-HUNTER