The lay-reader was occasionally doubtful about his aspirates. He also read an unduly large selection of collects. His voice, too, got on Paul's nerves. He read for the hundredth time the short, staring gilt text above the Table. "Till He Come." Except for the hymn notices, there was nothing else to catch the attention. Oh yes, I.H.S. in a monogram under the text. Paul wondered if the lay-reader knew what the letters meant. He wondered if any of them knew what they meant. Then, as the reader began the prayer for Parliament, if anyone knew what anything meant. Mrs. Reynolds, for example. "That all things may be bordered and settled by their hendeavours, upon the best and surest foundations...." "Amen"--very loudly from old Miller. But he had heard that old Miller was a strong Conservative and concerned with politics in his off hours. Curious; it struck Paul suddenly that "the workers" never seemed to have politics. Oh, at last--Hymn 148. Afterwards, they were all very kind. He shook hands with the departing congregation, including Hilda Tillings. Hodgson was unfeignedly glad to see him back. But outside, while Paul was smilingly making his way back to the platform by which Madeline was standing drawing on her gloves, the sergeant was rebuffed by old Miller. "Good sermon, Miller," he said. "He's a fine young chap, and I'm glad he's back." "Eh, eh, sergeant, but I dunno as I 'olds with all this 'ere book-larning. 'E's got more grammar nor ever, and, seems ter me, less grace." "Doesn't it all seem rather queer to you now?" asked Madeline, as they walked home. Paul shrugged his shoulders. "They're rattling good people," he said, enigmatically. "Yes, of course. By the way, do you remember that the Sale of Work is to be this week. You will help me decorate our stall, won't you, Paul?" "Rather. Is it this week? I'd forgotten. Do you want all that muslin stuff tacked up again?" "Yes. But we'll get you a step-ladder this year. The boxes collapsed last time--remember?" He nodded, amused. "But why don't you try a new idea?" he suggested. "Why always keep to the same old muslin?" Madeline sighed. "We do always keep to the same old things, don't we? But what could we do? Suggest something." "Have a background of palms and cover the framework with ivy." "That'd be lovely. But how could we get the ivy?" "Leave that to me. I'll get it for you." "Will you? Thanks so much. Could I help?" Paul glanced at her carefully. She walked gracefully, but with her eyes on the pavement. He admired her fair hair and her new hat, her trim figure. After all, why not? "Bicycle out with me on Friday and get some," he suggested. "There's lots at Hursley." Her voice was even as ever as she replied. "That would be delightful," she said. "Come in now and ask father, will you? Perhaps he'd come too. And I say, do let me read your verses. I'd like to so much." Paul was suddenly shy. "Oh they're nothing," he said.