But this Sunday in October was to see the end of the effort for the season. In the first place, Paul left that week for his first term at Cambridge, and this was a bigger damper than the Committee cared to allow. In the second, however, it was getting cold in the evenings, and activities took a new direction in the winter. Thus, a little late, after Communion, the band sallied out for the last time. Some fifteen or twenty of them, they gathered round the lamp-post. A couple of young men distributed the hymn-sheets to the loungers in the gardens, with a cheerful smile and a word of friendly greeting, fairly well received, as a matter of fact, by now. Paul mounted his chair under the light. Edith took her seat beneath at the harmonium, for Miss Madeline Ernest, daughter of the Rev. John Ernest, an elderly assistant curate, who usually played, was unwell. The last faint radiance of the day was dying out over the railway bridge, and the stars shone steadily in a clear sky above the hoardings. The Court greeted the Missioners in various moods. "They've come, Joe," said Mrs. Reynolds to her husband who, for once and for obvious reasons, was at home and sober; "won't yer come out and listen-like a bit? The 'ymns will cheer yer up, and they carn't do yer no 'arm anywise. It's yer larst charnst for the season, Joe." "Garn," said Joe, "damn yer!" Hilda Tillings put her hat at a becoming angle in the back kitchen of No. 9 and sallied out into the parlour. Her mother sniffed. "Silly fool," she said, "ter go and suck up ter 'em like that. 'E won't look twice at yer. It'll be a case between 'im and that there Madeline lidy, if yer asks me." Hilda tossed her head. "Miss Ernest's not come to-night," she said. "I saw out of the top winder. 'Sides, yer don't know wat yer talking of, ma. I like the meeting." And she sallied out. Two urchins, tearing at top speed under the arch, made for the lamp-post. "'Ere, 'ook it," gasped the first to arrive, _sotto voce_, to a diminutive imp already there. "I'll bash yer 'ead in for yer if yer don't. This 'ere's my job." And he clutched at the lantern which illuminated the music-book on the required occasions, and kicked his weaker brother on the shin. "Silence, boys," said Mr. Derrick, in his best manner; "don't fight with that lantern now." "Orl rite, guv'nor, but it's my job. Don't yer 'member me larst tyme? Yer said I 'eld it steady and yer give me a copper." "I got 'ere fust"--shrilly, from the other. "There, there, my lad, give it up. This boy usually holds it. No struggling, please. That's better. You can help with the harmonium afterwards if you like." (The smaller boy recedes into the background snuffling. Throughout the first part of the meeting he is trying to kick the elder, jar the lantern, or otherwise molest its holder. After the second hymn, Edith intervenes with a penny. The smaller boy exits triumphantly.)