"Speak for yourself," replied Hester, with acidity, puckering up her withered visage. And then she added with severity, "I never knew yet any good come out, or wisdom, of play-acting. They be devil's works, and take my word for it," and there she held up a bony emphatic finger, "that the devil will claim toll, for all as they seem mild and innocent." With which ominous remark Hester made over to Burbidge his dinner, and hobbled up the back drive homeward. "'Tis a pity," said Burbidge, looking after his old wife, "as good wine can turn to vinegay like that. The Lord made her, but the old 'un" (the devil) "guides her eyesight sure enough, and most times directs her tongue. The fact is," and the old man drew himself up straight, "when yer think too much about hell, yer can never see heaven. My mother used to say that, and for all she was a Methody body, it be gospel truth." [Sidenote: EASTER SUNDAY] A few days later it was Easter Sunday. The bells rang merrily, but we hurried off to church almost late; for, according to Shropshire fashion, Bess had got a new frock on for the occasion. It consisted of a pale mauve serge of the colour of the autumn crocus blossoms which flower in the aftermath in this neighbourhood. For the last fortnight dear old Nanny had been too busy "to draw a breath," to use her favourite expression, and had sewn morning, afternoon, and evening, to get my little maid's frock completed by Easter Sunday. For it is held in Shropshire to be most unlucky not to be clad in fresh attire on that feast day of the Church. Wherefore, whatever else was left undone, Bess's frock had to be finished for the festival. "The rooks," murmured Bess, as we entered the churchyard, "cannot say nothing, for all I have is new--shoes, stockings, drawers, chemise, and frock. And them," alluding to the rooks, "them only spoils old things, does them, mamsie?" "Oh, you're safe," I laughed, and we passed up the aisle. A peal of bells was ringing gaily. "How gay and good it sounds," whispered Bess, dreamily, "as if all the world was good and playing." Then we walked up to our pew, and the mild delicate scent of primroses greeted us everywhere. "I wish we had flowers every Sunday," said Bess, as she flumped down in her seat. "It seems to make God's house like a posy. I think it must be nicer for Him so." The old columns were festooned with garlands of flowers, and round the ancient font were placed bunches of flashing marsh marigolds and great branches of tender half-uncurled beech leaves. Bess looked round her, and said gravely in an undertone, "I think the blessing will come this Sunday, for I feel sure that God cannot see so many flowers about without being pleased." Then I said, "Hush!" for I feared my little maid was talking over-much.