"But can she teach the children?" "She can teach them all they need to know, and keep the little ones out of mischief," said the farmer, perhaps beginning to be alarmed. "No use to learn them no more. What do they want of it for working in the fields or milking the cows?" "They ought at least to know their duty to God and their neighbour," said Captain Carbonel. "Is there no Sunday School?" "No, sir,"--very bluntly. "I hear talk of such things at Poppleby and the like," he added, "but we don't want none of them here. The lot here are quite bad enough, without maggots being put into their heads." Captain Carbonel did not wish to continue the subject. The farmer's own accent did not greatly betoken acquaintance with schools of any sort. Of course the wife and sister were amused as well as saddened by his imitative account of the farmer's last speech, but they meant to study the subject on their first Sunday. They had learnt already that Uphill Priors was a daughter church to Downhill Priors, and had only one service on a Sunday, alternate mornings and evenings. The vicar was the head of a house at Oxford, and only came to the parsonage in the summer. The services were provided for by a curate, living at Downhill, with the assistance of the master of a private school, to whom the vicarage was let. When Captain Carbonel asked Master Pucklechurch about the time, he answered, "Well, sir, 'tis morning churching. So it will be half-past ten, or else eleven, or else no time at all." "What, do you mean that there will be none?" "No, sir. There will be churching sure enough, but just as time may chance, not to call it an hour. Best way is to start as soon as you sights the parson a-coming past the gate down there. Then you're sure to be in time. Bell strikes out as soon as they sees him beyond the `Prior's Lane.'" The Carbonels, in Sunday trim, with William the man-servant, and two maids, their Prayerbooks in white pocket-handkerchiefs, following in the rear, set forth for the gate, in the spring freshness. The grass in the fields was beginning to grow up, the hedges were sprouting with tender greens and reds, the polished stems of the celandine were opening to the sunshine in the banks, with here and there a primrose. Birds were singing all round, and a lark overhead--most delightful pleasures to those so long shut up in a town. It was the side of a hill, where the fields were cut out into most curious forms, probably to suit the winding of a little brook or the shape of the ground; and there were, near the bottom, signs of a mass of daffodils, which filled the sisters with delight, though daffodils were not then the fashion, and were rather despised as yellow and scentless. As they came near the second gate, they saw a black figure go by on an old white horse; then they came out on a long ascending lane with deep ruts, bordered by fresh soft turf on either sides, with hawthorn hedges, and at intervals dark yew trees.