The leader of the music presented himself, bowing, with his subscription-book in his hand. The usual amount was half a guinea. Madam gave a guinea, being half for herself, and half for me, writing down our names in the book. I saw, as we came away, that a little group of gentlemen quickly gathered round the leader and almost tore the book from his hand. "They are anxious to find out your name, miss," said Cicely. "Then they will go away and talk in the coffee-house, and wonder who you are and whence you came and what fortune you have. Yet they call us women gossips!" Lastly, there was the clergyman's book. "Heaven forbid," said madam, "that we pay for the music and let the prayers go starving!" This done, we could return home, having fairly paid our way for everything, and we found at our lodgings an excellent country breakfast of cream, new-laid eggs, fresh wild strawberries from Durdans Park, delicate cakes of Mrs. Crump's own baking, and chocolate, with Cicely to wait upon us. It was the godly custom of the place to attend public worship after breakfast, and at the ringing of the bell we put on our hats and went to the parish church, where we found most of the ladies assembled. They were escorted to the doors of the sacred house by the gentlemen, who left them there. Why men (who are certainly greater sinners, or sinners in a bolder and more desperate fashion, than women) should have less need of prayers than we, I know not; nor why a man should be ashamed of doing what a woman glories in doing. After their drinkings, their duels, their prodigalities, and wastefulness, men should methinks crowd into the doors of every church they can find, women leading them thereto. But let us not forget that men, when they live outside the fashion and are natural, are by the bent of their mind generally more religiously disposed than women: and, as they make greater sinners, so also do they make more illustrious saints. When we came out of the church (I forgot to say that we were now dressed and ready to make as brave a show as the rest) we found outside the doors a lane of gentlemen, who, as we passed, bowed low, hat in hand. At the end stood old Mr. Walsingham. He stood with his hat raised high in air, and a smile upon his lined and crowsfooted face. "What did I say, Miss Kitty?" he whispered. "Hath not the Queen of the Wells arrived?" I do not know what I might have said, but I heard a cry of "Kitty! Kitty!" and, looking round, saw--oh, the joy!--none other than my Nancy, prettier than ever, though still but a little thing, who ran up to me and threw herself in my arms. CHAPTER III. HOW NANCY RECKONED UP THE COMPANY. Nancy Levett herself, pretty and merry, prattling, rattling Nancy, not grown a bit, and hardly taller than my shoulder. I held her out at arm's length. "You here, Nancy?" Then we kissed again. "And not a bit changed, Nancy?" "And oh! so changed, Kitty. So tall and grand. Come to my mother."