"I'm the Vicar's bottle-washer, you know," added the curate, with a guffaw. "Change for you--going round to the sick and needy of the parish--after fighting the good fight. I hear you were wounded." "I was, rather badly." "I wish I could have gone out and had a smack at the Boers. Nothing I should have liked better. But, of course, I'm only a parson, you know. It wouldn't have been thought the correct thing." Mr. Dryland, from his superior height, beamed down on James. "I don't know whether you remember the few words which I was privileged to address to you yesterday--" "Perfectly," put in James. "Impromptu, you know; but they expressed my feelings. That is one of the best things the war has done for us. It has permitted us to express our emotions more openly. I thought it a beautiful sight to see the noble tears coursing down your father's furrowed cheeks. Those few words of yours have won all our hearts. I may say that our little endeavours were nothing beside that short, unstudied speech. I hope there will be a full report in the Tunbridge Wells papers." "I hope not!" cried James. "You're too modest, Captain Parsons. That is what I said to Miss Clibborn yesterday; true courage is always modest. But it is our duty to see that it does not hide its light under a bushel. I hope you won't think it a liberty, but I myself gave the reporter a few notes." "Will Miss Clibborn be long?" asked James, looking at the cottage. "Ah, what a good woman she is, Captain Parsons. My dear sir, I assure you she's an angel of mercy." "It's very kind of you to say so." "Not at all! It's a pleasure. The good she does is beyond praise. She's a wonderful help in the parish. She has at heart the spiritual welfare of the people, and I may say that she is a moral force of the first magnitude." "I'm sure that's a very delightful thing to be." "You know I can't help thinking," laughed Mr. Dryland fatly, "that she ought to be the wife of a clergyman, rather than of a military man." Mary came out. "I've been telling Mrs. Gray that I don't approve of the things her daughter wears in church," she said. "I don't think it's nice for people of that class to wear such bright colours." "I don't know what we should do in the parish without you," replied the curate, unctuously. "It's so rare to find someone who knows what is right, and isn't afraid of speaking out." Mary said that she and James were walking home, and asked Mr. Dryland whether he would not accompany them. "I shall be delighted, if I'm not _de trop_." He looked with laughing significance from one to the other. "I wanted to talk to you about my girls," said Mary. She had a class of village maidens, to whom she taught sewing, respect for their betters, and other useful things. "I was just telling Captain Parsons that you were an angel of mercy, Miss Clibborn." "I'm afraid I'm not that," replied Mary, gravely. "But I try to do my duty."