“That’s easy for you to say, Mr Lindley,” she replied tartly. “Do you think I want my lad climbing ropes at another man’s bidding, like a monkey——?” “There is no _dishonour_, surely, in serving in the Navy?” “Dishonour this dishonour that,” cried the angry old woman. “He goes and makes a slave of himself, and he’ll rue it.” Her angry, scornful impatience nettled the clergyman and silenced him for some moments. “I do not see,” he retorted at last, white at the gills and inadequate, “that the Queen’s service is any more to be called slavery than working in a mine.” “At home he was at home, and his own master. _I_ know he’ll find a difference.” “It may be the making of him,” said the clergyman. “It will take him away from bad companionship and drink.” Some of the Durants’ sons were notorious drinkers, and Alfred was not quite steady. “And why indeed shouldn’t he have his glass?” cried the mother. “He picks no man’s pocket to pay for it!” The clergyman stiffened at what he thought was an allusion to his own profession, and his unpaid bills. “With all due consideration, I am glad to hear he has joined the Navy,” he said. “Me with my old age coming on, and his father working very little! I’d thank you to be glad about something else besides that, Mr Lindley.” The woman began to cry. Her husband, quite impassive, finished his lunch of meat-pie, and drank some beer. Then he turned to the fire, as if there were no one in the room but himself. “I shall respect all men who serve God and their country on the sea, Mrs Durant,” said the clergyman stubbornly. “That is very well, when they’re not your sons who are doing the dirty work. It makes a difference,” she replied tartly. “I should be proud if one of my sons were to enter the Navy.” “Ay—well—we’re not all of us made alike——” The minister rose. He put down a large folded paper. “I’ve brought the almanac,” he said. Mrs Durant unfolded it. “I do like a bit of colour in things,” she said, petulantly. The clergyman did not reply. “There’s that envelope for the organist’s fund——” said the old woman, and rising, she took the thing from the mantelpiece, went into the shop, and returned sealing it up. “Which is all I can afford,” she said. Mr Lindley took his departure, in his pocket the envelope containing Mrs Durant’s offering for Miss Louisa’s services. He went from door to door delivering the almanacs, in dull routine. Jaded with the monotony of the business, and with the repeated effort of greeting half-known people, he felt barren and rather irritable. At last he returned home. In the dining-room was a small fire. Mrs Lindley, growing very stout, lay on her couch. The vicar carved the cold mutton; Miss Louisa, short and plump and rather flushed, came in from the kitchen; Miss Mary, dark, with a beautiful white brow and grey eyes, served the vegetables; the children chattered a little, but not exuberantly. The very air seemed starved.