After dinner she was duly sent for, and found the Parson walking up and down his study. He regarded her austerely, bidding her welcome to his house. Fancy noticed at once the keenness of his glance, and the still more penetrating quality of his voice. First impressions count enormously with sensitive creatures, and young women in Fancy's station of life are not much concerned with shades and gradations. To most of them men are angels or devils, black or white. Fancy had encountered what she called "devils" in Salisbury, rough fellows with Rabelaisian jests upon their thick lips. From such she shrank instinctively. Happily for her, she had met the other sort in and out of the Cathedral Close. Instantly, she acclaimed Mr. Hamlin as angel, a rather terrible angel, such as she imagined Saint Michael to be, pitiless to the wicked, smiting them hip and thigh with a flaming sword. Her second impression, not quite so vivid, was more agreeable. The Parson's clothes were shabby, and his study, which, indeed, reflected truthfully the man's personality, presented a somewhat bleak aspect. It looked a workshop rather than a comfortable room. The cocoanut matting was worn; plain deal shelves held innumerable cheaply-bound books; pamphlets were piled upon the floor; the chairs, with one exception, were not upholstered. She blushed a little as the thought came to her that she, the new parlourmaid, not yet in working kit, was the smartest object in her master's room. Mr. Hamlin asked her a few questions. Fancy had good references; she was a Churchwoman; she had been confirmed by Sarum himself. She belonged to the Girls' Friendly Society. Did she like her work? Yes. Mr. Hamlin smiled. For a moment Saint Michael vanished and a less terrifying personage stood in his place. "I like _my_ work," said the Parson incisively. "That is a vital matter. Perhaps it is the most vital matter in the world. Each of us has his or her work, and if we do it gladly it is well with us. You don't look very strong." "I'm much stronger than I look, sir." Her soft, deprecating voice brought another smile to the Parson's lips. He said abruptly: "Good. Women need all their strength and reserves of strength. Your work here will not be too hard. Spare yourself whenever you reasonably can, and so you will serve me and yourself the better. Good-night." Fancy went away, slightly awed, but feeling much more comfortable. Before going to bed, she wrote a short letter to her father, telling him that she liked her place. She added a postscript: "Mr. Yellam, the carrier, was ever so kind to me." She slept well in a comfortable bed. She came to Nether-Applewhite on a Thursday. On the following Sunday, as Alfred Yellam had foreseen, she was feeling homesick, because she had never failed to see her own people on that day. After luncheon, to hearten herself up, she sang hymns in the pantry.