There are large pews in nave and transept occupied by the gentry and farmers, and many small pews which--although the seats in the church are spoken of as "free"--have been used habitually by certain cottagers. One of these pews in the nave was known as the Yellam pew. Sunday after Sunday, rain or shine, Susan Yellam sat bolt upright in her pew. Her son, Alfred, sat beside her. Mother and son were never guilty of missing a response, or of looking behind them, or of failing to contribute something in copper to the offertory plate. If a stranger happened to be conducting the service, and if he was so lost to a sense of duty as to display unseemly haste, Mrs. Yellam's voice might be heard, loud and clear, setting the proper pace. At the end of every prayer, her "Amen" came to be accepted, even by the young and thoughtless, as a grace and benediction. Always she wore decent black, as became a woman who had buried--in the churchyard outside--a husband and three children. But her Easter bonnet had a touch of mauve in it. Her clothes were not the least part of a tremendous personality. Children believed that she went to bed in her black gown. Authority exuded from every pore of her skin. Probably Boadicea was cast in just such a generous mould. She possessed, as will be seen presently, that British cocksureness which so endears us to foreigners. Her particular views upon religion, politics, ethics and agriculture (she tended her own garden admirably)--views constantly aired for the benefit of her neighbours--had become indurated by use. They had stood, as she informed all and sundry, the test of time and experience. The Parson, Mr. Hamlin, observed of her that she was temperamentally incapable of detecting the defects of her great qualities. She supported Squire and Parson in all that they said or did, and after the gracious lady of the manor was the most respected woman in Nether-Applewhite.