"A'm nooan fidgettin'; but aw mun be stirring." "Sit thee still, mon. There's time enough afore turnin'-aat time. Th' churchwardens wi'not be raand afore three an' after. Sup up an' let's fly for another quart. It'll be a long while till th' oppenin' time to-neet." "Nay aw'll ha' no more. I'm thinkin' aw'll just ha' a bit o' a stretch to sattle mi dinner." "Aye, weel, aw dunnot mind if aw've a bit o' a walk missen to stretch mi legs. Which way did ta think o' takkin'?" "Weel there's a nice stretch o' country up by Hinchliffe Mill way, an' we'st get a mouthfu' o' fresh air." "Tha's no bahn to th' Co-op Gospel-shop, are ta?" "Weel, aw winnot say but what aw meet look in, just to wind missen. Its' a bit o' a poo' fro' here to th' Top. An' there's no wheer aw can ca' to-day, worse luck." "Tha'll get nowt at th' Co-op, chuse ha. It's nobbut dry drinkin' they han on tap theer, folk say. But aw dunnot set thi on th' road a bit, an' if tha can stand Tom Pinder's preichin' aw reckon aw can. It's nooan like a regular chapel tha sees." And thus the lecture room filled. Now there were two men of all others who received the doings at Co-op Mill with disfavour. One was the Rev. David Jones. That very energetic preacher did not like to hear anyone's praises sung but his own. His Welsh fluency, his striking, daring flights of rhetoric, his excursions into tempting but dangerous speculations on the fundamental truths of the creed embodied, consecrated, and enshrined in the Trust Deed of Aenon Chapel, had secured for him the admiring following of considerable numbers of men who, whilst still clinging as for dear life to the shattered remnants of the old dogmas, turned longing eyes to the rationalism of a new criticism and a faith grounded upon human experience. They were like the frail ones of the softer sex, who concede all favours but the last, their heart or their passions consenting, their timidity restraining. Aenon Chapel was now packed with a new set of worshippers whose presence was not too welcome to the "old end," as the Conservative adherents of Calvinistic theology and tradition were styled. "Owd fire an' brimstone" the irreverent styled their leader and spokesman. But the objections of those chiefly responsible for the maintenance and carrying on of the chapel and school, whose father's money had built and furnished the edifice in which Mr. Jones declaimed his mild heresies, were stripped of their accustomed force by one all-persuasive consideration--the collection box. Never before in all the history of Aenon Chapel had the anniversaries of church and schools yielded so profitable a harvest to the anxious treasurer. The debt, without which it is commonly supposed no religious work can prosper, was reduced. Mr. Jones's stipend was increased. The deacons of former days were consumed with envy, and dolefully acknowledging that Mr. Jones had gone up like a rocket, expressed their hope that he might not come down