The Sunday-school could hardly come under Christmas Williams' eyes, for he spent the most of every Sunday in his garden by the churchyard, scanning his well-kept beds, and strolling to and fro along the walks, from which he could see the headstones on his father's and grandfather's graves, and be forced sometimes to think of the far-off time when his own should be standing beside them. It was the chief trouble of his prosperous life that he had no son to carry on the name of Christmas Williams. Still, his trouble was a slight one, for he had a gentle, pretty little daughter, whom he had christened Easter, and whom he loved almost as if she had been a son. Easter must marry young and well, that he might hear her children call him grandfather. But when the afternoon preaching began, and Widow Evans' son, a young stripling who was not yet out of his time as a draper's apprentice, stood up boldly, and with ready speech taught his fellow-villagers what he himself was learning in the distant market-town, of eternity, of the Saviour, and of God, Christmas roused himself. Worse than that, by-and-by the lad brought with him a grave, earnest, eloquent man, who preached such words as pricked the people to their hearts, and sent them home talking and pondering over these new things. It was high time for Christmas to bestir himself, both as churchwarden and constable. "You can do nothing, Christmas," said the rector, sitting in his favourite chimney-corner; while Easter, as she went about her work softly and quickly, filled his glass for him from the brown jug on the table between him and her father. "Come, live and let live. They don't hurt me, and they ought not to hurt you. What harm is there in a bit of psalm-singing and Bible-reading in a cottage? Bless you! I wonder any one of them sets his foot inside the church; and I'll be the last to blame them if they don't." "I've said I'll put a stop to it, and I'll do it," cried Christmas. "I'm a man of my word. I'll duck young Evans in my horsepond, if I can only catch him. They shall be cut up root and branch. You'll see I'll make short work of it." "You cannot hinder them from meeting in Widow Evans' house, my man," replied the rector; "and you cannot stop them singing, and praying, and preaching, as they please. She's my tenant, and I'll not disturb her, poor soul! Let the thing alone, I say. Nobody knows better than me that it was a mistake putting me into the Church; I'm no more fit for it than for heaven itself. If I believed it would do me any good, I'd go to their meetings myself." He spoke sadly, and bent his head down for a minute; and Easter, seeing it, drew nearer to the grey-haired old clergyman, whom she had known and loved all her lifetime. "Well, if I cannot put a stop to it," exclaimed Christmas, "no man, woman, or child goes from my house to any of those fools' meetings. Whoever does that, shall never cross my threshold again."