The Bible meeting at Wrington was the great event of the year, and the village was in holiday trim. The bells rang from the noble church tower; the school children, in clean white tippets and blue cotton frocks, walked in procession to Barley Wood, where tea was provided for parents and teachers, and several of those who had come to the meeting addressed them in simple words. Sir Thomas Acland had brought with him the Bishop of Ohio, and the good old man looked upon the scene before him, with eyes dim with emotion. Here in this Somersetshire village, lying under the range of low hills, had the influence of a good woman been felt. She had borne bitter scoffs and rudeness from her enemies; she had been laughed at even by her friends, and yet she had carried the banner of the Lord onward, and now in her old age the victory was won. The people loved her, and though there were malcontents in Wrington, as in every other place, still the feeling for the good work the four sisters had done, was stronger than that which was against it, and the Bible had become a treasure in many humble homes. No longer like that of which Joyce had spoken at Fair Acres--rarely opened and seldom read--nor like the one described by Hannah More herself as the only one she found at Cheddar, used to prop up a flower-pot in the window! There was a large dinner-party of seventeen at Barley Wood after the meeting, and this was a novelty to the two girls, who had never before sat down with so many at a table. Charlotte was in good spirits, having captured a pale-faced young clergyman, to whom she talked in her sentimental fashion, and who seemed almost as much fascinated by her, as she intended he should be. Joyce, on the contrary, had no time to think of herself. She was intently listening to all that was said, and the conversation of those refined and educated gentlemen charmed her. It was impossible not to be struck with her beautiful face, glowing with interest and, though silent herself, showing that she was drinking in all that was said around her. It was the same afterwards in Mrs. More's sitting-room, where all the guests gathered to sip fragrant tea and coffee, and talk over the burning questions of the day. The good Bishop of Ohio, who had laboured long in the field abroad, as Hannah More had laboured at home, knew well how rough was the road, which those who desire the highest good of others, must ever tread. Hannah More was speaking of the deep anxiety that the condition of the Mendip miners caused her, and how, of all her work, that seemed to be bringing forth the least fruit. "An ear here and there is gathered," she said; "but the harvest is scant indeed." Joyce, who had been listening earnestly, said: "Susan Priday is an 'ear,' I am sure. She seemed to try to do all she could, and--" The Bishop turned quickly. Joyce almost thought she ought not to have spoken, and that the Bishop and Mrs. More would think her forward, but the good old man said: