Mr Richard Pratt said something of this sort to the vicar during a morning ramble, some six weeks after he had taken up his residence in The Nun's House. With the parson and the gentry of the parish Mr Pratt agreed very well, his respectability having been vouched for by Mrs Gabriel, the lady of the manor. But the villagers still held aloof, although the newcomer did his best to overcome their churlish doubts. They did not credit his story that he had settled in Colester to pass his remaining years in peace, and even the money he scattered so freely could not buy their loyalty. Pratt had never met with such people before. In most countries an open purse invites an open heart; but the Colester villagers were above Mammon worship. Such an experience was refreshing to Pratt, and introduced him to a new type of humanity. "The first place I ever struck in which the dollar is not all-powerful," he said, with his Yankee twang and pleasant laugh. "We are not sufficiently educated in that respect," replied Mr Tempest in his simple way. "For my part, I am not ill pleased that my parishioners should refuse to worship the Golden Calf." "There is no calf about me, I guess," said Pratt, grimly, "and very little gold. I don't say I haven't a decent income, but as to being a millionaire--no, sir." "In the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed is king, Mr Pratt. You are a millionaire in this poor place. But I fear you find it dull." "Why, no, vicar. I'm glad to be out of the buzz. The world's made up of nerves and machinery nowadays. At fifty-two years of age I can't stand the racket. This Sleepy Hollow's good enough for me to stay in until I peg out. Guess I'll buy an allotment in that graveyard of yours." "Hollow!" said the vicar, smiling, "and our earthly dwelling-place is set upon a hill! Mr Pratt, I suspect you have Irish blood in your veins." Pratt laughed, and being to a large extent devoid of humour, explained earnestly that he had used the word figuratively. "Washington Irving, Rip Van Winkle," he explained, nodding, whereat the vicar smiled again. The situation of Colester was striking and strange. A green-clothed promontory extended abruptly from the high table-land into King's-meadow. To right and left chalky cliffs of considerable height flared away for miles, forming a buttress to the moors above and walls to the plains below. In pre-historic ages the ocean waves had beaten against these cliffs, but, gradually receding, had left dry the miles upon miles of fertile lands now called King's-meadows. An appanage of the Crown, they had been called so from the days of William the Conqueror.