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room.

CHAPTER XVI.

Mrs. Boxall and Mr. Stopper.

UCY was not upstairs with her grandmother when Thomas went into the

She had arrived some time before, and had run across to the bookseller's to put Mattie to bed, according to promise, leaving the door just ajar that she might not trouble her grandmother to come down and open it for her. She had come home hoping against hope that Thomas must by this time have complied, in some way or other, with her request-must have written to his father, or, at least, so positively made up his mind to tell him on his return, that he would be at the station to meet her with the assurance, or would appear in Guild Court some time during the evening with a response to her earnest appeal. When she had put the child to bed, she lingered

a few moments with the bookseller in his back parlour, for the shop was shut up, telling him about Mattie, and listening to what little bits of news the worthy man had to impart in return. Their little chat ran something in this way.

"And how have you been, Mr. Kitely?"

"Oh, among the middlins, miss, thank you. How's yourself been ?”

"Quite well, and no wonder.”

"I don't know that, miss, with two young things a pullin' of you all ways at once. I hope

Mattie wasn't over and above troublesome to you.'

"She was no trouble at all. You must have missed her, though."

"I couldn't ha' believed how I'd miss her. Do you know the want of her to talk to made me do what I 'aint done for twenty year?"

"What's that, Mr. Kitely? Go to church of a Sunday?"

"More than that, miss," answered the bookseller, laughing-a little sheepishly. "Would you believe it of me ?-I've been to church of a

week-day more than once.

Ha! ha! But then

it wasn't a long rigmarole, like—”

"You musn't talk about it like that—to me,

you know, Mr. Kitely."

"I beg your pardon, miss. I only meant he didn't give us a Sundayful of it, you know. I never could ha' stood that. We had just a little prayer, and a little chapter, and a little sermon-good sense, too, upon my word. I know I altered a price or two in my next catalogue when I come home again. I don't know as I was right, but I did it, just to relieve my mind and make believe I was doin' as the minister told me. If they was all like Mr. Fuller, I don't know as I should ha' the heart to say much agen them."

"So it's Mr. Fuller's church you've been going to?

I'm so glad! How often has he

service, then ?"

Think o' that. It don't

"Every day, miss. take long though, as I tell you. it ? If there is any good in comes more of being the right

But why should talking at all, it

thing than the

muchness of it, as my old father used to sayfor he was in the business afore me, miss, though I saw a good deal more o' the world than ever he did afore I took to it myself-says he, 'It strikes me, Jacob, there's more for your money in some o' those eighteen-mos, if you could only read 'em, than in some o' them elephants. I ha' been a watchin', says he, 'the sort o' man that buys the one and that buys the t'other. When a little man with a shabby coat brings in off the stall one o' them sixpenny books in Latin, that looks so barbarious to me, and pops it pleased like into the tail of his coat as if he meant to have it out again the minute he was out of the shop-then I thinks there's something in that little book—and something in that little man,' says father, miss. And so I stick up for the little sermons and the little prayers, miss. I've been thinking about it since; and I think Mr. Fuller's right about the short prayers. They're much more after the manner of the Lord's Prayer, anyhow. I never heard of anybody getting tired before that was over. As you are fond of church,

miss, you'd better drop into Mr. Fuller's tomorrow mornin'. If you go once, you'll go again."

Long after, Lucy told Mr. Fuller what the bookseller had said, and it made him think yet again whether our long prayers-services, as we call them, forsooth-are not all a mistake, and closely allied to the worship of the Pagans, who think they shall be heard for their much speaking. She went out by the side door into the archway. As she opened it, a figure sped past her, fleet and silent. She started back. Why should it remind her of Thomas? She had scarcely seen more in the darkness than a deeper darkness in motion, for she came straight from the light.

She found the door not as she left it.

"Has Thomas been here, grannie?" she asked, with an alarm she could not account for.

"No, indeed. He has favoured us with little of his company this many a day," answered grannie, speaking out of the feelings which had gradually grown from the seeds sown by Stopper.