120 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 



me, were "laid in the chapel ground under the hill. 

 Father and me has gone there reg'lar fur many 

 years." 



I had often met them there before I got to know 

 them. The congregation was a very earnest and 

 simple-hearted one ; a gathering for worship it was 

 which often made me think of the old Puritans one 

 reads of, in their American homes. Once during 

 the week, and twice on Sunday, the woodlanders 

 were to be seen coming through the tall firs and 

 along the woodland roads to their plain little 

 chapel; gathering in groups outside before the 

 time for service they might be heard exchanging 

 such greetings as "How are ye, neighbour?" 

 " How goes matters with ye ? " " Are ye at peace ? " 

 "That last sermon as he giv us left matters to 

 ponder on, mind ye ; 'twas stirrin' ay, to the 

 marrer o' yer bones. 'Twas a gran' sermon fur 

 one so young." 



Then they greet their pastor as he comes up the 

 chapel path, and enter after him. The hymn hav- 

 ing been given out, the fresh, clear voices of a choir 

 of young women only lead the singing, the pure, 

 bell-like tones of one, who it is said will soon be 



