MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR xxvii 



It was by no means wise to " let the Eector hear of " 

 any underhand deed. 



Somehow, he seemed to fit an empty niche in 

 Sproughton church ; and, to those who have seen him 

 standing, lonely, by the altar — tall, upright and with 

 snow-white hair waiting tobless his people, it has never 

 seemed quite the same church again. The sun, 

 shining through the stained-glass windows, still fills 

 with roseate hues the space around the altar, but 

 (and what eternal sadness it is that such things 

 should ever be) the clear-cut face, the outstretched 

 hands, as the voice, low, clear, undoubting, gives out 

 the blessing are gone. 



His sermons were never very long, and they were 

 always listened to with rapt attention. He thoroughly 

 understood the art of " making the punishment fit 

 the crime " — in other words, his was an agricultural 

 congregation, and he knew what they would under- 

 stand. He would draw his conclusions by appeals 

 to nature or agriculture — they knew all about it and 

 could follow his reasoning. Once, indeed, a deputa- 

 tion waited on him to make his sermons longer ! 

 He usually spoke for fifteen minutes. In connection 

 with his sermons, there was a rather amusing 

 occurrence one day. He was decidedly awe-inspir- 

 ing in the pulpit, as well as out of it, and he had a 

 way, when he was not looking at anything in particular, 

 of having the appearance of staring hard at some 

 very definite object. He had greyish eyes, and they 

 looked stern when fixed hard on anything. On this 

 occasion, he was explaining a portion of the Bible, 

 and just down below and in front of him was a small 

 boy with hair of the most brilliant red imagin- 

 able. What he was trying to explain was something 



