MARY.  There’s a bit of a mystery about it altogether.  Would you like to hear?  It is rather like a fairy-tale.

MANSON.  It must be.  Yes, do go on.

MARY.  It was all through Uncle William’s Restoration Fund.  You see, our old church is in a perfectly rotten state of decay, and naturally it would take a lot to repair it:  so uncle thought of starting a Fund—­Yes!  Wasn’t it clever of him?—­I addressed all the envelopes.

Would you believe it, we couldn’t get a single halfpenny!  Isn’t it a shame?—­Such a nice old church, too!

MANSON.  How was that?

MARY.  That’s the question!  People have been most rude!  Oh, the letters we have had!  The funny thing is, for all their fault-finding, they none of them agree with each other!—­Some say the foundations are all wrong:  some don’t like the stained-glass windows; but if you ask me . . .

MANSON.  Yes, what do you think?

MARY.  Well, uncle won’t hear of it; but I can’t help thinking old
Bletchley is right . . .

MANSON.  Who’s he?

MARY.  Oh, he’s a dreadfully wicked man, I know that—­ He’s the quack doctor in the village:  he’s—­he’s an atheist! . . .

MANSON.  Well, what does he think is the matter?

MARY.  He says it’s the DRAIN!

MANSON.  The—­the drain? . . .

MARY.  Um!  You know, in spite of what uncle says, there is a smell:  I had it in my nose all last Sunday morning.  Up in the choir it’s bad enough, and round by the pulpit—­ Ugh!  I can’t think how uncle stands it!

That’s why the people won’t come to church—­ They say so:  they stand in the market-place listening to old Bletchley, instead of listening to uncle and trying to be good.

The odd thing Is, it must be that very same drain that’s causing the trouble in uncle’s study—­ That’s his study out there, where they’ve been digging:  it’s where he writes his sermons.  You know, I’ve noticed the smell for some time, but uncle got so cross whenever I mentioned it, that I learned to hold my tongue.  At last, auntie smelt it, too, and that soon brought the men in!  Ugh!  Perhaps you’ve . . .

MANSON.  I have!  But what has all this to do with . . .

MARY.  Don’t get impatient:  it’s all part of the story. . . .  Well, we thought we should have poor dear Uncle William perfectly ill . . .

MANSON.  Because of the drain? . . .

MARY.  No, because of the Fund.  He tried everything:  all his rich friends, bazaars, jumble-sales, special intercessions—­everything!  And nothing seemed to come of it!

Then at last, yesterday morning, he was reading the newspaper, and there was a long piece about the Bishop of Benares.  Uncle read it aloud to us.  Suddenly, in the middle, he broke off and said:  Look at the power this chap seems to have at the back of him!  I wish to God I had some of it!