It used to be:  “Muvver hey sent me to tell you at once, Mum, she isn’t no better but a good deal worse, and the doctor hev ordered her some strong soup for to nourish her stren’th;” or “Mr. Scull’s compliments, and might he hev the loan of some butter agin;” or “Mrs. Craddock wishes you, Mum, to read this letter which she hey written out of her sickbed, and every word of it is no more than the truth, as I can vouch for.  Mr. Craddock in his cups last night punished her pore face somethin’ frightful.  She can’t go to her work, and there’s not so much as a bite of bread or a sip of milk in the house.”

Mrs. Goudie declared that Mavis was often imposed upon; and, although Mavis herself wished to give wisely rather than blindly, endeavoring to govern warm impulse with cold reason, certainly very few people went away from the Vine-Pits back door empty-handed.

The gentry, in their turn, learned the commonly accepted fact that Mr. and Mrs. Dale were charitably-minded as well as prosperous, and thought all the better of them, asked for subscriptions, and invited cooperation in various good works.  So that their fame was always shining with a steadier brightness, and one might say that nowadays there appeared to be only a single objection occasionally hinted against this fortunate couple.  Certain very old-fashioned people refrained from patronizing Dale’s business or praising his private life, because of the regrettable and notorious circumstance that he never went to church.

It could not be denied.  During a good many years he had been to one funeral and two christenings; and, except for these rare occasions, had entirely abstained from attending any religious ceremonies.  And Mavis too had gradually become slack in the performance of her spiritual duties.  On Sunday mornings there was the dinner to think about.  She still liked to cook the great weekly feast herself.  Moreover, after six days of genuine labor, Sunday’s fundamental purport as a day of rest is apt to overshadow its symbolic aspects as a day set apart for communion with things impalpable.  The Abbey Church was too far off, even if it had not been out of the question for other reasons.  It required a walk of two fat miles to get to Rodchurch, and one had to start early if one did not want to arrive there hot and flustered; again there was the risk of rain overtaking one in one’s best dress.  Every fine Sunday she used to talk at breakfast of intending to go to the morning service; and at dinner of intending to go to the evening service.

If she carried either the first or the second intention into effect, it was Dale’s custom to go along the road and meet her returning.  And this he now prepared to do, on a warm dry April morning, when obviously there could be no fear of rain and she had set out in her best directly after breakfast.