by bringing the dry light of truth to bear upon them—­a gratuitous disagreeableness which was perhaps the reason why he was now perched on a tree-stump alone, casting shy, bird-like glances hither and thither—­at two children quarrelling over a cracked tea-cup, at the rector halting about uncomfortably amongst the “secondary people,” at his wife being instructed by Lady Latimer, at Lady Latimer herself, tired but loath to go, at Bessie Fairfax, full of spirit and forgetfulness, running at speed over the grass, a vociferous, noisy troop of children after her.

“Stop, stop, you are not to cross the lawn!” cried Mrs. Wiley.  “Bessie Carnegie, what a tomboy you are!  We might be sure if there was any roughness you were at the head of it.”

Lady Latimer also looked austere at the infringement of respect.  Bessie did not hear, and sped on till she reached the tree-stump where Mr. Phipps was resting, and touched it—­the game was “tiggy-touch-wood.”  There she halted to take breath, her round cheeks flushed, her carnation mouth open, and her pursuers baffled.

“You are a pretty young lady!” said Mr. Phipps, not alluding to Bessie’s beauty, but to her manner sarcastically.  Bessie paid no heed.  They were very good friends, and she cared nothing for his sharp observations.  But she perceived that the rout of children was being turned back to the orchard, and made haste to follow them.

Admiral Parkins and Mr. Musgrave had foregathered with Mr. Carnegie to discuss some matters of parish finance.  They drew near to Mr. Phipps and took him into the debate.  It was concerning a new organ for the church, a proposed extension of the school-buildings, an addition to the master’s salary, and a change of master.  The present man was old-fashioned, and the spirit of educational reform had reached Beechhurst.

“If we wait until Wiley moves in the business, we may wait till doomsday.  The money will be forthcoming when it is shown that it is wanted,” said the admiral, whose heart was larger than his income.

“Lady Latimer will not be to ask twice,” said Mr. Musgrave.  “Nor Mr. Phipps.”

“We must invite her ladyship to take the lead,” said Mr. Carnegie.

“Let us begin by remembering that, as a poor community, we have no right to perfection,” said Mr. Phipps.  “The voluntary taxes of the locality are increasing too fast.  It is a point of social honor for all to subscribe to public improvements, and all are not gifted with a superfluity of riches.  If honor is to be rendered where honor is due, let Miss Wort take the lead.  Having regard to her means, she is by far the most generous donor in Beechhurst.”

Mr. Phipps’s proposal was felt to need no refutation.  The widow’s mite is such a very old story—­not at all applicable to the immense operations of modern philanthropy.  Besides, Miss Wort had no ambition for the glory of a leader, nor had she the figure for the post.  Mr. Phipps was not speaking to be contradicted, only to be heard.