and objectionable.  She waited till her sister was safely out of the way, then she stole from her cover, grabbed the helmet, and returned to the shelter of the pew.  It made quite an interesting and fascinating plaything in her estimation.  She amused herself with it for a long time, until she heard Winona’s voice proclaiming that if they didn’t trot home quickly they’d be late for dinner, whereupon she popped it under the seat, and joined the others.  Winona, of course, ought to have replaced it on its peg on the wall, but her memory was far from perfect, and she completely forgot all about it.

The whole thing seemed a most trivial incident, but it had an amazing sequel.  On Saturday afternoons Mrs. Fisher, the caretaker, always came to sweep and tidy up the church in preparation for Sunday.  She was a little, thin, sharp-nosed, impulsive woman, and just at present her nerves were rather in a shaky condition for fear of Zeppelins.  She lived in perpetual terror of bombs or German spies, and always slept with half her clothing on, in case she should be forced to get up in a hurry and flee for her life.  On this particular Saturday afternoon Mrs. Fisher, as was her wont, washed the pavement of the nave, and then took her broom and her duster into the side chapel.  Nobody sat there as a rule, so she did not give it very much attention.  She flicked the duster over the monument, hastily swept the floor in front, and was just about to turn away, having done her duty, when she caught sight of something under the seat of a pew.  She put her hand to her heart, and turned as white as her own best linen apron.  She divined instantly what it must be.  With great presence of mind she stole softly away on tip-toe.  Once outside the church she indulged in a comfortable little burst of hysterics.  Then she felt better, and went to tell the parish clerk.  Before evening the news had spread all over the village.

“It was brought in a motor car,” Mrs. Pikes at the shop informed her customers, “and Wilson’s little boy says he heard them talking German.”

“There was a foreign-looking sort of a chap rode past our house on a bicycle the other day,” volunteered the blacksmith’s assistant.

“You never know where you are with strangers in war time,” said another.

Everybody agreed that it was a mercy Mrs. Fisher had seen it when she did, and they were glad the church was a goodish way from the village.

The Woodward family generally started off for service almost directly after the bells began to ring.  On the following Sunday morning, however, they were considerably perplexed.  The familiar “ding-dong, ding-dong” which ought to have been pealing forth was not to be heard.  They listened in vain, and consulted all the clocks in the house.

“It’s certainly after ten,” said Mrs. Woodward.  “I’m afraid something must have happened!  I hope Mr. James isn’t ill.  Well, we’d better go at any rate, and see what’s the matter.”