began to be at her ease, might have passed for an unpleasant lady.  Master Appleditch, the future pastor, was a fat boy, dressed like a dwarf, in a frock coat and man’s hat, with a face in which the meanness and keenness strove for mastery, and between them kept down the appearance of stupidity consequent on fatness.  They walked home in silence, Mr. and Mrs. Appleditch apparently pondering either upon the spiritual food they had just received, or the corporeal food for which they were about to be thankful.

Their house was one of many in a crescent.  Not content with his sign in town, the grocer had a large brass plate on his door, with Appleditch engraved upon it in capitals:  it saved them always looking at the numbers.  The boy ran on before, and assailed this door with a succession of explosive knocks.

As soon as it was opened, in he rushed, bawling: 

“Peter, Peter, here’s the new apprentice!  Papa’s brought him home to dinner, because he was at chapel this morning.”  Then in a lower tone —­ “I mean to have a ride on his back this afternoon.”

The father and mother laughed.  A solemn priggish little voice answered: 

“Oh, no, Johnny.  Don’t you know what day this is?  This is the Sabbath-day.”

“The dear boy!” sighed his mother.

“That boy is too good to live,” responded the father.

Hugh was shown into the dining-room, where the table was already laid for dinner.  It was evident that the Appleditches were well-to-do people.  The room was full of what is called handsome furniture, in a high state of polish.  Over the chimney-piece hung the portrait of a preacher in gown and bands, the most prominent of whose features were his cheeks.

In a few minutes the host and hostess entered, followed by a pale-faced little boy, the owner of the voice of reproof.

“Come here, Peetie,” said his mother, “and tell Mr. Sutherland what you have got.”  She referred to some toy —­ no, not toy, for it was the Sabbath —­ to some book, probably.

Peetie answered in a solemn voice, mouthing every vowel: 

“I’ve got five bags of gold in the Bank of England.”

“Poor child!” said his mother, with a scornful giggle.  “You wouldn’t have much to reckon on, if that were all.”

Two or three gaily dressed riflemen passed the window.  The poor fellows, unable to bear the look of their Sunday clothes, if they had any, after being used to their uniform, had come out in all its magnificence.

“Ah!” said Mr. Appleditch, “that’s all very well in a state of nature; but when a man is once born into a state of grace, Mr. Sutherland —­ ah!”

“Really,” responded Mrs. Appleditch, “the worldliness of the lower classes is quite awful.  But they are spared for a day of wrath, poor things!  I am sure that accident on the railway last Sabbath, might have been a warning to them all.  After that they can’t say there is not a God that ruleth in the earth, and taketh vengeance for his broken Sabbaths.”