Miss Marks, patient pilgrim that she was, accepted this quaint society without a murmur, although I do not think it was much to her taste.  But in a very short time it was sweetened to her by the formation of a devoted and romantic friendship for one of the ‘sisters’, who was, indeed, if my childish recollection does not fail me, a very charming person.  The consequence of this enthusiastic alliance was that I was carried into the bosom of the family to which Miss Marks’ new friend belonged, and of these excellent people I must give what picture I can.

Almost opposite the Room, therefore at the far end of the village, across one of the rare small gardens (in which this first winter I discovered with rapture the magenta stars of a new flower, hepatica)—­a shop-window displayed a thin row of plates and dishes, cups and saucers; above it was painted the name of Burmington.  This china-shop was the property of three orphan sisters, Ann, Mary Grace, and Bess, the latter lately married to a carpenter, who was ‘elder’ at our meeting; the other two, resolute old maids.  Ann, whom I have already mentioned, had been one of the girls converted by the Cornish fishermen.  She was about ten years older than Bess, and Mary Grace came halfway between them.  Ann was a very worthy woman, but masterful and passionate, suffering from an ungovernable temper, which at calmer moments she used to refer to, not without complacency, as ‘the sin which doth most easily beset me’.  Bess was insignificant, and vulgarized by domestic cares.  But Mary Grace was a delightful creature.  The Burmingtons lived in what was almost the only old house surviving in the village.  It was an extraordinary construction of two storeys, with vast rooms, and winding passages, and surprising changes of level.  The sisters were poor, but very industrious, and never in anything like want; they sold, as I have said, crockery, and they took in washing, and did a little fine needlework, and sold the produce of a great, vague garden at the back.  In process of time, the elder sisters took a young woman, whose name was Drusilla Elliott, to live with them as servant and companion; she was a converted person, worshipping with a kindred sect, the Bible Christians.  I remember being much interested in hearing how Bess, before her marriage, became converted.  Mary Grace, on account of her infirm health, slept alone in one room; in another, of vast size, stood a family fourposter, where Ann slept with Drusilla Elliott, and another bed in the same room took Bess.  The sisters and their friend had been constantly praying that Bess might ‘find peace’, for she was still a stranger to salvation.  One night, she suddenly called out, rather crossly, ’What are you two whispering about?  Do go to sleep,’ to which Ann replied:  ’We are praying for you.’  ‘How do you know,’ answered Bess, ‘that I don’t believe?’ And then she told them that, that very night, when she was sitting in the shop, she had closed with God’s offer of redemption.  Late in the night as it was, Ann and Drusilla could do no less than go in and waken Mary Grace, whom, however, they found awake, praying, she too, for the conversion of Bess.  They told her the good news, and all four, kneeling in the darkness, gave thanks aloud to God for his infinite mercy.