One word more as to the Shepherds, and then we have done with him.  On the Sunday, Mr. Cope had an elder brother staying with them, who preached on the lesson for the day, the second chapter of the Prophet Habakkuk; and when he came to the text, ’Woe to him that coveteth an evil covetousness to his house,’ he brought in some of the like passages, the threats to those that ‘grind the faces of the poor,’ that ‘oppress the hireling in his wages,’ and that terrible saying of St. James, ’Behold, the hire of the labourers who have reaped down your fields, which is of you kept by fraud, crieth; and the cries of them which have reaped are entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabbath.’

Three days after, the Curate was very much amazed to hear that Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd did not choose to be preached at in their own church, and never meant to come thither again.  Now it so happened that he could testify that the sermon had been written five years ago, and that his brother had preached it without knowing that the Shepherds were in existence, for he had only come late the night before, and there was so much to say about their home, that the younger brother had not said a word about his parish before church, though the Kings and their guests were very near his heart.

But it was of no use to say so.  It was the truth that wounded the farmer and his wife, and no one could make that otherwise.  They did not choose to hear their sin rebuked, so they made an excuse by pretending to take offence, and except when they now and then went to the next parish to a meeting-house, cut themselves off from all that might disturb them in the sole pursuit of gain.  It is awful to think of such hardening of the heart, first towards man, then towards the warnings of God.

And mind, whoever chooses profit rather than mercy, is in the path of Farmer Shepherd.

Some certainty as to Lady Jane Selby’s feelings came on the second evening of Paul’s illness.  Mrs. Crabbe, the housekeeper, was seen with infinite trouble and disgust getting her large person over the stiles across the path fields.  A call from her was almost a greater event than one from my Lady herself.  Why!  Mother had been her still-room maid, and always spoke to her as ‘Ma’am,’ and she called her ‘Mary,’ and she had chosen Matilda’s name for her, and had given her a silver watch!

So when Mrs. Crabbe had found her way in, and had been set down to rest in the arm-chair, she proceeded to give ‘Mary’ a good round scolding against being weak and soft-hearted, saying at last that my Lady was quite in a way about it.  She was sure that Harold would catch his death of cold, putting him to sleep in the kitchen, upon the stones—­and so—­my Lady had sent off the cart with the little chair-bed, that would take down and put up again—­mattress, bed-clothes, and all.