“I suppose everybody about here goes to church at least Once on Sundays,” pursued Maryllia-"Don’t they?”

“Them as likes Mr. Walden goes,” answered Mrs. Spruce promptly-"Then as don’t stops away.  Sir Morton Pippitt used allus to attend ’ere reg’ler when the buildin’ was nowt but ruin, an’ ’e ’ad a tin roof put over it,-’e was that proud o’ the tin roof you’d a’ thought ‘twas made o’ pure gold, an’ he was just wild when Mr. Walden pulled it all off an’ built up the walls an’ roof again as they should be all at ‘is own expense, an’ he went away from the place for sheer spite like, an’ stayed abroad a whole year, an’ when ’e come back again ‘e never wouldn’t go nigh it, an’ now ’e attends service at Badsworth Church,-Badsworth Barn we calls it,-for’tain’t nowt but a barn which Mr. Leveson keeps ’Igh as ‘Igh with a bit o’ tinsel an’ six candles, though it’s the mis’ablest place ye ever set eyes on, an’ ’e do look a caution ’isself with what ’e calls a vestiment ‘angin’ down over ’is back, which is a baek as fat as porpuses, the Lord forgive me for sayin.’ it, but Sir Morton ’e be that set against Mr. Walden he’ll rather say ’is prayers in a pig-stye with a pig for the minister than in our church, since it’s been all restored an’ conskrated—­then, as I told you just now, Miss, the Ittlethwaites goes to Riversford where they gits opratick music with the ‘Lord be merciful to us mis’able sinners’—­an’ percessions with candles,—­so our church is mostly filled wi’ the village folks, farmer bodies an’ sich-like,—­there ain’t no grand people what comes, though we don’t miss ’em, for Passon ’e don’t let us want for nothin’ an’ when there’s a man out o’ work, or a woman sick, or a child what’s pulin’ a bit, an’ ricketty, he’s alhis ready to ’elp, with all ’e ‘as an’ welcome, payin’ doctor’s fees often,—­an’ takin’ all the medicine bills on ’isself besides.  Ah, ’e’s a rare good sort is Passon Walden, an’ so you’d say yerself, Miss, if ever you took on your mind to go and hear ‘im preach, an’ studied ’is ways for a bit as ‘twere an’ asked ’bout ’im in the village, for ‘e’s fair an’ open as the day an’ ain’t got no sly, sneaky tricks in ’im,—­he’s just a man, an’ a good one—­an’ that’s as rare a thing to find in this world as a di’mond in a wash-tub, an’ makin’ so bold, Miss, if you’d onny go to church next Sunday—–­”

Maryllia interrupted her by a little gesture.

“I can’t, Spruce!” she said, but with great gentleness—­“I know it’s the right and proper thing for me to do in the country if I wish to stand well with my neighbours,-but I can’t!  I don’t believe in it,—­ and I won’t pretend that I believe!”