“You should try to put them in order,” Mr. Perry went on, playing with his handsome watch chain and smiling patronizingly on Faith.  “You are quite old enough to attend to such duties.  My little daughter at home is only ten and she is already an excellent little housekeeper and the greatest help and comfort to her mother.  She is a very sweet child.  I wish you had the privilege of her acquaintance.  She could help you in many ways.  Of course, you have not had the inestimable privilege of a good mother’s care and training.  A sad lack—­a very sad lack.  I have spoken more than once to your father in this connection and pointed out his duty to him faithfully, but so far with no effect.  I trust he may awaken to a realization of his responsibility before it is too late.  In the meantime, it is your duty and privilege to endeavour to take your sainted mother’s place.  You might exercise a great influence over your brothers and your little sister—­you might be a true mother to them.  I fear that you do not think of these things as you should.  My dear child, allow me to open your eyes in regard to them.”

Mr. Perry’s oily, complacent voice trickled on.  He was in his element.  Nothing suited him better than to lay down the law, patronize and exhort.  He had no idea of stopping, and he did not stop.  He stood before the fire, his feet planted firmly on the rug, and poured out a flood of pompous platitudes.  Faith heard not a word.  She was really not listening to him at all.  But she was watching his long black coat-tails with impish delight growing in her brown eyes.  Mr. Perry was standing very near the fire.  His coat-tails began to scorch—­his coat-tails began to smoke.  He still prosed on, wrapped up in his own eloquence.  The coat-tails smoked worse.  A tiny spark flew up from the burning wood and alighted in the middle of one.  It clung and caught and spread into a smouldering flame.  Faith could restrain herself no longer and broke into a stifled giggle.

Mr. Perry stopped short, angered over this impertinence.  Suddenly he became conscious that a reek of burning cloth filled the room.  He whirled round and saw nothing.  Then he clapped his hands to his coat-tails and brought them around in front of him.  There was already quite a hole in one of them—­and this was his new suit.  Faith shook with helpless laughter over his pose and expression.

“Did you see my coat-tails burning?” he demanded angrily.

“Yes, sir,” said Faith demurely.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, glaring at her.

“You said it wasn’t good manners to interrupt, sir,” said Faith, more demurely still.

“If—­if I was your father, I would give you a spanking that you would remember all your life, Miss,” said a very angry reverend gentleman, as he stalked out of the study.  The coat of Mr. Meredith’s second best suit would not fit Mr. Perry, so he had to go to the evening service with his singed coat-tail.  But he did not walk up the aisle with his usual consciousness of the honour he was conferring on the building.  He never would agree to an exchange of pulpits with Mr. Meredith again, and he was barely civil to the latter when they met for a few minutes at the station the next morning.  But Faith felt a certain gloomy satisfaction.  Adam was partially avenged.