“Not in the least,” I answered.  “I think I like it rather better on the whole.  But that’s not why I wear it.”

“Never mind grannie, Mr. Walton. I think the surplice is lovely.  I’m sure it’s much liker the way we shall be dressed in heaven, though I don’t think I shall ever get there, if I must read the good books grannie reads.”

“I don’t know that it is necessary to read any good books but the good book,” I said.

“There, grannie!” exclaimed Miss Gladwyn, triumphantly.  “I’m so glad I’ve got Mr Walton on my side!”

“Mr Walton is not so old as I am, my dear, and has much to learn yet.”

I could not help feeling a little annoyed, (which was very foolish, I know,) and saying to myself, “If it’s to make me like you, I had rather not learn any more;” but I said nothing aloud, of course.

“Have you got a headache to-day, grannie?”

“No, Pet.  Be quiet.  I wish to ask Mr Walton why he wears the surplice.”

“Simply,” I replied, “because I was told the people had been accustomed to it under my predecessor.”

“But that can be no good reason for doing what is not right—­that people have been accustomed to it.”

“But I don’t allow that it’s not right.  I think it is a matter of no consequence whatever.  If I find that the people don’t like it, I will give it up with pleasure.”

“You ought to have principles of your own, Mr Walton.”

“I hope I have.  And one of them is, not to make mountains of molehills; for a molehill is not a mountain.  A man ought to have too much to do in obeying his conscience and keeping his soul’s garments clean, to mind whether he wears black or white when telling his flock that God loves them, and that they will never be happy till they believe it.”

“They may believe that too soon.”

“I don’t think any one can believe the truth too soon.”

A pause followed, during which it became evident to me that Miss Gladwyn saw fun in the whole affair, and was enjoying it thoroughly.  Mrs Oldcastle’s face, on the contrary, was illegible.  She resumed in a measured still voice, which she meant to be meek, I daresay, but which was really authoritative—­

“I am sorry, Mr Walton, that your principles are so loose and unsettled.  You will see my honesty in saying so when you find that, objecting to the surplice, as I do, on Protestant grounds, I yet warn you against making any change because you may discover that your parishioners are against it.  You have no idea, Mr Walton, what inroads Radicalism, as they call it, has been making in this neighbourhood.  It is quite dreadful.  Everybody, down to the poorest, claiming a right to think for himself, and set his betters right!  There’s one worse than any of the rest—­but he’s no better than an atheist—­a carpenter of the name of Weir, always talking to his neighbours against the proprietors and the magistrates, and the clergy too, Mr Walton,