At length the road brought me up to the house.  It did not look such a large house as I have since found it to be.  And it certainly was not an interesting house from the outside, though its surroundings of green grass and trees would make any whole beautiful.  Indeed the house itself tried hard to look ugly, not quite succeeding, only because of the kind foiling of its efforts by the Virginia creepers and ivy, which, as if ashamed of its staring countenance, did all they could to spread their hands over it and hide it.  But there was one charming group of old chimneys, belonging to some portion behind, which indicated a very different, namely, a very much older, face upon the house once—­a face that had passed away to give place to this.  Once inside, I found there were more remains of the olden time than I had expected.  I was led up one of those grand square oak staircases, which look like a portion of the house to be dwelt in, and not like a ladder for getting from one part of the habitable regions to another.  On the top was a fine expanse of landing, another hall, in fact, from which I was led towards the back of the house by a narrow passage, and shown into a small dark drawing-room with a deep stone-mullioned window, wainscoted in oak simply carved and panelled.  Several doors around indicated communication with other parts of the house.  Here I found Mrs Oldcastle, reading what I judged to be one of the cheap and gaudy religious books of the present day.  She rose and received me, and having motioned me to a seat, began to talk about the parish.  You would have perceived at once from her tone that she recognised no other bond of connexion between us but the parish.

“I hear you have been most kind in visiting the poor, Mr Walton.  You must take care that they don’t take advantage of your kindness, though.  I assure you, you will find some of them very grasping indeed.  And you need not expect that they will give you the least credit for good intentions.”

“I have seen nothing yet to make me uneasy on that score.  But certainly my testimony is of no weight yet.”

“Mine is.  I have proved them.  The poor of this neighbourhood are very deficient in gratitude.”

“Yes, grannie,——­”

I started.  But there was no interruption, such as I have made to indicate my surprise; although, when I looked half round in the direction whence the voice came, the words that followed were all rippled with a sweet laugh of amusement.

“Yes, grannie, you are right.  You remember how old dame Hope wouldn’t take the money you offered her, and dropped such a disdainful courtesy.  It was so greedy of her, wasn’t it?”

“I am sorry to hear of any disdainful reception of kindness,” I said.

“Yes, and she had the coolness, within a fortnight, to send up to me and ask if I would be kind enough to lend her half-a-crown for a few weeks.”

“And then it was your turn, grannie!  You sent her five shillings, didn’t you?—­Oh no; I’m wrong.  That was the other woman.”