door, to the presence of the Vicar's wife.

Mrs. Veale was a personable lady, with a high and narrow brow, and a
penetrating eye that few in the village could evade if they had aught
upon their conscience. It was said, indeed, that she was better than
a curate to her husband, for she could pass where a man could not
in delicacy have gone, and few were the maids, and fewer still the
housewives, who had not benefited by her counsel. She fixed that eye
benevolently upon Loveday now; the lady stately in her black silk, the
locket containing the hair of her departed parent, one-time a canon of
Exeter, lying upon her matronly bosom; the girl awkward in her homespun
wrapper, her feet fearful of standing upon the flowered carpet.

"Come in, Loveday," said Mrs. Veale kindly.

Loveday advanced a step and dropped her curtsey, but not a word could
she say to explain her visit.

"What do you want to see me about?" asked Mrs. Veale briskly--for she
was much busied in good works, and had no time to give over what was
needful to each of them.

"If you please, ma'am, I want work," said Loveday.

Mrs. Veale looked her approval on hearing this most praiseworthy of the
few sentences fit for use of the lower classes. Even when there is no
work to be had such sentiments should be encouraged, and without them
she never unloosed that charity which, when the supply of work failed,
she exercised for the good of her parishioners' bodies and her own soul.