It was a great day and a solemn when the squire of Matstead went to
Protestant communion for the first time. It was Easter Day, too, but
this was less in the consideration of the village. There was first the
minister, Mr. Barton, in a condition of excited geniality from an early
hour. He was observed soon after it was light, by an old man who was up
betimes, hurrying up the village street in his minister's cassock and
gown, presumably on his way to see that all preparations were complete
for the solemnity. His wife was seen to follow him a few minutes later.

By eight o'clock the inhabitants of the village were assembled at points
of vantage; some openly at their doors; others at the windows; and
groups from the more distant farms, decked suitably, stood at all
corners; to be greeted presently by their minister hurrying back once
more from the church to bring the communion vessels and the bread and
wine. The four or five soldiers of the village--a couple of billmen and
pikemen and a real gunner--stood apart in an official group, but did not
salute him. He did not speak of that which was in the minds of all, but
he waved a hand to this man, bid a happy Easter to another, and
disappeared within his lodgings leaving a wake of excitement behind him.

By a quarter before nine the three bells had begun to jangle from the
tower; and the crowd had increased largely, when Mr. Barton once more
passed to the church in the spring sunshine, followed by the more devout
who wished to pray, and the more timid who feared a disturbance. For
sentiments were not wholly on the squire's side. There was first a
number of Catholics, openly confessed or at least secretly Catholic,
though these were not in full force since most were gone to Padley
before dawn; and there was next a certain sentiment abroad, even amongst
those who conformed, in favour of tradition. That the squire of Matstead