by a single brace. The better-dressed urchins moved away from him
and made rude remarks, after the generous manner of their kind; but
Paul did not care. Pariahdom was his accustomed portion. He was
there for his own pleasure. They were going to ride in a train. They
were going to have a wonderful afternoon in a nobleman's park, a
place all grass and trees, elusive to the imagination. There was a
stupefying prospect of wondrous things in profusion to eat and
drink-jam, ginger-beer, cake! So rumour had it; and to
unsophisticated Paul rumour was gospel truth. With all these
unexperienced joys before him, what cared he for the blankety little
blanks who gibed at him? If you imagine that little Paul Kegworthy
formulated his thoughts as would the angel choir-boy in the
pictures, you are mistaken. The baby language of Bludston would
petrify the foc'sle of a tramp, steamer. The North of England is
justly proud of its virility.

The Sunday school, marshalled by curates and teachers, awaited the
party from the vicarage. The thick and darkened sunshine of Bludston
flooded the asphalt of the yard, which sent up a reek of heat,
causing curates to fan themselves with their black straw hats, and
little boys in clean collars to wriggle in sticky discomfort, while
in the still air above the ignoble town hung the heavy pall of
smoke. Presently there was the sound of wheels and the sight of the
head of the vicar's coachman above the coping of the schoolyard
wall. Then the gates opened and the vicar and his wife and Miss
Merewether, her daughter, and Maisie Shepherd appeared and were
immediately greeted by curates and teachers.

Maisie Shepherd, a stranger in a strange land, pretty, pink,
blushing, hatefully self-conscious, detached herself, after a minute