I confess here to my reader, that these are not really the names I
read on the card. I made these up this minute. But the names of the
persons of humble position in my story are their real names. And my
reason for making the difference will be plain enough. You can never
find out my friend Old Rogers; you might find out the people who
called on me in their carriage with the ancient white horses.

When they were seated in the drawing-room, I said to the old lady--

"I remember seeing you in church on Sunday morning. It is very kind
of you to call so soon."

"You will always see me in church," she returned, with a stiff bow,
and an expansion of deadness on her face, which I interpreted into
an assertion of dignity, resulting from the implied possibility that
I might have passed her over in my congregation, or might have
forgotten her after not passing her over.

"Except when you have a headache, grannie," said Miss Gladwyn, with
an arch look first at her grandmother, and then at me. "Grannie has
bad headaches sometimes."

The deadness melted a little from Mrs Oldcastle's face, as she
turned with half a smile to her grandchild, and said--

"Yes, Pet. But you know that cannot be an interesting fact to Mr.
Walton."

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Oldcastle," I said. "A clergyman ought to
know something, and the more the better, of the troubles of his