along the streets toward the church. It was but slowly for she rarely
went out on a week day, when her neighbors' shops were open; and there
were too many attractions in the windows for even her anxiety and
consciousness of a solemn mission to resist altogether.

The church and the rectory looked so peaceful amid the trees, just
tinged with the hues of autumn, that Ann Holland's spirits insensibly
revived. There was little sign of life about the rectory, for no one was
living in it at present but Mr. Warden, the clergyman who had taken Mr.
Chantrey's duty. Ann Holland opened the church-yard gate and strolled
pensively up among the graves to the porch, that she might rest a little
and ponder over what she should say to Mrs. Bolton. There was not a
grave there that she did not know; those lying under many of the grassy
sods were as familiar to her as the men and women now in full life in
the neighboring town. Just within sight, near the vestry window was a
little mound covered with flowers, where she had seen a little child of
David and Sophy Chantrey's laid to rest. A narrow path was worn up to
it; more bare and trodden than before Mr. Chantrey had gone away. Ann
Holland knew as well as if she had seen her, that the poor solitary
mother had worn the grass away.

The church door was open; for Mr. Warden had chosen to make the vestry
his study, and had intimated to all the parish that there he might
generally be found if any one among them wished to see him in any
difficulty or sorrow. Though this was well known, no one of Mr.
Chantrey's parishioners had gone to him for counsel; for he was a grave,
stern, silent man, whose opinion it was difficult to guess at and
impossible to fathom. He was unmarried, and kept no servant, except the
housekeeper who had been left in charge of the rectory. All society he
avoided, especially that of women. His abruptness and shyness in their