Something delayed the arrival of the Wesleyan minister, and a young mancame temporarily in his stead. It was on the thirteenth of January 183-that Mr. Stockdale, the young man in question, made his humble entry intothe village, unknown, and almost unseen. But when those of theinhabitants who styled themselves of his connection became acquaintedwith him, they were rather pleased with the substitute than otherwise,though he had scarcely as yet acquired ballast of character sufficient tosteady the consciences of the hundred-and-forty Methodists of pure bloodwho, at this time, lived in Nether-Moynton, and to give in additionsupplementary support to the mixed race which went to church in themorning and chapel in the evening, or when there was a tea--as many as ahundred-and-ten people more, all told, and including the parish-clerk inthe winter-time, when it was too dark for the vicar to observe who passedup the street at seven o'clock--which, to be just to him, he was neveranxious to do.

It was owing to this overlapping of creeds that the celebrated population-puzzle arose among the denser gentry of the district aroundNether-Moynton: how could it be that a parish containing fifteen score ofstrong full-grown Episcopalians, and nearly thirteen score ofwell-matured Dissenters, numbered barely two-and-twenty score adults inall?

The young man being personally interesting, those with whom he came incontact were content to waive for a while the graver question of hissufficiency. It is said that at this time of his life his eyes wereaffectionate, though without a ray of levity; that his hair was curly,and his figure tall; that he was, in short, a very lovable youth, who wonupon his female hearers as soon as they saw and heard him, and causedthem to say, 'Why didn't we know of this before he came, that we mighthave gied him a warmer welcome!'

The fact was that, knowing him to be only provisionally selected, andexpecting nothing remarkable in his person or doctrine, they and the restof his flock in Nether-Moynton had felt almost as indifferent about hisadvent as if they had been the soundest church-going parishioners in thecountry, and he their true and appointed parson. Thus when Stockdale setfoot in the place nobody had secured a lodging for him, and though hisjourney had given him a bad cold in the head, he was forced to attend tothat business himself. On inquiry he learnt that the only possibleaccommodation in the village would be found at the house of one Mrs.Lizzy Newberry, at the upper end of the street.

It was a youth who gave this information, and Stockdale asked him whoMrs. Newberry might be.

The boy said that she was a widow-woman, who had got no husband, becausehe was dead. Mr. Newberry, he added, had been a well-to-do man enough,as the saying was, and a farmer; but he had gone off in a decline. Asregarded Mrs. Newberry's serious side, Stockdale gathered that she wasone of the trimmers who went to church and chapel both.

'I'll go there,' said Stockdale, feeling that, in the absence of purelysectarian lodgings, he could do no better.

'She's a little particular, and won't hae gover'ment folks, or curates,or the pa'son's friends, or such like,' said the lad dubiously.

'Ah, that may be a promising sign: I'll call. Or no; just you go up andask first if she can find room for me. I have to see one or two personson another matter. You will find me down at the carrier's.'

In a quarter of an hour the lad came back, and said that Mrs. Newberrywould have no objection to accommodate him, whereupon Stockdale called atthe house.

It stood within a garden-hedge, and seemed to be roomy and comfortable.He saw an elderly woman, with whom he made arrangements to come the samenight, since there was no inn in the place, and he wished to househimself as soon as possible; the village being a local centre from whichhe was to radiate at once to the different small chapels in theneighbourhood. He forthwith sent his luggage to Mrs. Newberry's from thecarrier's, where he had taken shelter, and in the evening walked up tohis temporary home.

As he now lived there, Stockdale felt it unnecessary to knock at thedoor; and entering quietly he had the pleasure of hearing footstepsscudding away like mice into the back quarters. He advanced to theparlour, as the front room was called, though its stone floor wasscarcely disguised by the carpet, which only over-laid the trodden areas,leaving sandy deserts under the bulging mouldings of the table-legs,playing with brass furniture. But the room looked snug and cheerful. Thefirelight shone out brightly, trembling on the knobs and handles, andlurking in great strength on the under surface of the chimney-piece. Adeep arm-chair, covered with horsehair, and studded with a countlessthrong of brass nails, was pulled up on one side of the fireplace. Thetea-things were on the table, the teapot cover was open, and a littlehand-bell had been laid at that precise point towards which a personseated in the great chair might be expected instinctively to stretch hishand.

Stockdale sat down, not objecting to his experience of the room thus far,and began his residence by tinkling the bell. A little girl crept in atthe summons, and made tea for him. Her name, she said, was MartherSarer, and she lived out there, nodding towards the road and villagegenerally. Before Stockdale had got far with his meal, a tap sounded onthe door behind him, and on his telling the inquirer to come in, a rustleof garments caused him to turn his head. He saw before him a fine andextremely well-made young woman, with dark hair, a wide, sensible,beautiful forehead, eyes that warmed him before he knew it, and a mouththat was in itself a picture to all appreciative souls.

'Can I get you anything else for tea?' she said, coming forward a step ortwo, an expression of liveliness on her features, and her hand waving thedoor by its edge.

'Nothing, thank you,' said Stockdale, thinking less of what he repliedthan of what might be her relation to the household.

'You are quite sure?' said the young woman, apparently aware that he hadnot considered his answer.

He conscientiously examined the tea-things, and found them all there.'Quite sure, Miss Newberry,' he said.

'It is Mrs. Newberry,' she said. 'Lizzy Newberry, I used to be LizzySimpkins.'

'O, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Newberry.' And before he had occasion to saymore she left the room.

Stockdale remained in some doubt till Martha Sarah came to clear thetable. 'Whose house is this, my little woman,' said he.

'Mrs. Lizzy Newberry's, sir.'

'Then Mrs. Newberry is not the old lady I saw this afternoon?'

'No. That's Mrs. Newberry's mother. It was Mrs. Newberry who comed into you just by now, because she wanted to see if you was good-looking.'

Later in the evening, when Stockdale was about to begin supper, she cameagain. 'I have come myself, Mr. Stockdale,' she said. The ministerstood up in acknowledgment of the honour. 'I am afraid little Marthermight not make you understand. What will you have for supper?--there'scold rabbit, and there's a ham uncut.'

Stockdale said he could get on nicely with those viands, and supper waslaid. He had no more than cut a slice when tap-tap came to the dooragain. The minister had already learnt that this particular rhythm intaps denoted the fingers of his enkindling landlady, and the doomed youngfellow buried his first mouthful under a look of receptive blandness.

'We have a chicken in the house, Mr. Stockdale--I quite forgot to mentionit just now. Perhaps you would like Marther Sarer to bring it up?'

Stockdale had advanced far enough in the art of being a young man to saythat he did not want the chicken, unless she brought it up herself; butwhen it was uttered he blushed at the daring gallantry of the speech,perhaps a shade too strong for a serious man and a minister. In threeminutes the chicken appeared, but, to his great surprise, only in thehands of Martha Sarah. Stockdale was disappointed, which perhaps it wasintended that he should be.

He had finished supper, and was not in the least anticipating Mrs.Newberry again that night, when she tapped and entered as before.Stockdale's gratified look told that she had lost nothing by notappearing when expected. It happened that the cold in the head fromwhich the young man suffered had increased with the approach of night,and before she had spoken he was seized with a violent fit of sneezingwhich he could not anyhow repress.

Mrs. Newberry looked full of pity. 'Your cold is very bad to-night, Mr.Stockdale.'

Stockdale replied that it was rather troublesome.

'And I've a good mind'--she added archly, looking at the cheerless glassof water on the table, which the abstemious minister was going to drink.

'Yes, Mrs. Newberry?'

'I've a good mind that you should have something more likely to cure itthan that cold stuff.'

'Well,' said Stockdale, looking down at the glass, 'as there is no innhere, and nothing better to be got in the village, of course it will do.'

To this she replied, 'There is something better, not far off, though notin the house. I really think you must try it, or you may be ill. Yes,Mr. Stockdale, you shall.' She held up her finger, seeing that he wasabout to speak. 'Don't ask what it is; wait, and you shall see.'

Lizzy went away, and Stockdale waited in a pleasant mood. Presently shereturned with her bonnet and cloak on, saying, 'I am so sorry, but youmust help me to get it. Mother has gone to bed. Will you wrap yourselfup, and come this way, and please bring that cup with you?'

Stockdale, a lonely young fellow, who had for weeks felt a great cravingfor somebody on whom to throw away superfluous interest, and eventenderness, was not sorry to join her; and followed his guide through theback door, across the garden, to the bottom, where the boundary was awall. This wall was low, and beyond it Stockdale discerned in the nightshades several grey headstones, and the outlines of the church roof andtower.

'It is easy to get up this way,' she said, stepping upon a bank whichabutted on the wall; then putting her foot on the top of the stonework,and descending a spring inside, where the ground was much higher, as isthe manner of graveyards to be. Stockdale did the same, and followed herin the dusk across the irregular ground till they came to the tower door,which, when they had entered, she softly closed behind them.

'You can keep a secret?' she said, in a musical voice.

'Like an iron chest!' said he fervently.

Then from under her cloak she produced a small lighted lantern, which theminister had not noticed that she carried at all. The light showed themto be close to the singing-gallery stairs, under which lay a heap oflumber of all sorts, but consisting mostly of decayed framework, pews,panels, and pieces of flooring, that from time to time had been removedfrom their original fixings in the body of the edifice and replaced bynew.

'Perhaps you will drag some of those boards aside?' she said, holding thelantern over her head to light him better. 'Or will you take the lanternwhile I move them?'

'I can manage it,' said the young man, and acting as she ordered, heuncovered, to his surprise, a row of little barrels bound with woodhoops, each barrel being about as large as the nave of a heavy waggon-wheel.

When they were laid open Lizzy fixed her eyes on him, as if she wonderedwhat he would say.

'You know what they are?' she asked, finding that he did not speak.

'Yes, barrels,' said Stockdale simply. He was an inland man, the son ofhighly respectable parents, and brought up with a single eye to theministry; and the sight suggested nothing beyond the fact that sucharticles were there.

'You are quite right, they are barrels,' she said, in an emphatic tone ofcandour that was not without a touch of irony.

Stockdale looked at her with an eye of sudden misgiving. 'Not smugglers'liquor?' he said.

'Yes,' said she. 'They are tubs of spirit that have accidentally comeover in the dark from France.'

In Nether-Moynton and its vicinity at this date people always smiled atthe sort of sin called in the outside world illicit trading; and theselittle kegs of gin and brandy were as well known to the inhabitants asturnips. So that Stockdale's innocent ignorance, and his look of alarmwhen he guessed the sinister mystery, seemed to strike Lizzy first asludicrous, and then as very awkward for the good impression that shewished to produce upon him.

'Smuggling is carried on here by some of the people,' she said in agentle, apologetic voice. 'It has been their practice for generations,and they think it no harm. Now, will you roll out one of the tubs?'

'What to do with it?' said the minister.

'To draw a little from it to cure your cold,' she answered. 'It is so'nation strong that it drives away that sort of thing in a jiffy. O, itis all right about our taking it. I may have what I like; the owner ofthe tubs says so. I ought to have had some in the house, and then Ishouldn't ha' been put to this trouble; but I drink none myself, and so Ioften forget to keep it indoors.'

'You are allowed to help yourself, I suppose, that you may not informwhere their hiding-place is?'

'Well, no; not that particularly; but I may take any if I want it. Sohelp yourself.'

'I will, to oblige you, since you have a right to it,' murmured theminister; and though he was not quite satisfied with his part in theperformance, he rolled one of the 'tubs' out from the corner into themiddle of the tower floor. 'How do you wish me to get it out--with agimlet, I suppose?'

'No, I'll show you,' said his interesting companion; and she held up withher other hand a shoemaker's awl and a hammer. 'You must never do thesethings with a gimlet, because the wood-dust gets in; and when the buyerspour out the brandy that would tell them that the tub had been broached.An awl makes no dust, and the hole nearly closes up again. Now tap oneof the hoops forward.'

Stockdale took the hammer and did so.

'Now make the hole in the part that was covered by the hoop.'

He made the hole as directed. 'It won't run out,' he said.

'O yes it will,' said she. 'Take the tub between your knees, and squeezethe heads; and I'll hold the cup.'

Stockdale obeyed; and the pressure taking effect upon the tub, whichseemed, to be thin, the spirit spirted out in a stream. When the cup wasfull he ceased pressing, and the flow immediately stopped. 'Now we mustfill up the keg with water,' said Lizzy, 'or it will cluck like fortyhens when it is handled, and show that 'tis not full.'

'But they tell you you may take it?'

'Yes, the smugglers: but the buyers must not know that the smugglers havebeen kind to me at their expense.'

'I see,' said Stockdale doubtfully. 'I much question the honesty of thisproceeding.'

By her direction he held the tub with the hole upwards, and while he wentthrough the process of alternately pressing and ceasing to press, sheproduced a bottle of water, from which she took mouthfuls, conveying eachto the keg by putting her pretty lips to the hole, where it was sucked inat each recovery of the cask from pressure. When it was again full heplugged the hole, knocked the hoop down to its place, and buried the tubin the lumber as before.

'Aren't the smugglers afraid that you will tell?' he asked, as theyrecrossed the churchyard.

'O no; they are not afraid of that. I couldn't do such a thing.'

'They have put you into a very awkward corner,' said Stockdaleemphatically. 'You must, of course, as an honest person, sometimes feelthat it is your duty to inform--really you must.'

'Well, I have never particularly felt it as a duty; and, besides, myfirst husband--' She stopped, and there was some confusion in her voice.Stockdale was so honest and unsophisticated that he did not at oncediscern why she paused: but at last he did perceive that the words were aslip, and that no woman would have uttered 'first husband' by accidentunless she had thought pretty frequently of a second. He felt for herconfusion, and allowed her time to recover and proceed. 'My husband,'she said, in a self-corrected tone, 'used to know of their doings, and sodid my father, and kept the secret. I cannot inform, in fact, againstanybody.'

'I see the hardness of it,' he continued, like a man who looked far intothe moral of things. 'And it is very cruel that you should be tossed andtantalized between your memories and your conscience. I do hope, Mrs.Newberry, that you will soon see your way out of this unpleasantposition.'

'Well, I don't just now,' she murmured.

By this time they had passed over the wall and entered the house, whereshe brought him a glass and hot water, and left him to his ownreflections. He looked after her vanishing form, asking himself whetherhe, as a respectable man, and a minister, and a shining light, eventhough as yet only of the halfpenny-candle sort, were quite justified indoing this thing. A sneeze settled the question; and he found that whenthe fiery liquor was lowered by the addition of twice or thrice thequantity of water, it was one of the prettiest cures for a cold in thehead that he had ever known, particularly at this chilly time of theyear.

Stockdale sat in the deep chair about twenty minutes sipping andmeditating, till he at length took warmer views of things, and longed forthe morrow, when he would see Mrs. Newberry again. He then felt that,though chronologically at a short distance, it would in an emotionalsense be very long before to-morrow came, and walked restlessly round theroom. His eye was attracted by a framed and glazed sampler in which arunning ornament of fir-trees and peacocks surrounded the followingpretty bit of sentiment:-

'Rose-leaves smell when roses thrive, Here's my work while I'm alive; Rose-leaves smell when shrunk and shed, Here's my work when I am dead.

'Lizzy Simpkins. Fear God. Honour the King.

'Aged 11 years.

''Tis hers,' he said to himself. 'Heavens, how I like that name!'

Before he had done thinking that no other name from Abigail to Zenobiawould have suited his young landlady so well, tap-tap came again upon thedoor; and the minister started as her face appeared yet another time,looking so disinterested that the most ingenious would have refrainedfrom asserting that she had come to affect his feelings by her seductiveeyes.

'Would you like a fire in your room, Mr. Stockdale, on account of yourcold?'

The minister, being still a little pricked in the conscience forcountenancing her in watering the spirits, saw here a way toself-chastisement. 'No, I thank you,' he said firmly; 'it is notnecessary. I have never been used to one in my life, and it would begiving way to luxury too far.'

'Then I won't insist,' she said, and disconcerted him by vanishinginstantly.

Wondering if she was vexed by his refusal, he wished that he had chosento have a fire, even though it should have scorched him out of bed andendangered his self-discipline for a dozen days. However, he consoledhimself with what was in truth a rare consolation for a budding lover,that he was under the same roof with Lizzy; her guest, in fact, to take apoetical view of the term lodger; and that he would certainly see her onthe morrow.

The morrow came, and Stockdale rose early, his cold quite gone. He hadnever in his life so longed for the breakfast hour as he did that day,and punctually at eight o'clock, after a short walk, to reconnoitre thepremises, he re-entered the door of his dwelling. Breakfast passed, andMartha Sarah attended, but nobody came voluntarily as on the night beforeto inquire if there were other wants which he had not mentioned, andwhich she would attempt to gratify. He was disappointed, and went out,hoping to see her at dinner. Dinner time came; he sat down to the meal,finished it, lingered on for a whole hour, although two new teachers wereat that moment waiting at the chapel-door to speak to him by appointment.It was useless to wait longer, and he slowly went his way down the lane,cheered by the thought that, after all, he would see her in the evening,and perhaps engage again in the delightful tub-broaching in theneighbouring church tower, which proceeding he resolved to render moremoral by steadfastly insisting that no water should be introduced to fillup, though the tub should cluck like all the hens in Christendom. Butnothing could disguise the fact that it was a queer business; and hiscountenance fell when he thought how much more his mind was interested inthat matter than in his serious duties.

However, compunction vanished with the decline of day. Night came, andhis tea and supper; but no Lizzy Newberry, and no sweet temptations. Atlast the minister could bear it no longer, and said to his quaint littleattendant, 'Where is Mrs. Newberry to-day?' judiciously handing a pennyas he spoke.

'She's busy,' said Martha.

'Anything serious happened?' he asked, handing another penny, andrevealing yet additional pennies in the background.

'O no--nothing at all!' said she, with breathless confidence. 'Nothingever happens to her. She's only biding upstairs in bed because 'tis herway sometimes.'

Being a young man of some honour, he would not question further, andassuming that Lizzy must have a bad headache, or other slight ailment, inspite of what the girl had said, he went to bed dissatisfied, not evensetting eyes on old Mrs. Simpkins. 'I said last night that I should seeher to-morrow,' he reflected; 'but that was not to be!'

Next day he had better fortune, or worse, meeting her at the foot of thestairs in the morning, and being favoured by a visit or two from herduring the day--once for the purpose of making kindly inquiries about hiscomfort, as on the first evening, and at another time to place a bunch ofwinter-violets on his table, with a promise to renew them when theydrooped. On these occasions there was something in her smile whichshowed how conscious she was of the effect she produced, though it mustbe said that it was rather a humorous than a designing consciousness, andsavoured more of pride than of vanity.

As for Stockdale, he clearly perceived that he possessed unlimitedcapacity for backsliding, and wished that tutelary saints were not deniedto Dissenters. He set a watch upon his tongue and eyes for the space ofone hour and a half, after which he found it was useless to strugglefurther, and gave himself up to the situation. 'The other minister willbe here in a month,' he said to himself when sitting over the fire. 'ThenI shall be off, and she will distract my mind no more! . . . And then,shall I go on living by myself for ever? No; when my two years ofprobation are finished, I shall have a furnished house to live in, with avarnished door and a brass knocker; and I'll march straight back to her,and ask her flat, as soon as the last plate is on the dresser!

Thus a titillating fortnight was passed by young Stockdale, during whichtime things proceeded much as such matters have done ever since thebeginning of history. He saw the object of attachment several times oneday, did not see her at all the next, met her when he least expected todo so, missed her when hints and signs as to where she should be at agiven hour almost amounted to an appointment. This mild coquetry wasperhaps fair enough under the circumstances of their being so closelylodged, and Stockdale put up with it as philosophically as he was able.Being in her own house, she could, after vexing him or disappointing himof her presence, easily win him back by suddenly surrounding him withthose little attentions which her position as his landlady put it in herpower to bestow. When he had waited indoors half the day to see her, andon finding that she would not be seen, had gone off in a huff to thedreariest and dampest walk he could discover, she would restoreequilibrium in the evening with 'Mr. Stockdale, I have fancied you mustfeel draught o' nights from your bedroom window, and so I have beenputting up thicker curtains this afternoon while you were out;' or, 'Inoticed that you sneezed twice again this morning, Mr. Stockdale. Dependupon it that cold is hanging about you yet; I am sure it is--I havethought of it continually; and you must let me make a posset for you.'

Sometimes in coming home he found his sitting-room rearranged, chairsplaced where the table had stood, and the table ornamented with the fewfresh flowers and leaves that could be obtained at this season, so as toadd a novelty to the room. At times she would be standing on a chairoutside the house, trying to nail up a branch of the monthly rose whichthe winter wind had blown down; and of course he stepped forward toassist her, when their hands got mixed in passing the shreds and nails.Thus they became friends again after a disagreement. She would utter onthese occasions some pretty and deprecatory remark on the necessity ofher troubling him anew; and he would straightway say that he would do ahundred times as much for her if she should so require.