E-text prepared by MRK
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A little party of men and women on bicycles were pushing their machinesup the steep ascent which formed the one street of Feldwick village. Itwas a Sunday morning, and the place was curiously empty. Their littlescraps of gay conversation and laughter—they were men and women of thesmart world—seemed to strike almost a pagan note in a deep Sabbaticalstillness. They passed the wide open doors of a red brick chapel, andseveral of the worshippers within turned their heads. As the last twoof the party went by, the wheezings of a harmonium ceased, and a man'svoice came travelling out to them. The lady rested her hand upon herhost's arm. "Listen," she whispered.
Her host, Lord of the Manor, Lord Lieutenant of the County, and tenthEarl of Cumberland, paused readily enough and leaned his machine againsta kerbstone. Bicycling was by no means a favourite pursuit of his, andthe morning for the time of year was warm.
"Dear lady," he murmured, "shall we go a little nearer and listen to thewords of grace? Anything for a short rest."
She leaned her own bicycle against the wall. From where she was shecould catch a sideway glimpse of a tall, slight figure standing upbefore the handful of people.
"I should like to go inside," she said, indifferently. "Would theythink it an intrusion?"
"Certainly not," he answered, with visions of a chair before him. "As amatter of fact, I have a special invitation to become a member of thatflock—temporarily, at any rate."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"The land here" he answered, "is not entailed, and they are very anxiousto buy this little bit and own their chapel. I had a letter from aworthy farmer and elder, Gideon Strong, on the mat