In the village they met Miss Buff, going off to the school to hear the Bible read and teach the Catechism—­works of supererogation under the new system, which Mr. Wiley had thankfully remitted to her on account of her popularity with parents and children.

“Your duty to your neighbor and your duty to God and the ten commandments—­nothing else, because of the Dissenters,” she explained in a bustle.  “Imagine the vulgarity of an education for the poor from which the Bible may be omitted!  Dreadful!  I persuade the children to get certain of the psalms, proverbs, and parables by heart out of school.  Bless you! they like that; but as for teaching them such abstract knowledge as what an adverb or an isthmus is, or the height of Mont Blanc, I defy you!  And it is all fudge.  Will they sweep a room or make an apple-dumpling the better for it?  Not they.  But fix it in their minds that whatever their hands find to do they must do it with their might, and there is a chance that they will sweep into the corners and pare the apples thin.  But I have no time to spare, so good-bye, good-bye!”

The general opinion of Beechhurst was with Miss Buff, who was making a stand upon the ancient ways in opposition to the superior master of Lady Latimer’s selection, whose chief tendency was towards grammar, physical geography, and advanced arithmetic, which told well in the inspector’s report.  Miss Buff was strong also in the matter of needle, work and knitting—­she would even have had the boys knit—­but here she had sustained defeat.

Mr. Carnegie’s first visit was to Mrs. Christie, who, since she had recovered her normal state of health, had resumed her habit of drugging and complaining.  Her son was now at home, and when the doctor and Bessie rode across the green to the wheelwright’s house there was the artist at work, with a companion under his white umbrella.  His companion wore a maize pique dress and a crimson sash; a large leghorn hat, garnished with poppies and wheat-ears, hid her face.

“There is Miss Fairfax herself, Janey,” whispered young Christie in an encouraging tone.  “Don’t be afraid.”

Janey half raised her head and gazed at Bessie with shy, distrustful eyes.  Bessie, quite unconscious, reined in Miss Hoyden under the shadow of a spreading tree to wait while the doctor paid his visit in-doors.  She perceived that there was a whispering between the two under the white umbrella, and with a pleasant recognition of the young man she looked another way.  After the lapse of a few minutes he approached her, an unusual modest suffusion overspreading his pale face, and said, “Miss Fairfax, there is somebody here you once knew.  She is very timid, and says she dares not claim your remembrance, because you must have thought she had forgotten you.”

Bessie turned her head towards the diffident small personage who was regarding her from the distance.  “Is it Janey Fricker?” she asked with a pleased, amused light in her face.