Celestina gave in without a murmur to waiting till after tea for the piece of stuff she longed for so ardently, and she set to work in a neat, handy way to help her mother with the tea-table.  They understood each other perfectly, these two, though few words of endearment passed between them, and caresses were rare.  People were somewhat colder in manner at that time than nowadays perhaps; much petting of children was not thought good for them, and especially in the case of an only child, parents had great fear of ‘spoiling.’  But no one who looked at Mrs. Fairchild’s sweet face as her eyes rested lovingly on her little girl could have doubted for a moment her intense affection.  She had a very sweet face; Celestina thought there never could be anybody prettier than mother, and I don’t know that she was far wrong.  If she ever thought of herself at all—­of her looks especially—­it was to hope that some day she might grow up to be ‘like mother.’

Tea was ready—­neatly arranged on the table, though all was of the plainest, a little carefully-made toast to tempt father’s uncertain appetite the only approach to luxury—­when Mr. Fairchild came in and sat down in the one arm-chair rather wearily.  He was a tall thin man, and he stooped a good deal.  He had a kindly though rather nervous and careworn face and bright intelligent eyes.

‘Redding is full of news as usual,’ he said, as Mrs. Fairchild handed him his tea.  ’He is a good-natured man, but I wish he wouldn’t talk quite so much.’

‘He had some excuse for talking this evening,’ said Celestina’s mother; ’it is news of importance for every one at Seacove, and of course it must affect Mr. Redding a good deal.  I shall be glad if the new clergyman is more hearty about improving the music.’

Celestina so far had heard without taking in the drift of the conversation, but at the last words she pricked up her ears.

’Is there going to be a new clergyman—­is old Dr. Bunton going away, mother?’ she asked eagerly, though the moment after she reddened slightly, not at all sure that she was not going to be told that ’little girls should not ask questions.’  But both Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild were interested in the subject—­I think for once they forgot that Celestina was only ‘a little girl.’

‘Yes,’ the mother replied; ’he is giving up at last.  That has been known for some weeks, but it is only to-day that it has been known who is to succeed him.  Mr. Vane, that is the name, is it not?’ she added, turning to her husband.

’The Reverend Bernard Vane, at present vicar of St. Cyprian’s, somewhere in the west end of London—­that is Redding’s description of him,’ Mr. Fairchild replied.  ’I don’t know how a fashionable London clergyman will settle down at Seacove, nor what his reasons are for coming here, I’m sure.  I hope the change will be for good.’

But his tone showed that he was not at all certain that it would prove so.