He was sleeping.
"Now, Miss Clegg, ye'd never think that was the fellow that made such a stir in the world but five years since. But there he lies. He always eats as much as he can, and goes to sleep after his meal. He's waking up now, sir. Here, Mr. Schuabe, some ladies have come to see you."
It got up with a foolish grin and began some ungainly capers.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Pritchard," the girls said as they left the building. "We've enjoyed ourselves so much."
"I liked the little man with his tongue hanging out the best," said one.
"Oh, Mabel, you've no sense of humour! That Schuabe creature was the funniest of all!"
THE THIRD PICTURE
A Sunday evensong. The grim old Lancashire church of Walktown is full of people. The galleries are crowded, every seat in the aisles below is packed.
This night, Easter night, the church looks less forbidding. The harsh note is gone, something of the supreme joy of Holy Easter has driven it away.
Old Mr. Byars sits in his stall. He is tired by the long, happy day, and as the choir sings the last verse of the hymn before the sermon he sits down.