"Du 'ee notice now as Abram bain't in Church this morning, my gell?"
'Lizbeth Colley frowned, "Abram Lestwick's comings and goings du not interest I," she said in a low voice.
The service was in progress. There sat Mrs. Hanson, prim and stiffly upright, the place beside her that had for so long been Betty's was still vacant. There was Miss Dowell, tall, angular and lantern jawed, gifted with a harsh and nasal voice that rose above all other voices when the hymns were being sung, beyond her, her niece little Mary Tiffley, who minded Miss Dowell's shop, ran her unimportant errands, cleaned her house and stye, windows and floors, a useful, hard working little maid Mary, a good wife in the making for some man who would probably work her even harder than did her Aunt Emily. And beyond Mary, that vacant space towards which Mrs. Colley's small bright eyes had been attracted.
Abram Lestwick, regular and devout worshipper, always occupied this place. He had knelt beside Mary Tiffley, had shared his torn and tattered hymn book with her, had thundered the responses in her little ears and it is doubtful if he had ever looked at the round childish pretty face.
Mary Tiffley, Polly Ransom, Ann Geach, what were they to him, he to them? What mattered it to Abram Lestwick that they were pleasant to look on, that they were fine, healthy country maids, any one of whom would make some man a good wife? He did not consider them, they did not exist for him. He could not have told from memory whether Mary Tiffley had fair hair or dark. He had sat next to her in Church; he had bellowed the same hymns with her for five years, since she was a child of twelve, she had grown up beside him and he had not noticed it.
"Aunt Emily, Mister Lestwick bain't in Church this marning," whispered Mary.
"I see him bain't," said Miss Dowell. "Mind your devotions now and don't 'ee getting looking about 'ee."
"Mortal glad I du be," Mary thought, "that he bain't here, for his fingers do fidget I something terribul, they du."
Everyone in Church noted the fact that Abram Lestwick was not there. Compared with the women, there were noticeably few men in Church, Abram was always a distinguished figure and they missed him.
Presently the sermon, which they knew by heart, was drawing towards its natural conclusion. When the Rector arrived at—"And so it behooves us to bear these things in mind. Let us put covetousness out of our heart, let us be content with that which we have, no matter how poor or how lowly be our lots in life. Let us accept God's goodness with thankful hearts asking for no more than it pleaseth Him to give—and——"