"That's right. Yon was a fine sermon on Sabbath mornin'. Niver heard the minister better."
"I'm glad," said Elizabeth. "I shall tell Father."
"Ay, do—we must encourage him." Mr. Taylor put what was left of his cake into his mouth, took a large gulp of tea. "It's a difficult field. Nobody knows that better than me."
"I'm sure no one does," said Elizabeth politely but vaguely. Mr. Taylor blew his nose with a large red silk handkerchief.
"Miss Seton," he said, coming close to her, and continuing confidentially, "our Sabbath-school social's comin' off on Tuesday week, that's the ninth. Would you favour us with a song? Something semi-sacred, you know."
"Of course I shall sing for you," said Elizabeth; "but couldn't I sing something quite secular or quite sacred? I don't like 'semi' things."
Mr. Taylor stood on tiptoe to put himself more on a level with his tall companion, cocked his head and looked rather like a robin.
"What's the matter with 'The Better Land'?" he asked.
Elizabeth smiled down at him and shook her head.
"Ah, well! I leave it to you, Miss Seton. Here," he caught her arm as she was turning away, "you'll remind Papa that he's to take the chair that night? Tea on the table at seven-thirty."