"
About a mile out from Rodchurch they passed the Baptist chapel--a
supremely ugly little building that stood isolated and forlorn in a
narrow banked enclosure among flat pasture fields--and Mavis, making
conversation, called Dale's attention to the tablet that largely
advertised its date.
"Eighteen thirty-seven, Will! That's a long time ago."
"Yes," he said, "a many years back--that takes one. Year the Queen
came to the throne."
"I wonder why they built it out here--such a way from everybody--such
a tramp for the worshipers."
"In those days all non-conformists were a deal more down-trodden than
they are now. It was before people began to understan' the meanin' o'
liberty o' conscience; and, like enough, that's a bit of evidence."
"How so, Will?"
"Quite likely there wasn't a landlord lib'ral enough to give 'em a
patch o' ground within reach o' th' village. Shoved 'em off as far as
they could, to please Mr. Parson, and not contam'nate his church with
the sight of an honest dissenter."
He said all this sententiously and didactically, as one who enjoys
speaking on historical or sociological subjects; but then a cloud
seemed to descend upon him, and he relapsed into gloomy silence.
After another mile they came to Vine-Pits Farm, the home of Mr.
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