"MISS HERMINY'S a angel! That's what she be!" The old gardener at the Rectory, who was uncle to the head-gardener at the Hall, and who prided himself not a little on that social distinction, brought down his spade with an expressive bump. Then he rested his two aged and muscular hands upon the spade handle and peered upward into the face of the person addressed, before proceeding to deliver himself more fully of his sentiments. "Miss Herminy's a angel! That's what I says! And I don't care who unsays it! She's got the wings a-wanting, and nought else. If 'twasn't for that, sir, she'd just soar right away, she would, to her native element, nor wouldn't stay no longer on this here sordid earth…
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