MANSON. Hm! That is strange, too!

MARY. There's a bit of a mystery about it altogether. Would you
like to hear? It is rather like a fairy-tale.

MANSON. It must be. Yes, do go on.

MARY. It was all through Uncle William's Restoration Fund. You
see, our old church is in a perfectly rotten state of decay, and
naturally it would take a lot to repair it: so uncle thought of
starting a Fund--Yes! Wasn't it clever of him?--I addressed all
the envelopes.

Would you believe it, we couldn't get a single halfpenny! Isn't it
a shame?--Such a nice old church, too!

MANSON. How was that?

MARY. That's the question! People have been most rude! Oh, the
letters we have had! The funny thing is, for all their
fault-finding, they none of them agree with each other!--Some say
the foundations are all wrong: some don't like the stained-glass
windows; but if you ask me . . .

MANSON. Yes, what do you think?

MARY. Well, uncle won't hear of it; but I can't help thinking old
Bletchley is right . . .

MANSON. Who's he?