altar; when did it ever say with a convinced and resolute heart: 'I will
be healthy and simple before anything. I will not let the love of sanity
and natural conditions die out of me!' When, Miss Freeland, when?"

And, looking so hard at Nedda that he almost winked, he added:

"You have the advantage of me by thirty years. You'll see what I shall
not--the last of the English peasant. Did you ever read 'Erewhon,' where
the people broke up their machines? It will take almost that sort of
national heroism to save what's left of him, even."

For answer, Nedda wrinkled her brows horribly. Before her there had come
a vision of the old, lame man, whose name she had found out was Gaunt,
standing on the path under the apple-trees, looking at that little
something he had taken from his pocket. Why she thought of him thus
suddenly she had no idea, and she said quickly:

"It's awfully interesting. I do so want to hear about 'the Land.' I only
know a little about sweated workers, because I see something of them."

"It's all of a piece," said Mr. Cuthcott; "not politics at all, but
religion--touches the point of national self-knowledge and faith, the
point of knowing what we want to become and of resolving to become it.
Your father will tell you that we have no more idea of that at present
than a cat of its own chemical composition. As for these good people
here to-night--I don't want to be disrespectful, but if they think
they're within a hundred miles of the land question, I'm a--I'm a
Jingo--more I can't say."

And, as if to cool his head, he leaned out of the window.