But, as Mrs.Lane remarked, there were no drones allowed in Mr.Halloway's hive, and before long Phebe found herself insensibly drawn in to be one of the workers too, with any amount of business growing upon her hands, and herself, under this new and wise guidance, becoming more and more capable for it every day.
"A new broom sweeps clean," remarked Mrs.Upjohn, contemptuously, as she heard of the stir and life in St.Joseph's heretofore-dull little parish.
"For my part, I would rather have Mr.White back--if he weren't dead.

He was a good, sensible old man, who knew his place, and was contented to let his Church simmer in the background, where it belongs.

_He_ didn't go flaunting his white gown in people's faces every Saint's day he could trump up, let alone the Wednesday and Friday services.

Who's Mr.
Halloway?
What does anybody know about him beyond that the Bishop recommended him, as if a Bishop must know what's what better than other people, forsooth! Don't tell me!" said Mrs.Upjohn, in unutterable scorn.
"He's a new broom, and he's raising a big dust, and I would liefer have Mr.White back and let the dust lie,--that's all!" But the Joppites were far from sharing Mrs.Upjohn's sentiments.

Mr.
Halloway did, it is true, belong to the wrong Church, but there was a strong suspicion among them that neither had this man sinned, nor his parents, that he was born to so grievous a fate.