her of her own deficiencies, and do no good.
    It was a bright day for Miss Ainley, when she was summoned to Fieldhead to
deliberate on projects so congenial to her; when she was seated with all honour
and deference at a table with paper, pen, ink and - what was best of all - cash
before her, and requested to draw up a regular plan for administering relief to
the destitute poor of Briarfield. She, who knew them all, had studied their
wants, had again and again felt in what way they might best be succoured, could
the means of succour only be found, was fully competent to the undertaking, and
a meek exultation gladdened her kind heart as she felt herself able to answer
clearly and promptly the eager questions put by the two young girls; as she
showed them in her answers how much and what serviceable knowledge she had
acquired of the condition of her fellow-creatures round her.
    Shirley placed at her disposal £ 300, and at sight of the money Miss
Ainley's eyes filled with joyful tears; for she already saw the hungry fed, the
naked clothed, the sick comforted thereby. She quickly drew up a simple,
sensible plan for its expenditure; and she assured them brighter times would now
come round, for she doubted not the lady of Fieldhead's example would be
followed by others: she should try to get additional subscriptions, and to form
a fund; but first she must consult the clergy: yes, on that point, she was
peremptory: Mr. Helstone, Dr Boultby, Mr. Hall, must be consulted - (for not
only must Briarfield be relieved, but Whinbury and Nunnely) - it would, she
averred, be presumption in her to take a single step unauthorized by them.
    The clergy were sacred beings in Miss Ainley's eyes: no matter what might be
the insignificance of the individual, his station made him holy. The very
curates - who, in their trivial arrogance, were hardly worthy to tie her
patten-strings, or carry her cotton umbrella, or check woollen-shawl - she, in
her pure, sincere enthusiasm, looked upon as sucking saints. No matter how
clearly their little vices and enormous absurdities were pointed out to her, she
could not see them: she was blind to ecclesiastical defects: the white surplice
covered a multitude of sins.
    Shirley, knowing this harmless infatuation on the part of her recently
chosen prime minister, stipulated expressly that the curates were to have no
voice in the disposal of the money; that their meddling fingers were not to be
inserted