"But I do mean it, Mr Timson," said the vicar; "and really," he continued poking at the inkstand with the ferule of his umbrella--"and really, I should be glad if you would not treat this matter so lightly, sir. It grieves me very, very deeply, Mr Timson, I can assure you." "Mind the ink, sir," said Mr Timson, placing the bright metal stand out of his visitor's reach. "I don't treat it lightly, sir. It's no joke, and I'm as much put out as yourself. You don't think I want the poor-boxes robbed, do you, sir?" and he spoke with a puffing snort between every two or three words, as if getting warm. "Now don't be rash, Timson--don't be rash. I'm not angry; only, really, you know, it is so worrying, so aggravating--deuced aggravating, I should say, if I were a layman, Timson, I should indeed. There, there! now don't bristle up, there's a good fellow; but tell me what to do." "Take that umbrella ferule out of my ink, that's what you'd better do," said Timson, gruffly; for, in an absent fashion, the vicar was still thrusting at the metal stand, to the great endangering of an open book or two upon the table. "There, there, there!" said the vicar, impatiently, as he placed the obnoxious ferule upon the floor, and pressed it down there with both hands. "Now, then, tell me, Timson, what had I better do?" "How the devil should I know what you ought to do?" exclaimed Mr Timson, for he was out of temper that morning with business matters connected with a sudden rise in teas, just at a time when his stock was low, in consequence of his having anticipated a fall, and the vicar, in his impatient mood, had applied the match which exploded Mr Timson's wrath, when, metaphorically taking off his apron, he spoke up. "Don't swear, Timson," said the vicar, sternly; "`Swear not,'--you know the rest." "Shoo--shoo--shoo--shoo--shoo--shoo--shoo!" ejaculated Mr Timson. "Who did swear?" "Why you did, sir," said the vicar; "and don't deny it." "But I didn't," exclaimed the churchwarden; "and I won't be spoken to like that in my own house. Because we have been friends all these years, John Gray, you presume upon it, and abuse me. I didn't swear; I only said, `How the devil should I know?' and I say it again. Shoo-- shoo--shoo! the devil's in the poor-box." "If you make use of such language, Levi Timson, I must leave your office," said the vicar, severely. "What language?--what language?" exclaimed the churchwarden. "Why, such as yours, sir," retorted the vicar; "introducing the father of evil every moment." "Not I!--not I!" exclaimed Timson. "Introduce him! Not I. Who brought him into the room? Who began it? Who said it first?" "But only in a modified form," said the vicar, humbly; "I qualified it strongly with an `if.' But I was wrong, extremely wrong, Timson; and there! I beg your pardon, Timson. I was put out and annoyed, and spoke hastily," and he held out his hand.