"No, sir; no, sir; you don't beg mine," said Timson, taking the vicar's hand. "I beg yours, sir. I know I spoke hastily, for I was angry and put out, for teas are gone up, confound 'em!" "But I was in the wrong, Timson," said the vicar. "As a clergyman, I ought to have governed myself, and known better than to be hasty." "I won't give up in my own premises, sir," exclaimed Timson. "Now, don't smile, sir; they're mine, bought and paid for, and there are the writings in that safe. I was in the wrong; but teas are up horribly this morning, and I'd been reckoning on their going down." Peace was ratified at once, for the two old men shook hands very solemnly for quite a minute. "I'd give something, though, to find out about that money," said the vicar, "for, you see, it's going again." "I can assure you, sir," said the churchwarden, "that I've slept night after night with those poor-boxes in bed with me, and yet I can't see through the thing anyhow. By the way, I have read of such things. You don't happen to be a somnambulist, do you? You haven't been of a night and emptied the poor-boxes in your dreams, scraping together a store, and hidden it away for your heirs, administrators, executors, and assigns to find out?" and as the old man spoke, he glanced round the room, as if seeking a likely spot for such a purpose. "No, Timson, no," replied the vicar, smiling sadly. "You were present when my will was signed; and if there's anything more than is set down on that piece of parchment, I freely give it to you, old friend." "Verbal gifts don't go down with executors, sir," said Timson, with his eyes twinkling; "and besides, I don't think it would be the thing for me to stick to a hoard that you had filched from your own poor-box." "There, there, there!" ejaculated the vicar. "You are talking nonsense, Timson." "Mr Gray, sir," said the churchwarden, seriously, and with some feeling, "a glass of sherry with you, sir; and, though toasts have nearly gone out, I shall drink to your long life. "Yes," continued the churchwarden, after a busy little pause, "it is a good glass of sherry. It is one of my weak points to have a decent glass in the house, and I don't know anything that I like better." "Except a glass of hot toddy," said the vicar, smiling. "Well, well, well, sir," said Timson; "suppose we put that aside, or we shall be getting into cribbage and pipes, and all sorts of other weak points." "True," said the vicar; "but really, Timson, I'm not ashamed of those little weaknesses, even if I am a clergyman. I'm a very humble old fellow, with few friends, and fewer relatives. I don't belong to society, Timson, but keep to my quiet, old-fashioned, country ways, which I brought up with me out of Lincolnshire. I'm not a fashionable parson, Timson, but I try to do my best for those amongst whom I have to teach."