"You do, sir, you do," said the churchwarden, warmly; "and you make me disgusted with myself for being put out with your anxiety about this poor-box. Now let's set to and go over it all, quietly and methodically. What's to be done?" "I don't know--I don't know," said the vicar, despondingly; "but we shall find him out to a certainty some day." "Him!" exclaimed the churchwarden,--"him, sir?" "Well, yes; him, or her, or it. I would not care if I could get just an inkling of who it could be. But I'm determined upon one thing, Timson, and that is, if there is much more of it, I will do away with the poor-boxes altogether, and preach an extra charity-sermon every quarter;" and the vicar tucked his umbrella beneath his arm, as if ready to go. "But I say, sir," exclaimed Mr Timson, "I would not bear it in mind quite so much." "What do you mean, Timson?" said the vicar. "Texts, sir, texts!" said Mr Timson, drily. "Well, Timson, I won't--I won't, really; though, between ourselves--as friends--as old friends you know--I don't mind telling you, that I had been making up the heads of a discourse for next Sunday upon the parable of the lost piece of money. But I'll take your advice, and try something else." "Do!" said his friend, "and let the matter rest. Don't show that you notice it, sir; be quite quiet, and we shall put them off their guard; I've my suspicions yet!" "No, you have not, Timson," said the vicar, laughing, "not you. You're not a suspicious man, and never were." "Nor you neither," said the tea-dealer, shaking hands. "Good morning." And as his old friend went through the busy portion of the house, raising his hat in reply to the salute of clerks and warehousemen, the churchwarden muttered to himself, "A thorough gentleman!" An opinion from which some people differed. Volume 2, Chapter VIII. THE ST RUNWALD'S MYSTERY. Gentlemanly or ungentlemanly, to blame in making a friend of the churchwarden, a tea-dealer, or not, the vicar was thoroughly conscientious, and this constant plundering of a little store intended for the poor of the parish was a sore and festering thorn in his side. It may be questioned, though, whether the poor really were sufferers by the thefts. More probably they were gainers; for, ignorant of the amount pilfered, and feeling that to a certain extent the little fund was in his charge, the vicar would often drop a sovereign or two into the little heap when the boxes were emptied, in order to make up the deficiency, which might, perhaps, in fact, be not more than a few shillings. But it was in vain that the good vicar fidgeted and fretted, rubbing his hair into all sorts of shapes, and especially that of a silver flame issuing from the top of his head. The pilfering went on, now ceasing for a while, now re-commencing, while the simple expedient of emptying the boxes after each service was never thought of by any one.