"O Timson--Timson--Timson!" sighed the vicar; "thou art sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal." "You're another!" puffed Timson, angrily. "What do you mean?" "Where is your charity, my friend? where is your charity?" "Stolen out of the poor-box!" cried Timson, in a huff; "that's where. And you mark my words if they don't come true, and _you'll_ find it out one of these days in Smithfield." "Psh!" ejaculated the vicar, as near to angrily as he could get, and then there was silence till the effervescence had subsided. "I don't like it--I don't like it," said Timson, after a pause. "There! I hate it. You may look, sir; but I've had that Pellet with me this afternoon, and I can't stand those sort of meetings. Why wasn't it some one else, and not that poor sensitive struggling fellow? I'm sure it was the French Papist. Why didn't we discharge old Purkis, or Mrs Ruggles, or the clerk? It was pitiful to see that poor fellow--pitiful! Why didn't you suspect and find out the Frenchman? I should like to see him in custody." "Don't talk nonsense, Timson," said the vicar. "But it's a bad job!" and the old gentleman sighed. "Bad job! Ah! I should think it is a bad job," said the churchwarden. "Now, what would it take to square the matter?" "Square!" "Yes! make up for what has been stolen." "Nothing!" said the vicar, indignantly--"no amount. The sin is there, and we cannot remove it." "'Spose not!" said Timson; "but if twenty or thirty pounds put in the poor-box on the sly would make you feel all right again, and let poor old Pellet off with a good bullying, upon my soul I should feel half disposed to find the money." "Don't be irreverent, Timson; a man's words are never strengthened by an oath. I detest swearing." "Swearing! That's not swearing," said Timson; "that's only being emphatic." "Then don't be emphatic, Timson, but speak plainly, like a man." "Humph!" ejaculated the churchwarden; and then followed a long period devoted to smoking. "Only think of a man of his talent being a thief!" said the vicar, at last. "What! the Papist?" exclaimed Timson; "why, you could see--" "No--no--no--no!" said the vicar, testily; "you know whom I mean. He came here; but I would not see him--Pellet you know." "Why not?" said Timson, bluntly. "Because I'm weak, my friend--weak, and might be tempted to give way, when I know it would not be right." "Well, 'tis hard--'tis hard," said Timson; "I was ready to give way myself; and I don't know now but what I believe the poor fellow is telling the truth." "What did he say, Timson?" said the vicar, "for I won't see him. I would not believe in his guilt till it was forced upon me; but now I am fixed." "What did he say! Why, that it's all a mistake." "I wish it were--I wish it were," said the vicar, who seemed truly grieved; "but let him prove it--let him prove it."