"Just so, I quite agree with you," said Timson. "The very words I said to him. `Prove it, Pellet,' I said--`prove it, and there's my hand;' and I thought then that he was going to snatch it, so I put it out of his reach." "Such a musician!" said the vicar, "and to think of his proving a thief!" "Just like 'em," said Timson. "Those musicians are all thieves. They steal one another's work, and call it inspiration. But don't you think we might put it a little milder? `Thief' is an ugly word; and--er--er-- er--" "Well?" said the vicar. "What do you say to embezzlement? Embezzled the moneys of the poor." "Embezzlement!" exclaimed the vicar, indignantly; "why, sir, it's sacrilege--an abomination!" "But you know it might turn out to be a mistake after all, and it would be better to have charged a man with embezzling than being a thief." "Ah! Timson, I wish I could think so--I do indeed; but it can't be a mistake. You had your own suspicions of him." "Well, yes," said Timson, drily; "but I hadn't then thought of the Papist. That's the man, sir. Leadenhall Street to a China orange on it." "But you remember how confused he was in the church that day." "What! the Papist fiddler?" "No, no--Pellet. I couldn't help thinking something of it then. And, besides, look at the long hours he has been in the habit of spending in the church alone. I've known him to be there for hours, and not a sound escape from the organ--no boy there, in fact." "Ah!" said Timson, "I'd give five shillings or a pound of my best green for leave to give that boy a good sound quilting." "It all points to the fact that he has yielded to temptation when hampered by poverty," said the vicar, without noticing the interruption. "Well," said Mr Timson, "it's a bad job; but I'm glad that you don't mean to prosecute." "You think with me then, Timson?" "Of course--yes. Do you want to put the father of about a score of children on the treadmill? Why, they run about his house like rabbits; and if you do that, you'll have them come and shriek in your ears for bread." "God forbid! I will hold to your way of thinking. I should never have done for a magistrate, Timson. They wanted me on the bench when I was down in the country; but I backed out; for I knew I should be too easy. No, Timson; I would not deprive the poor fellow of a chance of making an honest living in the future; for, you see, he is a man who has yielded once to temptation, and will repent to the end of his life. No, sir, I would not mar his future, for the world. I'm not one of those men who prosecute upon what they call principle. Perhaps I am wrong, but I am not unmerciful. I believe him to be a good man at heart; and I think, when he leaves, Timson, if we were to put say ten pounds a-piece, and send to him anonymously, it would be giving him a fresh start in life, eh? What do you say?"