‘Perhaps you will like to accept of this little tract,’ said the Vicar, who wished to show his sympathy, but who did not exactly know how. ‘It is prettily got up, and I rejoice to say it has been found greatly useful. You will, perhaps, read it with more interest as it was written by myself. And here is another, by my daughter, “On the Blessings of Poverty.”’ ‘On what, sir?’ ‘“On the Blessings of Poverty.”’ ‘Well, I never heard of them. I am sure I shall like to read that.’ ‘Here they are, then,’ said the Vicar, handing them smilingly. ‘And now we must wish you good-morning; our time is precious, and we have a good deal to do yet.’ ‘Had you better not give her something to eat?’ said one of the curates in a low voice as they were turning away. ‘Oh dear no!’ said the Vicar; ‘that would be very wrong—very wrong indeed.’ Then in an undervoice he added: ‘Our intrusion here is quite a mistake. This is not a case in which we can interfere. But we wish you a good-morning, with the compliments of the season; and I will get my daughter to call with a few more tracts, and perhaps she might like to buy some of your artificial flowers.’ ‘I am sure I should be glad to see her.’ ‘Well, well, we shall see. You know me, of course; I am the Vicar of the parish. Of course, you have often seen me at church.’ ‘Well, I can’t say that I have.’ ‘Why, you don’t mean to say you don’t go to a place of worship? You are not a heathen, are you?’ ‘I hope not, sir; but I have to work so hard all the week that I am thankful for a little more rest on a Sunday, and when I go out I go to chapel.’ ‘To chapel! How is that?’ said the Vicar, in a by no means pleased tone. ‘Don’t you know all Dissenters are schismatics? My good woman, I am sorry for you.’ ‘Well, sir, I go to chapel because I was brought up to it, and it seems more homelike.’ ‘Well, then, the chapel people must look after you. You are not in my charge at all. It is a pity, and I am sorry for it. Perhaps, if we saw you at church we could help you a little, if ever you did require any aid. But we can’t discuss that question. It is clear we have no further business here, have we, Mr. Jones?’ The curate with that uncommon name replied to his reverend superior, ‘Certainly not.’ ‘Certainly not,’ replied the poor woman, with a shade of disappointment over her pale face, and a little more of pardonable acidity in her tone; ‘certainly not. I am no beggar.’ ‘Just so, my good woman,’ said the Vicar, as he tripped with his curate downstairs. ‘Just so; as I have said, we have to exercise the utmost care in the disposal of our funds.’