"Ay, they're going ahead, Sammy, but we don't care for the opposition shop. We've got the old established bank, eh?" "That's a true word, Master Portlock," piped the old man, "and we can pity 'em, wi' their plans and local preachers, a set o' nobodies, o' sons o' Levi, takking off their aprons and running fro' behind their counters to usurp the priest's office; but you mark my words, and you may tell parson what I say; if he's coming down here thinking to do just as he likes, he'll be driving all folk to chapel." "No, no; not he, Sammy." "Ay, but he will, altering ta chutch sarvice, an' upsetting all that's owd--schoolmaster, and clerk, and chutch. You tell him that he may keep his man till I'm dead, and then put him in, for I nivver had a boy o' my own to tak' my place." "But he hasn't got a man." "Eh? Not got a man? Good job too. He don't want one?" "No. He isn't going to have a clerk any more." "Eh?" "I say you'll be the last clerk o' Lawford. There'll nivver be another." "Nivver be another? What dost ta mean?" "Mr Mallow is going to do the service wi'out a clerk," roared the Churchwarden. "Do sarvice wi'out a clerk!" piped the old man, indignantly; "who's to say t' `Amens'?" "Congregation and singers." "An' what 'bout t' 'sponses?" quavered the old clerk. "People!" They were standing in the churchyard, walled up high above the town street, and as the Churchwarden spoke the old clerk placed his left hand across the small of his back, and stamping his stick on the cobble stones of the path, he made an effort to straighten himself up so as to gaze at the venerable mouldering square-towered church, taking it in from end to end with his pale grey eyes before resuming his former attitude with his head on one side. "Not going to have another clerk?" he quavered. "No," roared the Churchwarden. "No one to say t' amens and 'sponses?" "No." "Who's t' help him on wi' his gownd?" The Churchwarden shook his head. "Who's going to shut pulpit door?" There was another shake of the Churchwarden's head. "Then who'll gi'e out t' psalms?" "Parson." "Ah!" ejaculated the old man, staring down at his feet. "Look here, Sammy," said the Churchwarden, kindly, and with his lips close to the old man's ear; "Mr Mallow's a nice sort o' man, and means kindly." "No one to say t' amens?" said the old clerk, softly. "He thinks you're getting too owd for the work." "Nobbut t' people to say the 'sponses," continued the old clerk, without seeming to hear the Churchwarden's words. "He's been talking to us at sort o' meeting, and he wants to get up testimonial for thee. Says we owt to make un enew to mak' thee comfortable to end o' thee days, and he'll give twenty pounds towards it, and you're to have one of the Bede Houses." "How's he going to bury them as dies?" piped the old man, suddenly. The Churchwarden shook his head.