"Won't bury the little one?" Tom's voice failed him, and he nodded shortly. "Phew!" Biggins gave a low, sibilant whistle. Then, flushing up, he exclaimed-- "Damn him! No--I don't mean that. Lord forgive me for speaking so of a parson. But, I say, Tom--oh, no, he can't mean it, lad. Tell you what, he's a queer one, and as proud as a peacock, and his boys arn't what they should be. You needn't tell him what I say, for I don't want to offend nobody, that's my motter through life; but parson's a parson, and he's bound to practise what he preaches. You go and see him." "I mean to." "Shall I go with thee, lad?" "No. I'll go alone." "P'raps you'd better, lad. If he makes any bones about it, ask him as a favour--don't be hot with him, Tom, but a bit humble. I know thee don't like to ask favours of any man; but do't for her sake, Tom--indoors." Biggins pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, and the wheelwright nodded. "When is the best time to see him?" said Tom, after a few moments' silence. "Well, it's no good to go till 'bout two o'clock, after his lunch. He won't see me, even on parish matters, in the morning." The wheelwright nodded, and, without another word, Biggins went away, passing the cottage, with its drawn-down blinds, on tiptoe, and shaking his fist at a boy who was whistling as he went along the road. PART ONE, CHAPTER NINE. ORTHODOX TO A DEGREE. The Rev Lawrence Paulby looked rather aghast at the changes Mr Mallow was effecting in the church, and sighed as he thought of the heart-burnings that were ever on the increase; but he said nothing, only went on with his daily routine of work, and did his best, to use his own words, "for everybody's sake." Joe Biggins, as we have learned, had succeeded old Sammy Warmoth as far as a successor was wanted, and he now, in a most sheepish manner, looking appealingly at the Curate, wandered about the church as a verger, in a long black gown, and carrying a white wand, to his very great disgust and the amusement of the schoolboys, several of whom had tested its quality. The little old organ had been brought down from the loft where the singers used to sit, and placed in the chancel, where there was no room for it, so a kind of arched cupboard had been built expressly to contain it; and where the Rector's and churchwardens' families used to sit, close up by the communion rails, was now occupied by the surpliced choir, who weekly attempted a very bad imitation of a cathedral service. They chanted all the psalms to the Gregorian tones, item, the responses and the amens; and beginning always very flat, they gradually grew worse and worse, till, towards the close of the service, they would be singing a long way on towards a semitone beneath the organ, which always gave a toot to pitch the key for the Rector or Curate to start in intoning his part.