Old Sammy Warmoth took a couple of feeble steps towards the edge of the path, and began to poke at the loose, friable earth of the grave nearest to him with the long brass ferrule of his stick, taking two hands to the task, and making quite a little hole. "It's getten time I was put down theer," he said, in a low voice that was very pathetic in its tones. "There's a sight o' my owd friends I've seen put down here, and its getten time for me to be put along wi' 'em, sown a corruptible body to be raised an incorruptible, for I spose I'm getten owd and good for nowt." "Oh, nay, nay, Sammy," said the Churchwarden, warmly. "Don't take on about it. Tak' my advice. Don't be obstinit, but just go up and see parson quiet like, an' say you give up, and tak' it kindly, an' I'll see as you don't come to no wrong." "No one to say t' amens," muttered the old man--"no one to say t' 'sponses--no one to gi'e out t' psalms. Why," he cried, raising his voice, "I b'lieve it now." "Believe what, Sammy?" "That he's goin' to have t' owd pews out, and put i' benches; and I said when I heerd it as the dead wouldn't rest i' theer graves if he did." "It's all true, Sammy. They're going to spend three thousand pounds i' doing up t' owd church, and young Lord Artingale's going to give us an organ." "Then I wean't go," cried the old man, stamping his stick down on the stones. "I'll nivver do it. I've been here clerk and saxton these sixty year, and I helps wi' ivvery grave even now. It wean't do. It's a revvylootion, and a sweeping away of t' owd chutch, like they did among the French, and I'll be one o' the faithful while I live." "Nonsense, man; come, say thou'lt give up quiet like," said the Churchwarden, soothingly. "Eh?" "Say thou'lt give up quietly." "Nivver, nivver!" quavered the old man, angrily. "It's as much my chutch as his, and if he goes wrong wi' his new notions and idees, I'll stand by mine. There's nivver been a clerk o' Lawford as didn't die a clerk, and dost ta think I'll be the first, Master Portlock? Nivver. I'll howd by chutch till t' last, say what thou will!" "Poor owd boy!" said the Churchwarden, as he stood watching the tottering figure descending the slope on the farther side of the churchyard, till it seemed from where the gazer stood as if the old man were sinking slowly into a grave. First he disappeared to the middle, then the path line was level with his shoulders, and a few moments more and his head had gone. "Poor owd boy!" said the Churchwarden, musingly. "It can't be for long. I'll ask parson to let him stop." PART ONE, CHAPTER TWO. THE RECTORY GIRLS. "I love the country! I love the country!" "Hush, hush, Cynthy! don't be so childish; some one will hear you." "No one is near us, Ju. That's why I like being down here." "But it is so childish to keep running up the banks and shouting like that."