“There shall be one, certainly, if it will be any satisfaction to you. I should not wonder at your desiring it; but what could make Alick wish it?” “He liked the idea that Sarah Swallow would hear him made much of, sir. In fact, sir, he left his silver-topped gin-bottle to the parson, if he made her cry at his funeral sermon. Hope no offence, sir?” James had an idea that he had a better chance of making Sarah cry than any other parson in the world. He was pretty sure of the gin-bottle, if he chose to try for it: but he was heartily vexed that he had promised the sermon. While he was meditating his next evasion, Morse went on,— “And since you have been so ready about the sermon, sir, perhaps you have no objection to be accommodating about the text?” “None in the world,” replied James, hoping that the matter would end in the necessity of making Sarah laugh. “Let me hear.” “Perhaps you remember, sir, the text about the soul——something about the bird and the snare of the fowler. My son thought that text would tell that the manner of his death was by poachers.” “As if everybody did not know that already!” muttered James. “Well, Morse; make yourself easy.” “And you may depend, sir, on having the gin-bottle on the Monday morning.” “And when is the funeral to be, Morse?” “Why, sir, they say it must be to-morrow, sir. The undertaker says so, sir; or else——” “To-morrow! D—n it!” muttered James. “Wallace and I had fixed to-morrow for a morning’s shooting; and it is the last day we shall have this week. Morse, did your master say he could spare you to-morrow?” “He did, sir. I am as sorry as you can be to spoil sport in such a way. But the undertaker is positive.” “Then there is no help for it. I am not going back from my word, Morse.” It was a most delicious morning for sport. James came down with a countenance as black as night. Wallace was making ready to go forth. He only waited to know whether James meant to meet him in A——, some hours hence, on business relating to these poachers. Certainly. James thought he might as well get two irksome engagements fulfilled in one day. He would meet Wallace at the Turk’s Head in the afternoon. “Bless me! I’m late, I suppose,” cried he. “Here’s poor Morse himself coming to look after me. That punch was so confoundedly strong last night, I could not wake for the life of me this morning. Coming, Morse. I’m sorry if I’m late; but I dare say you have got a methodist or two from A——, and they will entertain your company with a hymn till we get up to beat their cover. Don’t hurry yourself, my poor fellow.” “By no means, sir. But what I came for was——I hate to spoil sport, sir, and it is a rare morning; and so, sir, if you will make me sure of the sermon, I’ll let you off this morning’s work, and secure you the gin-bottle, all the same.” “Now I call that kind, Morse.” “And when I have seen him earthed, sir——”