‘No,’ said the Rector, ‘they told me nothing.’ This with a sigh so deep, so near akin to a groan, that it smote the heart of the lively Stammers. ‘I’m afraid you’re tired, sir, this ’ot day—tryin’ weather—so changeable; the thermumitor has gone up to eighty-one, Farren’s heat. Can I get you a glass of water, sir, with a dash of somethink, if I might take the liberty?’ ‘Thank you, Stammers; no, it’s nothing. I’ve been a little worried lately. Bopolt had no business to admit any one into the church habitually.’ ‘I daresay Mr. Vandeleur made it worth his while, sir. He was quite a gentleman, I assure you. And it wasn’t as if you was in the ’abit of keepin’ the sacramential plate in the vestry.’ ‘There are other things that a man can steal,’ said the Rector moodily; ‘more precious things than paten or chalice. But no matter. I don’t suppose Bopolt meant any harm, only—only he might have told me. Good-afternoon, Mr. Stammers.’ ‘Do you feel yourself strong enough for the walk ’ome, sir? You look rather pale—overcome by the ’eat.’ ‘Yes, yes; quite strong. Good-afternoon;’ and Stephen Davoren plodded his way down the shadeless High-street till he came to a little court leading to the church; Wykhamston Church being, for some reason or other, hidden away at the back of the High-street, as though it were an unsightly thing, and only approachable by courts and alleys. Old John Bopolt, the parish clerk, quavering and decrepit after the manner of rural clerks, had his habitation in the court which made the isthmus of communication between the High-street and the churchyard. He rose hastily from his tea-table at sight of his Rector, and made a little old-world bow, while Mrs. Bopolt and Mrs. Bopolt’s married daughter, and the married daughter’s Betsy Jane, an unkempt girl of fourteen or so, huddled together with a respectful and awestricken air before that dignitary. ‘Bopolt,’ said the Rector, in a sterner tone than he was wont to use, ‘what right had you to allow the church to be made a lounging-place for idle strangers?’ ‘A lounging-place, sir! I never did any such-like thing. There was no lounging went on, to my knowledge; but I’ve been in the habit of showing the monniments occasionally, as you know, sir, to any respectable stranger, and the rose winder over the south door.’ ‘Showing the monuments; yes, that’s one thing. But to let a stranger have the key habitually—’ ‘Meanin’ the gentleman at the George, sir,’ faltered the clerk, with an embarrassed air. ‘He was quite the gentleman; and Mr. Filby, the organist, sir, knew as he was in the ’abit of playin’ the organ for a ’our or so, and left the keys for him regular, did Mr. Filby, and says to me, “John, whenever Mr. Vandeleur at the George likes to play the organ, he’s free and welcome, and you can tell him so, with my respects.”’ ‘He bribed you, I suppose?’ said Mr. Davoren.