"Nay, they are hardly worth the trouble, my son," replied Father John. "And so you are going home. Well, I shall be sorry to miss you, that is the truth. Your fresh young face comes upon me like sunshine. I fear I shall never see you again, for I am an old man, an old man, my dear, and between ourselves," he added, carefully looking round him, "this talk about heresy and the new doctrines, and all, is wearing me into my grave. Here has been Father Barnaby talking to me again about my duty—my duty, forsooth, who was in orders before he had left off his long coats, if indeed he ever wore them, which is doubtful—and the suspected spread of heresy in this part of the world; it was a good world before he came in to spoil it. I would he had been born in Germany or some of those outlandish parts where the Lutherans began, he would have enough to do there. And talking of the spread of heretical books, as if there was any danger from books where not one person in ten knows great A from little b. And to say I want discretion; I that might be his grandfather almost—what think you of that, my son?" In his own mind, Jack was by no means sure that Father Barnaby was mistaken in this last named article; he did not say so, however, but applied himself to comforting the poor old man. "I am sure, father, all the people of the parish love you. I know my uncle does, and so do all the knight's household. I heard them talking of it only a little time ago. I suppose Father Barnaby means to do his duty—" "Oh, duty!" exclaimed Father John, interrupting him. "Whenever I hear folk talking about their duty, I always know they are going to say or do something disagreeable. But what have you there?" as Jack brought forward a basket. "Fresh eggs, sir, ducks' and hens' eggs, and a pair of young fowls which my uncle sends you with his duty to your reverence. You will find them well fatted." "Many thanks, many thanks, my son. And there now, that is the third pair of fowls I have had given me in a week. Does that look as if the parish were given to heresy? Do heretics send chickens and fresh eggs to their priest? Answer me that, now." "I should say not, decidedly," answered Jack, suppressing a smile. "The parish is a good parish if it were let alone," continued Father John, "but there, I must not keep you. I would you were not going, and yet mayhap it is best. Here, take this medal and hang it round your neck. It hath an image of your patron saint, and is of sovereign virtue to keep off the ague, so mayhap it may keep off heresies as well. Go, go, my son, and all the saints bless you!" Jack kissed the old man's hand, promised to wear the medal faithfully, and went away rather wondering that he should feel sad at parting from one with whom his acquaintance had commenced so inauspiciously.