What a wonderful thing is a golden guinea in the eye of a poor parish clerk! how reverential it makes a man feel, especially when a stranger pays it for a poor man! He might have got it; but he must have waited the chance till after the next harvest. "That it will, sir--that it will. I'll call and pay the bill at the shop. Are you coming to live in these parts?" "Not for long--not long!" sighed the stranger. "Why, you look very healthy, sir? You are not ill?" "No, no, my man; I do not mean to give you a chance of getting another guinea by me, at least for the present. I only meant to say my stay in this village would not be for long. But where do these poor people live?" "Not in the same place they used to do in the days of their prosperity and respectability. Their house now stands at the corner of the heath, sir: shall I go with you and show it you?" "I can find it; there are not many cottages there. Do you go and pay the bill at the shop; and then if you have a mind to bring the receipt, instead of giving me the trouble to call at your house for it, you will find me at the cottage of these poor people; and hear me, old man, do not talk to any one about this matter. You may as well bring a receipt, also, for your own work at the same time." "You are quite a man of business, I see, sir. I will not fail to be at the cottage this very evening with a receipt in full." The old sexton placed the guinea carefully at the bottom of his pocket, and, shouldering his spade and mattock, marched off towards the village shop. The stranger walked round Nacton churchyard. He stood sometime attentively reading the inscription upon Admiral Vernon's mausoleum; and, taking another look at the humble, new-made grave of Margaret Catchpole's mother, he took the highroad to the heath, and saw the cottage, known by the name of the Shepherd's Cot, at the verge of that wild waste. Meantime the following conversation was going on in that cottage:-- "I wonder," said Margaret to her father, as the old man sat by the log-fire in the chimney-corner, "whether our brother Charles is alive or dead?" "I can just remember him," said the boy; "he used to be very fond of me, and said I should make a good soldier." "I have never heard of him," said the father, "since he went to Ipswich, and enlisted in another name, at the Black Horse, in St. Mary Elms. I understood that his regiment went off to India almost immediately after he enlisted." "I wonder if he is alive?" "I cannot tell, my dear; the chances are very much against it. He was a quick, intelligent, lively boy; and, when he was at work in the fields, used often to say he should like to be a soldier. The old clerk taught him to read and write, and used to say, 'If Charles had a chance he would be scholar enough to succeed him as parish clerk.' He left us at the commencement of our misfortunes; God grant he may meet us again in happier days!"