“Cæsar Cregeen, don't make a nose of wax of me,” bawled Tom, “and don't think because you're praiching a bit that religion is going to die with you. Your head's swelling tre-menjous, and-you won't be able to sleep soon without somebody to tickle your feet. You'll be forgiving sins next, and taking money for absolution, and these ones will be making a pope of you and paying you pence. Pope Cæsar, the publican, in his chapel hat and white choker! But that chiss is mine, and if there's law in the land I'll have it.” With that Black Tom swept out of the house, and Cæsar wiped his eyes. “No use smoothing a thistle, Mr. Cregeen,” said Jonaique soothingly. “I've a conscience void of offence.” said Cæsar. “I can only follow the spirit's leading. But when Belial----” He was interrupted by a most mournful cry of “Look here! Aw, look, then, look!” Nancy was coming out of the back-kitchen with something between the tips of her fingers. It was a pair of old shoes, covered with dirt and cobwebs. “These were his wearing boots,” she said, and she put them on the counter. “Dear heart, yes, the very ones,” said Grannie. “Poor boy, they'd move a heart of stone to see them. Something to remember him by, anyway. Many a mile his feet walked in them; but they're resting now in Abraham's bosom.” Then Cæsar's voice rose loud over the doleful tones around the counter. “'Vital Spark of Heavenly Flame'--raise it, Mr. Niplightly. Pity we haven't Peter and his fiddle here--he played with life.” “I can'd sing to-day, having a cold, bud I'll whisle id,” said the Constable. “Pitch it in altoes, then,” said Cæsar. “I'm a bit of a base myself, but not near so base as Peter.” Meanwhile a little drama of serious interest was going on upstairs. There sat Kate before the looking-glass, with flushed cheeks and quivering mouth. The low drone of many voices came to her through the floor. Then a dull silence and one voice, and Nancy Joe coming and going between the kitchen and bedroom. “What are they doing now, Nancy?” said Kate. “First one's praying, and then another's praying,” said Nancy. “Lord-a-massy, thinks I, it'll be my turn next, and what'll I say?” “Where's Mr. Christian?” “Gone into the parlour. I whispered him you wanted him alone.” “You never said that, Nancy,” said Kate, at Nancy's reflection in the glass. “Well, it popped out,” said Nancy. Kate went down, with a look of softened sorrow, and Philip, without lifting his eyes, began bemoaning Pete. They would never know his like--so simple, so true, so brave; never, never. He was fighting against his shame at first seeing the girl after that kiss, which seemed to him now like treason at the mouth of a grave. But, with the magic of a woman's art, Kate consoled him. He had one great comfort--he had been a loyal friend; such fidelity, such constancy, such affection, forgetting the difference of place, of education--everything.