The landlady looked at him with a friendly eye, and pursed up her lips. She had been knitting a stocking――a large one――possibly for her own leg, possibly as a Christmas present to a traveller high in her good graces. She scratched her nose with the knitting-pin. Presently her face brightened. 'There is a postboy short,' she said, 'at Cullompton. The young man there, at the Castle Inn, Jack Spratt is his name, has had a fall, and a curious sort of fall too. He was thrown forward from a hoss and fell on his toes, and with the jerk his toes twisted up on end, like the markers for a game of whist. They had to cut the boots off him, and they can't get the toes down again. I never heard of the like before. You are accustomed to 'osses, I suppose?' 'No, but I can learn.' 'And how about your riding?' Mrs. Warne poked at him in the cheek with her knitting-pin, and narrowly escaped putting out his eye. 'I daresay I could do that.' 'Ah! but there is a style about a postilion. To see him from the windows of a calash rise and fall is a picture. You will have to wear a white beaver hat, and a tight yellow jacket, and lily white don't-mention-'ems. You'll do that?' Jack remained silent. He had to swallow his pride. Then Mrs. Warne's face clouded. 'No,' said she, 'it will not do. They will want at the Castle a boy about Jack Spratt's build to get into his suit, and you are twice too stout; you'd explode the garments like the old cannon as they fired when Queen Caroline was let off. But I have another idea.' Again she thrust at him with her knitting-pin. 'You are a scholar. At Cullompton there has been a split among the Methodists, and they have set up a new connection. My sister, who is a groceress in a large way, has taken twenty shares in the new chapel. So far there have been no dividends. They have a tidy chapel, well warmed and lighted, but have not secured a satisfactory preacher. They have tried several, but they do not draw. One had a club foot. Another took snuff, and that the stricter people said savoured of the world. A third was husky in his voice and had no delivery. So they decided that none of these preached the unmixed Gospel, and the shareholders are in a pretty stew about their dividends. What do you say now to trying your powers there? I will recommend you to my sister, she carries weight, and will put you in――and draw you must and will.' Then a tender light came into Mrs. Warne's eyes. 'Lord, Jack! for certain you will draw. You are young, good-looking, and unmarried, and if you are of an amorous disposition――――' 'I will never do,' sighed he, as the vision of the groceress in a large way who carried weight rose before his mind's eye.