So the afternoon wore away; and by the time darkness settled down upon the land, the lifeboat collection had made sensible advance. More than seven pounds had been added to it since lunch.
Seven pounds! But one hundred pounds were needed!
"It will come. We shall get it," Mr. Gilbert said aloud, cheerily. "I must send out fresh appeals by post. And now, positively, I must get half-an-hour's reading."
It was early in the week, but the Vicar generally liked to fix upon his next Sunday's subjects in early days, so as to allow time for thought.
A modest little ring presently sounded, and he glanced up to murmur,—"Another half-crown, probably. It is nice to see the dear people responding as they do. Up to and even beyond their ability, I do believe—in some cases. Yet, others could give more," and he thought of Mr. Mokes.
Mrs. Maggs brought another envelope; just a common envelope of cheap white paper, addressed to "The Vicar."
"Who left this, Mrs. Maggs?"
"I really couldn't tell you, sir. There wasn't any name said; and I couldn't even see what sort of a person it was. It gets dark so soon at that back door. Yes, he came to the back door, and he had a sort of woollen muffler up to his face, and he didn't scarcely look at me. He just poked that into my hand, with a sort of a queer grunt, and was of in a moment, before you could say so much as 'thank you.'"
"What sort of man?"
"I couldn't tell the very least, sir. I didn't get a proper look at him at all."