"I see yer meanin'. In course I bring it to the A'mighty. 'Twas a mere mistake in speech."
The old man counted out of a canvas bag, to the astonishment of Jill and his vicar, five pounds in silver.
He moved a step nearer and spoke in a low, mysterious tone—
"Fifty pun have I laid by for death and burial, and the rest to Sam, but never a penny have I laid by for the God that brought me into the world, and that be soon going to take me out. The little lass hammered away till I gave her my cabbages, then I said 'No more,' for I kep' thinkin' o' these savin's, that no mortal body do know on. But, parson, your words be hot and uncomfortable, and las' night I lay thinkin' o' this here vestry an' Miss Jill's red bag. 'Twasn't the sermon, nor yet the bag, nor you and Miss Jill put together, but 'twas God that spoked to me in the night.
"'I have loved 'ee,' He kep' sayin', 'I have loved 'ee, Tummas, I have loved 'ee.' An' then came that there tex' 'ee preached on last Sunday, 'Lovest thou Me?' and I were fair broken down. I knowed what the Lord did want. The tenth o' my savin's! And bless God, I knows He loves me, and 'tis that has brought me!"
"Thank God," breathed Mr. Arnold, stretching out his hand and taking Thomas Stone's hard, horny one in his. "I take this gladly, and thank you in my Master's name."
When the old man had gone Jill drew near. She held out her bag a little sorrowfully—
"It has only three shillings and a half-penny in it," she said; "and two shillings are from Sam, and threepence from Annie. I'm afraid our money is very, very little."
"Never mind," said Mr. Arnold cheerfully, seeing her downcast face, "God does not expect more from you at present."
Jill sighed.