“Then who’ll gi’e out t’ psalms?”
“Parson.”
“Ah!” ejaculated the old man, staring down at his feet.
“Look here, Sammy,” said the Churchwarden, kindly, and with his lips close to the old man’s ear; “Mr Mallow’s a nice sort o’ man, and means kindly.”
“No one to say t’ amens?” said the old clerk, softly.
“He thinks you’re getting too owd for the work.”
“Nobbut t’ people to say the ’sponses,” continued the old clerk, without seeming to hear the Churchwarden’s words.
“He’s been talking to us at sort o’ meeting, and he wants to get up testimonial for thee. Says we owt to make un enew to mak’ thee comfortable to end o’ thee days, and he’ll give twenty pounds towards it, and you’re to have one of the Bede Houses.”
“How’s he going to bury them as dies?” piped the old man, suddenly.
The Churchwarden shook his head.