‘On what, sir?’
‘“On the Blessings of Poverty.”’
‘Well, I never heard of them. I am sure I shall like to read that.’
‘Here they are, then,’ said the Vicar, handing them smilingly. ‘And now we must wish you good-morning; our time is precious, and we have a good deal to do yet.’
‘Had you better not give her something to eat?’ said one of the curates in a low voice as they were turning away.
‘Oh dear no!’ said the Vicar; ‘that would be very wrong—very wrong indeed.’ Then in an undervoice he added: ‘Our intrusion here is quite a mistake. This is not a case in which we can interfere. But we wish you a good-morning, with the compliments of the season; and I will get my daughter to call with a few more tracts, and perhaps she might like to buy some of your artificial flowers.’
‘I am sure I should be glad to see her.’
‘Well, well, we shall see. You know me, of course; I am the Vicar of the parish. Of course, you have often seen me at church.’
‘Well, I can’t say that I have.’
‘Why, you don’t mean to say you don’t go to a place of worship? You are not a heathen, are you?’