"No," assented Theophil, "Isabel is different too."
And that brought them to Theophil's office and good-bye till the evening.
For the evening there had been fixed an important church meeting, the first annual business meeting of minister and deacons since Londonderry had come to New Zion. It was an occasion of jubilation all round, particularly for Mr. Moggridge, who gave voice to New Zion's general satisfaction, you may be sure, in no uncertain terms of praise.
New Zion was, indeed, New Zion once more, he said, thanks to their indefatigable young pastor,--a play on words which was received with the applause due to so unmistakable a union of wit and truth.
Nor did the proceedings result in mere compliments. The church found itself rich enough to increase its minister's stipend; and when Theophil took Mr. Moggridge back to supper, another surprise awaited him, in the form of a suspicious-looking letter, which, being opened, revealed a quite unexceptionable £50 note, enclosed in a sheet of note-paper, on which was written--"From never mind who."
The writing was unknown to Londonderry, but there could be only one culprit.
"Of course, Mr. Moggridge, this is from you. Really ..."
"No, sir, indeed; you make a mistake there," protested Moggridge, lying badly, and growing purple.
"Who do you suspect, Jenny?"
"Why, of course, it's Mr. Moggridge!"