“Fefteen shilling!” exclaims Mr. Pengelly; “yu’ll never get that to pay him.”
“Then I must go to some other farmer who’ll advance me the money,” says the man.
“Now don’t’y be in no hurry,” says Mr. Pengelly, in a fright lest he should lose a man worth half a crown a day by his work. “Suppose I were to let’y have five shilling. Then yu might go to Stratton, and pay that, and in five days you would have worked it out, keeping twopence a day for your meat; and that will do nicely if yu’re not dainty. Then I would let’y have another five shilling, till yu’d paid up.”
“Done,” says the man.
So Mr. Pengelly pulled the five shillings out, in two half-crown pieces, and gave them to the man.
Directly he had the money in his hand, the fellow drove the spade into the ground, and, making for the gate, took off his hat and said: “I wish yu a gude morning, Mr. Pengelly, and many thanks for the crown. Now I’m off to Taunton like a long dog.” And like a long dog (greyhound) he went off, and Mr. Pengelly never saw him or his two half-crowns again. So the man who cheated the Devil was cheated by a tramp: that shows how clever tramps are.
But to return to the vicar of Morwenstow, and the Dissenters in his parish. Although very bitter in speech against Dissent, he was ready to do any kindness that lay in his power to a Dissenter. He took pains to instruct in Latin and Greek a young Methodist preparing for the Wesleyan ministry, and read with him diligently out of free good-nature. His pupil is now, I believe, a somewhat distinguished preacher in his connection. He was always ready to ask favours of their landlords for Dissenting farmers, and went out of his way to do them exceptional kindnesses.
Some one rallied him with this:—
“Why, Hawker, you are always getting comfortable berths for schismatics.”
“So one ought,” was his ready reply. “I try my best to make them snug in this world, they will be so uncommonly miserable in the next.”