But if Billy never came again his kith and kin came frequently. It became a jest that the Bishop kept the beggars from every house but his own, and that no one else could get a beggar.
He had a book, which he called his "Matricula Pauperum," in which he entered the names of his pensioners with notes of their circumstances. He knew all the bits of family history—when Jemmy Corkell's wife was down with lumbago, and when Robbie Quirk was to kill his little pig.
Billy the Gawk was not alone in thinking that he could outwit the Bishop. When the Bishop wanted a new pair of boots or a new coat, the tailor or shoemaker came to Bishop's Court, and was kept there until his job of work was finished. The first winter after his arrival in his Patmos, he wanted a cloak, and sent for Jabez Gawne, the sleek little fox who had been spokesman for the conspirators against James Quirk, the schoolmaster. Jabez had cut out the cloak, and was preparing it for a truly gorgeous adornment, when the Bishop ordered him to put merely a button and a loop on it to keep it together. Jabez thereupon dropped his cloth and held up his hands where he sat cross-legged on the kitchen dresser, and exclaimed, with every accent of aggrieved surprise:
"My Lord, what would become of the poor buttonmakers and their families if every one ordered his tailor in that way?"
"How so, Jabez?"
"Why, they would be starved outright."
"Do you say so, Jabez?"
"Yes, my Lord, I do."
"Then button it all over, Jabez," said the Bishop.
The Deemster was present at that interview, and went away from it tittering audibly.