“Aren’t you going to give me nothing?” said the man. “There isn’t a mouthful of food in the place, and the wife may be dead before the morning.”
“Well, what do you say, parson?” said the overseer.
“I say we’ve got quite enough to do to help those who deserve help,” he replied, “and that it’s flying in the face of Providence to interfere with its judgment.” With that he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and took a great gulp of his brandy-and-water.
There was an echo of assent.
“God have mercy on me!” said the man, as he sat down on the form by the table. Zachariah touched him gently, and pushed the plate and jug to him. He looked at Zachariah, and without saying a word, devoured it greedily. He just had time to finish, for the landlord, entering the room, roughly ordered them to turn out. Out they went accordingly.
“The Lord in heaven curse them!” exclaimed Zachariah’s companion when they were in the road. “I could have ripped ’em up, every one of ’em. My wife is in bed with her wits a-wandering, and there a’nt a lump of coal, nor a crumb of bread, nor a farthing in the house.”
“Hush, my friend, cursing is of no use.”
“Ah! it’s all very well to talk; you’ve got money maybe.”
“Not much. I too have no work, no lodging, and I’m driven away from home. Here’s half of what’s left.”
“What a sinner I am!” said the other. “You wouldn’t think it, to hear me go on as I did, but I am a Methodist. The last two or three days, though, I’ve been like a raving madman. That’s the worst of it. Starvation has brought the devil into me. I’m not a-going to take all that though, master; I’ll take some of it; and if ever I prayed to the Throne of Grace in my life, I’ll pray for you. Who are you? Where are you going?”