“When I told you yesterday that your idleness and bad habits were bringing you to ruin, you answered—­I was a liar.  I then said, that when you were sorry for having uttered that expression, you might come to the parsonage and tell me so.  You have not been yet—­I am grieved to say it.  What have I ever done to you, Jacob Warden, that you should behave so wickedly?  I do not wish you to humble yourself to me, but I should have been glad to see you do your duty.  If I did mine, perhaps, I should give you up, and see you no more, for I fear you are a hardened man.”

“He hasn’t had no work for a month,” said the wife, in a tone of upbraiding, as if the minister had been the wilful cause of it.

“And whose fault is that, Mrs Warden?  There is work enough for sober and honest men in the parish.  Why was your husband turned away from the Squire’s?”

“Why, all along of them spoons.  They never could prove it agin him, that’s one thing—­though they tried it hard enough.”

“Come, come, Mrs Warden, if you love that man, take the right way to show it.  Think of your children.”

“Yes; if I didn’t—­who would, I should like to know?  The poor are trodden under foot.”

“Not so, Mrs Warden, the poor are taken care of, if they are deserving.  God loves the poor, and commands us all to love them.  Give me your Bible?” The woman hesitated a minute, and then answered—­

“Never mind the Bible, that won’t get us bread.”

“Give me your Bible, Mrs Warden.”

“We have’nt got it.  What’s the use of keeping a Bible in the house for children as can’t read, when they are crying for summat to eat?”

“You have sold it, then?”

“We got a shilling on it—­that’s all.”

“Have you ever applied to us for food, and has it been denied you?”

“Well, I don’t know.  The servant always looks grumpy at us when we come a-begging, and seems to begrudge us every mouthful.  It’s all very well to live on other persons’ leavings.  I dare say you don’t give us what you could eat yourselves.”

“We give the best we can afford, Mrs Warden, and, God knows, with no such feeling as you suppose.  How is the child?  Is it better?”

“Yes, no thanks to Doctor Mayhew either.”

“Did he not call, then?”

“Call!  Yes, but he made me tramp to his house for the physic, and when he passed the cottage the other day, I called after him; but devil a bit would he come back.  We might have died first, of course:  he knows, he isn’t paid, and what does he care?”

“It is very wrong of you to talk so.  You are well aware that he was hurrying to a case of urgency, and could not be detained.  He visited you upon the following day, and told you so.”

“Oh yes, the following day!  What’s that to do with it?”

“Woman” exclaimed Mr Fairman, solemnly, “my heart bleeds for those poor children.  What will become of them with such an example before their eyes?  I can say no more to you than I have repeated a hundred times before.  I would make you happy in this world if I could; I would save you.  You forbid me.  I would be your true friend, and you look upon me as an enemy.  Heaven, I trust, will melt your heart!  What is that child screaming for?”