I could not promise to stay there any longer, having settled to return on Thursday to resume services in the church previously referred to.  Accordingly I went back to a neighbouring town, where my good vicar had appointed to meet me.  He did so, and, without delay, commenced telling me, that he had had a long talk with some of his brother clergymen, and had given his word that the services were positively to be discontinued after that night; he also told me he had taken my place by the coach, and that I was to start for Exeter the next morning, on my way home.  Then he went on to say that he found it would be dangerous to keep me any longer, for he should have the whole neighbourhood up about it.  In his timidity, he would rather let the work stop, than be embroiled with the neighbourhood!

The evening service was crowded, and the people were very disappointed that I was not allowed to remain.  However, I told them it could not be, and that I must go—­so took leave of them.

The next morning we rose early, and breakfasted at six o’clock, then drove out to the turnpike road, to meet the coach at an appointed corner, at seven.  It arrived in due time, piled up high into the air with passengers and luggage; but having an inside place secured for me, we were not dismayed at the outside appearance.  The coachman got off the box, and, instead of opening the coach door as we expected, put some money into my hand, and, with a grinning countenance, said, “There’s your money, sir.  Sorry to say can’t take you today; hain’t got a crevice of room anywhere.  Good morning, sir.”  In a moment more he was up on his box, with reins in hand.  “Take you tomorrow, sir, same time.  Good morning.”  And off he went’.  Imagine our surprise at being left on the roadside in this unceremonious way.  My good little vicar was most indignant at being thus treated.  “I’ll make him pay for that,” he said.  “I’ll punish him—­it’s against the law.”  And then, as if a new thought had suddenly come to him, he said, “Ah, I know what we will do!  Jump into the carriage again”; and putting my luggage in, he got up, and drove me to the next town.  He said, “We will take a post-chaise, and make the coach people pay for it; that’s it—­that’s what we will do.”

I suggested that I did not think we could do that, having received the money back.

“Ah, that’s nothing,” he said; “that’s nothing.  We will take a post-chaise.”

This scheme was prevented; for on arriving at the hotel, there was not a carriage of any kind to be had.  “Are you sure of that?” said the vicar (as if all the world was in league with the coach proprietor).  “Are you quite sure?”

“You had better come and see for yourself,” said the ostler, in a surly tone.

We went into the yard, and found the coach houses quite empty.

“That’s very remarkable,” said the vicar; “but these people are connected with that coach—­it changes horses here.  We will go to the next inn.”