The old man dropped it into the priest’s hand, in a kind of start, produced by the stern tone of voice in which he was addressed.  When the priest got the money he seemed in a better humor, not wishing, I could see, to send the man away with a bad impression of him.  “Well, now what’s that you were going to say to me?” “Why, sir,” resumed the old man, “that I have not a penny in my possession behind what I have just now put into your hand—­not the price of a morsel for this child or myself, although we have forty miles to travel!” “Well, and how am I to remedy that?  What brought you here, if you had not what would bear your expenses?” “I had, sir, on setting out; but my little boy was five days sick in Petigo, and that took away with it what we had to carry us home.”  “And you expect me, in short, to furnish you with money to do that?  Do you think, my good man, there are not paupers in my own parish, that have a better right to assistance than you have!” “I do not doubt it, sir,” said he, “I do not doubt it; and as for myself I could crawl home upon anything; but what is this child to do? he is already sinking with hunger and—­” The poor man’s utterance here failed him as he cast his eyes on the poor, pale boy.  When he had recovered himself a little, he proceeded:—­ “He is all that it has pleased God to leave to his afflicted mother and me, out of seven of them.  His other brother and sister and him were all we had living for some years; they are seven weeks dead yesterday, of the fever; and when he was given over, sir, his mother and I vowed, that if God would spare him to us, either she or I would bring him to the ‘Island,’ as soon as he would be able for the journey.  He was but weakly settin’ out, and we had no notion that the station was so tryin’ as it is:  it has nearly overcome my child, and how he will be able to walk forty miles in this weak, sickly state, God only knows?” “Oh! sir,” said the boy, “my poor father is worse off and weaker than I am, and he is sick too, sir; I am only weak, but not sick; but my poor father’s both weak and sick,” said he, his tears streaming from him, as he pressed his father’s arm to his breast—­“my poor father is both weak and. sick, ay, and hungry too,” said he.  “Take this,” said the priest, “it is as much as I can afford to give you,” putting a silver fivepenny-piece into his hand; “there’s a great deal of poor in my own parish.”  “Alas I thought, you are not a father.  Indeed, sir,” said the poor man, “I thought you would have allowed me to keep the silver I gave you, as how can we travel two-and-forty miles on this?” “I tell you, my good man,” said the priest, resuming a sterner tone, “I have done as much for you as I can afford:  and if every one gives you as much, you won’t be ill off.”