eavens, Elsworthy, how you talk!" said the alarmed Curate. "What
do you mean?--is Mr Wodehouse ill?--seriously ill?"

"Not serious, as I knows of," said the clerk, with solemnity; "but
being a man of a full 'abit of body--I daresay as the town would enter
into it by subscription if it was proposed as a memorial to _him_, for
he's much respected in Carlingford is Mr Wodehouse. I see him a-going
past, sir, at five o'clock, which is an hour earlier than common, and
he was looking flabby, that's how he was looking. I don't know a man
as would be a greater loss to his family; and they aint been without
their troubles either, poor souls."

"I should be sorry to think that it was necessary to sacrifice Mr
Wodehouse for the sake of our painted window," said the Curate, "as
that seems what you mean. Send over this note for me please, as I have
not time to call. No, certainly, don't send Rosa; that child is too
young and too--too pretty to be out by herself at night. Send a boy.
Haven't you got a boy?--there is a very nice little fellow that I
could recommend to you," said Mr Wentworth, as he hastily scribbled
his note with a pencil, "whose mother lives in Prickett's Lane."

"Thank _you_, sir, all the same; but I hope I don't need to go into
that neighbourhood for good service," said Mr Elsworthy: "as for Rosa,
I could trust her anywhere; and I have a boy, sir, as is the best boy
that ever lived--a real English boy, that is. Sam, take this to Mr
Wodehouse's directly, and wait for an answer. No answer?--very well,
sir. You needn't wait for no answer, Sam. That's a boy, sir, I could
trust with untold gold. His mother's a Dissenter, it is true, but the
principles of that boy is beautiful. I hope you haven't mentioned,
sir, as I said Mr Wodehouse was took bad? It was between ourselves, Mr
Wentworth. Persons don't like, especially when they've got to that
age, and are of a full 'abit of body, to have every little attack made
a talk about. You'll excuse me mentioning it, sir, but it was as
between ourselves."

"Perhaps you'd like me to show you my note," said the Curate, with a
smile; which, indeed, Elsworthy would have very much liked, could he
have ventured to say so. Mr Wentworth was but too glad of an excuse to
write and explain his absence. The note was not to Lucy, however,
though various little epistles full of the business of the district
had passed between the two:--

"DEAR MISS W.,--I hear your father is not quite wel