"

"What do you mean, my man?" demanded Arbroath, with a dark smile.

"I mean what I sez"--rejoined Twitt--"I've been stonemason 'ere goin' on
now for thirty odd years an' it's allus been the same 'ere--no 'Igh
Jinks. Purcessin an' vestiments"--here Twitt spread out a broad dirty
thumb and dumped it down with each word into the palm of his other
hand--"candles, crosses, bobbins an' bowins--them's what we calls 'Igh
Jinks, an' I make so bold as to say that if ye gets 'em up 'ere, Mr.
Arbroath, ye'll be mighty sorry for yourself!"

"I shall conduct the services as I please!" said Arbroath. "You take too
much upon yourself to speak to me in such a fashion! You should mind
your own business!"

"So should you, Mister, so should you!" And Twitt chuckled
contentedly--"An' if ye _don't_ mind it, there's those 'ere as'll _make_
ye!"

Arbroath departed in a huff, and the very next Sunday announced that
"Matins" would be held at seven o'clock daily in the Church, and
"Evensong" at six in the afternoon. Needless to say, the announcement
was made in vain. Day after day passed, and no one attended. Smarting
with rage, Arbroath sought to "work up" the village to a proper "'Igh
Jink" pitch--but his efforts were wasted. And a visit to Mary Deane's
cottage did not sweeten his temper, for the moment he caught sight of
Helmsley sitting in his usual corner by the fire, he recognised him as
the "old tramp" he had interviewed in the common room of the "Trusty
Man."

"How did _you_ come here?" he demanded, abruptly.

Helmsley, who happened to be at work basket-making, looked up, but made
no reply. Whereupon Arbroath turned upon Mary--

"Is this man a relative of yours?" he asked.

Mary had risen from her chair out of ordinary civility as the clergyman
entered, and now replied quietly.

"No, sir."

"Oh! Then what is he doing here?"

"You can see what he is doing,"--she answered, with a slight smile--"He
is making baskets."

"He is a tramp!" said Arbroath, pointing an inflexible finger at him--"I
saw him last summer smoking and drinking with a gang of low ruffians at
a roadside inn called 'The Trusty Man'!" And he advanced a step towards
Helmsley--"Didn't I see you there?"

Helmsley looked straight at him.

"You did."

"You told me you were tramping to Cornwall."

"So I was."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Earning a living."

Arbroath turned sharply on Mary.

"Is that true?"

"Of course it is true,"--she repli