e!" and he gave a sounding slap to his leg in
sheer ecstacy. "Caught in the act by 'is wife! Oh lor', oh lor'! 'Is
wife! An' _aint_ she a tartar!"

"But how did all this happen?" asked Helmsley, amused.

"Why, this way, David--quite 'appy an' innocent like, Missis Arbroath,
she opens a letter from 'ome, which 'avin' glanced at the envelope
casual-like she thinks was beggin' or mothers' meetin', an' there she
finds it all out. Vicar's fav'rite gel writin' for money or clothes or
summat, an' endin' up 'Yer own darlin'!' Ha-ha-ha-he-he-he! Oh Lord!
There was an earthquake up at the rect'ry this marnin'--the cook there
sez she never 'eerd sich a row in all 'er life--an' Missis Arbroath she
was a-shriekin' for a divorce at the top of 'er voice! It's a small
place, Weircombe Rect'ry, an' a woman can't shriek an' 'owl in it
without bein' 'eerd. So both the cook an' 'ousemaid worn't by no manner
o' means surprised when Mister Arbroath packed 'is bag an' went off in a
trap to Minehead--an' we'll be left with a cheap curate in charge of our
pore souls! Ha-ha-ha! But 'e's a decent little chap,--an' there'll be no
'igh falutin' services with _'im_, so we can all go to Church next
Sunday comfortable. An' as for old Arbroath, we'll be seein' big
'edlines in the papers by and by about 'Scandalous Conduck of a
Clergyman with 'is Fav'rite Gel!'" Here he made an effort to pull a
grave face, but it was no use,--his broad smile beamed out once more
despite himself. "Arter all," he said, chuckling, "the two things does
fit in nicely together an' nat'ral like--'Igh Jinks an' a fav'rite gel!"

It was impossible not to derive a sense of fun from his shining eyes and
beaming countenance, and Angus Reay gave himself up to the enjoyment of
the moment, and laughed again and again.

"So you think he's gone altogether, eh?" he said, when he could speak.

"Oh, 'e's gone all right!" rejoined Twitt placidly. "A man may do lots
o' queer things in this world, an' so long as 'is old 'ooman don't find
'im out, it's pretty fair sailin'; but once a parson's wife gets 'er
nose on to the parson's fav'rite, then all the fat's bound to be in the
fire! An' quite right as it should be! I wouldn't bet on the fav'rite
when it come to a neck-an'-neck race atween the two!"

He laughed again, and they all talked awhile longer on this unexpected
event, which, to such a village as Weircombe, was one of startling
importance and excitement, and then, as the afternoon