ese monthly meetings over what long and dreary roads, on what
dreadfully wet and wintry days, through what mud and water, did these
simple and pious creatures, wrapped in great-coats and thick cloaks, and
defended with oil-skin hoods, travel all their lives long? Not a soul
was more punctual in attendance than Johnny Darbyshire. He was a little
man, wearing a Quaker suit of drab, his coat long, his hat not cocked
but slouched, and his boots well worn and well greased.

Peaceful as he sate in these meetings, yet out of them, as I have
remarked, he was a very Tartar, and he often set himself to execute what
he deemed justice in a very dogged and original style. We may, as a
specimen, take this instance. On his way to his regular meeting he had
to pass through a toll-bar; and being on Sundays exempt by law from
paying at it, it may be supposed that the bar-keeper did not fling open
the gate often with the best grace. One Sunday evening, however, Johnny
Darbyshire had, from some cause or other, stayed late with his friends
after afternoon meeting. When he passed through the toll-gate he gave
his usual nod to the keeper, and was passing on; but the man called out
to demand the toll, declaring that it was no longer Sunday night, but
Monday morning, being past twelve o'clock.

"Nay, friend, thou art wrong," said Johnny, pulling out his watch: "see,
it yet wants a quarter."

"No, I tell you," replied the keeper, gruffly, "it is past twelve. Look,
there is my clock."

"Ay, friend, but thy clock, like thyself, doesn't speak the truth. Like
its master, it is a little too hasty. I assure thee my watch is right,
for I just now compared it by the steeple-house clock in the town."

"I tell you," replied the keeper, angrily, "I've nothing to do with your
watch; I go by my clock, and there it is."

"Well, I think thou art too exact with me, my friend."

"Will you pay me or not?" roared the keeper; "you go through often
enough in the devil's name without paying."

"Gently, gently, my friend," replied Johnny; "there is the money: and
it's really after twelve o'clock, thou says?"

"To be sure."

"Well, very well; then, for the next twenty-four hours I can go through
again without paying?"

"To be sure; everybody knows that."

"Very well, then I now bid thee farewell." And with that, Johnny
Darbyshire jogged on. The gatekeeper, chuckling at having at last
extorted a double toll from the shrewd Quaker, went to bed, not on that