quiet road expecting further disturbance till towards daylight; but,
just as he was about to pop into bed, he heard some one ride up and cry,
"Gate!"

Internally cursing the late traveller, he threw on his things and
descended to open the gate, when he was astonished to see the Quaker
returned.

"Thou says it really _is_ past twelve, friend?"

"To be sure."

"Then open the gate: I have occasion to ride back again."

The gate flew open, Johnny Darbyshire trotted back towards the town, and
the man, with double curses in his mind, returned up stairs. This time
he was not so sure of exemption from interruption, for he expected the
Quaker would in a while be coming back homewards again. And he was quite
right. Just as he was about to put out his candle, there was a cry of
"Gate." He descended, and behold the Quaker once more presented himself.

"It really _is_ past twelve, thou says?"

"Umph!" grunted the fellow.

"Then, of course, I have nothing more to pay. I would not, however,
advise thee to go to bed to-night, for it is so particularly fine that
I propose to enjoy it by riding to and fro here a few hours."

The fellow, who now saw Johnny Darbyshire's full drift, exclaimed,
"Here, for God's sake, sir, take your money back, and let me get a wink
of sleep."

But Johnny refused to receive the money, observing, "If it _was_ after
twelve, then the money is justly thine; but I advise thee another time
not to be _too_ exact." And with that he rode off.

Such was his shrewd, restless, domineering character, that his old
friend, the neighboring miller, a shrewd fellow too, thought there must
be something in Quakerism which contributed to this, and was therefore
anxious to attend their meetings, and see what it was. How great,
however, was his astonishment, on accompanying Johnny, to find about
half a dozen people all sitting with their hats on for a couple of hours
in profound silence; except a few shufflings of feet, and blowing of
noses; and then all start up, shake hands, and hurry off.

"Why, Master Darbyshire," said the dry old miller, "how is this? Do you
sit without parson or clerk, and expect to learn religion by looking at
your shoe-toes? By Leddy! this warn't th' way George Fox went on. He was
a very talking man, or he would na ha' got such a heap of folks
together, as he did. You've clearly gotten o' th' wrong side o' th'
post, Johnny, depend on't; an' I dunna wonder now that you've dwindled
awee so."