a mistake, that he would very soon
present her with a sixpence. He even called upon
Plumley. and had a chat with Mrs. P.; in
the course of which, he expressed his regret
that "Jane had not been so generous a god-
mother to her Jane as he could have wished,
but soon, he hoped—"

Mrs. Plumley interrupted him by begging
he wouldn't mention that.

"And not only that," Mr. Crample
continued, looking pointedly towards the grocer,
"but other obligations we are under to our
kind neighbours, we hope in a short period
to—liquidate."

The butcher was not at home when Mr.
Crample called; but, Mr. Crample left an
ambiguous message, implying that his next
interview with Mr. Slicer should be more
agreeable than the last.

Mrs. Crample employed herself in making
out a list of the household liabilities, and
apportioning the expected cash in various
sums to each creditor. In fact, every
possible preparation was made; and, on the
morning when it was expected, nothing was
wanted to the renovated prosperity of the
Crample establishment—but the money.

The next morning, alas, the postman passed
the window! Shirley was sent after him.
Was he sure there was no letter for papa?

"None!"

The morning after, and the next, it was the
same. Could the bill have miscarried?

On the fifth day, Mr. Crample wrote again,
inquiring if his last letter had reached
Messrs. St. John Clare, Thompson, and
Company. With hungry patience, he paused
for a reply during another week. Poor Mrs.
Crample was, meantime, obliged to turn the
screw of economy tighter and tighter, until the
pinch reached even the younger branches.
Shirley had to drink his milk-and-water without
any sugar whatever; and Charles James
was reduced to dry bread. Their dress, too,
was so shabby they could hardly appear at
church.

Innumerable were the excuses for Messrs.
St. John Clare, Thompson, and Company,
with which Crample amused himself.
Perhaps the entire firm had gone out of town,
and would send the money when they returned;
possibly, their capital had suddenly got
"locked up"—(he derived the expression
from an indigo broker, to whose son he had
been tutor, but had not the remotest idea of
its meaning), and somebody had lost the key.
Suddenly it struck him that he might not have
addressed his letters legibly enough for post-
office deciphering—a very common fault of
college-bred men. He therefore wrote once
more; and, in a clear round text that might
have served for a sign, directed his letter
to "Messrs. St. John Clare, Thompson, and
Company, Cecil Street, Strand, London."

In a few days the letter was returned to
the writer, with the following inscription,
"Gone away; not known where."

"Ah," said the reverend victim, when he
showed this to his wife; "I now feel sure
that the whole matter is a hoax. Peradventure,
Messrs. Thompson and Co. are a fiction
—some young college bloods, perhaps, who
just put these advertisements into the papers
for fun!"

Two months have passed. Breakfast,
such as it is, has been removed. Plumley
and Slicer both appear; they know that
yesterday their pastor received his quarter's
stipend. They have dropped in, to ascertain
to what extent he is prepared to liquidate the
balances upon their once little, now large
accounts. They have scarcely opened the
glass door to go away, when the postman
appears. The parson seizes a letter eagerly; it
is directed in a strange, stiff, business hand.
Would his visitors wait till he reads the first
line? He breaks the seal, and the words
"St. John Clare, Thompson, and Co." gladden
his eyes. He turns to his creditors. He hints
that Plumley's patience and the butcher's Iong-
sufferance will now be rewarded. He turns the
leaf with the greatest care, fearing that the
bank note, or cheque on the neighbouring bank,
may be blown away. Pleased with a confused
and nervously-murmured promise of speedy
payment, coupled with the word
"remittance," the creditors retire joyfully. Crample
has now time and composure to examine the
letter carefully.

Not the vestige of a bank note or bank
paper of any kind can he discern! He feels
that he is not strong enough to peruse the
epistle by himself, and desires the presence of
his wife and eldest daughter. Thus
reinforced, he reads; and the following words
grow dim before his eyes:

"The Rev. Carmichael Crample,
"Crookenden Vicarage,
"Hunts.

"Clifford's Inn.

"Sir,

"Unless the amount of the dishonoured
bill (fifty pounds), drawn by Messrs. St. John Clare,
Thompson, and Co., and accepted by you, be paid
forthwith (together with interest and costs), I am
instructed by the present holder thereof, Oloman
l'Evy, Esq., to inform you that legal proceedings
will be commenced against you without further
notice.

"We are, sir, your obedient servants,
"WRINKLE AND CLIP."

The trio are silent. Each looks at the other
for an explanation of the meaning of the
extraordinary application. The reverend gentleman,
having earnestly applied this dumb
catechism first to his wife and then to his
daughter, turns his abstracted look upon the
backs of his books; and, staring intently at
his St. Ignatius, asks it aloud "how he could
be expected to pay a debt he has never
incurred, while a great many which, alas, he
honestly owes, he is unable to liquidate?"
St. Ignatius is, of course, not communicative;
but, by this time, the full scope and effect of
the villany has revealed itself to Jane.