eat, and say his
prayers into his box-hat same as I'm doing now." (He took Tall Hat the
Second from the table, and poured--or rather puffed--an imaginary
petition into its interior.)

"Now, listen to what happened next. The very day after I'd put the last
shillin' into the plate--that was three months, you must remember, after
I'd bought the 'at--up comes a note from the cook at the Rectory, saying
as the weekly order for butter was to be reduced from six pounds to
five. 'I suppose it's because Master Norman's goin' to boarding school,'
I says to the missis. 'Not it,' says she, 'one mouth more or less don't
make no difference in a big household like that. Besides, they're not
the people to cut it fine.' 'I wonder what it means,' I says. But I
hadn't long to wait. About a fortnight later I met old Charley Shott and
says to him, jokin' like, 'Well, Charley, how much did you pay for your
Sunday box-hat?' 'Cost me nothing,' said Charley laughin'. 'I've run up
a little bill against his Reverence for that 'at. And, what's more, I've
made him pay it! By the way,' says he, 'what's become o' their appetites
down at the Rectory? We've just received warnin' as no more poultry'll
be wanted till further orders.' 'I don't know,' says I; but it was a
lie, for it come over me in a flash what it all meant. Even then,
however, I wasn't _quite_ sure.

"However, it was twenty-one weeks before I got the final clearing-up.
Thirty-three weeks to the very day, reckoning from the Saturday which I
bought the 'at, comes another message from the Rectory: 'Please send six
pounds of butter as before.'

"Next day I went to church as usual. No sooner did Mr. Abel give out his
text than I saw it all, plain as daylight. The text was something about
'robbery of God.' There was not a thing I've told you about the 'at that
was not put into that sermon. Of course, it was roundabout--all about
pearls and precious stones and such like; but it was my box-hat he was
driving at all the time. It was Solomon mostly as he talked about; but I
nearly jumped out of my seat when he made Solomon shake his fist at the
'Oly Temple on Mount Zion and say almost the very words as I said as I
drove by the church that Saturday night. First he went for me, and then
he went for Charley Shott, and I can tell you that he twisted the tails
of both on us to a pretty tune! Says I to myself, 'Don't I know who's
put you up to preaching that sermon?' And more than seven months gone
s