s leisure. The
dinner was quickly despatched, and they walked out together.

For half an hour, their forms might have been seen pacing the churchyard
to and fro, while Mr. Pickwick was engaged in combating his companion's
resolution. Any repetition of his arguments would be useless; for what
language could convey to them that energy and force which their great
originator's manner communicated? Whether Mr. Tupman was already tired
of retirement, or whether he was wholly unable to resist the eloquent
appeal which was made to him, matters not, he did NOT resist it at last.

'It mattered little to him,' he said, 'where he dragged out the
miserable remainder of his days; and since his friend laid so much
stress upon his humble companionship, he was willing to share his
adventures.'

Mr. Pickwick smiled; they shook hands, and walked back to rejoin their
companions.

It was at this moment that Mr. Pickwick made that immortal discovery,
which has been the pride and boast of his friends, and the envy of every
antiquarian in this or any other country. They had passed the door
of their inn, and walked a little way down the village, before they
recollected the precise spot in which it stood. As they turned back, Mr.
Pickwick's eye fell upon a small broken stone, partially buried in the
ground, in front of a cottage door. He paused.

'This is very strange,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'What is strange?' inquired Mr. Tupman, staring eagerly at every object
near him, but the right one. 'God bless me, what's the matter?'

This last was an ejaculation of irrepressible astonishment, occasioned
by seeing Mr. Pickwick, in his enthusiasm for discovery, fall on his
knees before the little stone, and commence wiping the dust off it with
his pocket-handkerchief.

'There is an inscription here,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Is it possible?' said Mr. Tupman.

'I can discern,'continued Mr. Pickwick, rubbing away with all his might,
and gazing intently through his spectacles--'I can discern a cross, and
a 13, and then a T. This is important,' continued Mr. Pickwick, starting
up. 'This is some very old inscription, existing perhaps long before the
ancient alms-houses in this place. It must not be lost.'

He tapped at the cottage door. A labouring man opened it.

'Do you know how this stone came here, my friend?' inquired the
benevolent Mr. Pickwick.

'No, I doan't, Sir,' replied the man civilly. 'It was here long afore I
was born, or any on us.'