ed his cottage), was not a member,
director, secretary, and treasurer, all in one, and all at once! If it
had been possible for man be ubiquitous, Mr Jollyboy would have been so
naturally; or, if not naturally, he would have made himself so by force
of will. Yet he made no talk about it. His step was quiet, though
quick; and his voice was gentle, though rapid; and he was chiefly famous
for _talking_ little and _doing_ much.

Some time after the opening of our tale, Mr Jollyboy had received
information of Mrs Grumbit's stocking movement. That same afternoon he
put on his broad-brimmed white hat and, walking out to the village in
which she lived, called upon the vicar, who was a particular and
intimate friend of his. Having ascertained from the vicar that Mrs
Grumbit would not accept of charity, he said abruptly,--"And why not--is
she too proud?"

"By no means," replied the vicar. "She says that she would think shame
to take money from friends as long as she can work, because every penny
that she would thus get would be so much less to go to the helpless
poor; of whom, she says, with much truth, there are enough and to spare.
And I quite agree with her as regards her principle; but it does not
apply fully to her, for she cannot work so as to procure a sufficient
livelihood without injury to her health."

"Is she clever?" inquired Mr Jollyboy.

"Why, no, not particularly. In fact, she does not often exert her
reasoning faculties, except in the common-place matters of ordinary and
every-day routine."

"Then she's cleverer than most people," said Mr Jollyboy, shortly. "Is
she obstinate?"

"No, not in the least," returned the vicar with a puzzled smile.

"Ah, well, good-bye, good-bye; that's all I want to know."

Mr Jollyboy rose, and, hurrying through the village, tapped at the
cottage door, and was soon closeted with Mrs Dorothy Grumbit. In the
course of half an hour, Mr Jollyboy drew from Mrs Grumbit as much
about her private affairs as he could, without appearing rude. But he
found the old lady very close and sensitive on that point. Not so,
however, when he got her upon the subject of her nephew. She had
enough, and more than enough, to say about him. It is true she began by
remarking, sadly, that he was a very bad boy; but, as she continued to
talk about him, she somehow or other gave her visitor the impression
that he was a very _good_ boy! They had a wonderfully long and
confidential talk about