no parish, an' aint under you no more than Tom o' the Gleam be, an' we
both thanks the Lord for't! An' I'm earnin' a livin' my own way an'
bein' a benefit to the sick an' sorry, which aint so far from proper
Christianity. Lor', Parson Arbroath! I wonder ye aint more 'uman like,
seein' as yer fav'rite gel in the village was arskin' me t'other day if
I 'adn't any yerb for to make a love-charm. 'Love-charm!' sez I--'what
does ye want that for, my gel?' An' she up an' she sez--'I'd like to
make Parson Arbroath eat it!' Hor--er--hor--er--hor--er! 'I'd like to
make Parson Arbroath eat it!' sez she. An' she's a foine strappin'
wench, too!--'Ullo, Parson! Goin'?"

The door slammed furiously,--Arbroath had suddenly lost his dignity and
temper together. Peke's raillery proved too much for him, and amid the
loud guffaws of "Feathery" Joltram, Bill Bush and the rest, he beat a
hasty retreat, and they heard his heavy footsteps go hurriedly across
the passage of the "Trusty Man," and pass out into the road beyond.
Roars of laughter accompanied his departure, and Peke looked round with
a smile of triumph.

"It's just like a witch-spell!" he declared. "There's nowt to do but
whisper, 'Parson's fav'rite!'--an' Parson hisself melts away like a mist
o' the mornin' or a weasel runnin' into its 'ole! Hor--er, hor--er,
hor--er!"

And again the laughter pealed out long and loud, "Feathery" Joltram
bending himself double with merriment, and slapping the sides of his
huge legs in ecstasy. Miss Tranter hearing the continuous uproar, looked
in warningly, but there was a glimmering smile on her face.

"We'se goin', Miss Tranter!" announced Bill Bush, his wizened face all
one broad grin. "We aint the sort to keep you up, never fear! Your worst
customer's just cleared out!"

"So I see!" replied Miss Tranter calmly,--then, nodding towards
Helmsley, she said--"Your room's ready."

Helmsley took the hint. He rose from his chair, and held out his hand to
Peke.

"Good-night!" he said. "You've been very kind to me, and I shan't forget
it!"

The herb-gatherer looked for a moment at the thin, refined white hand
extended to him before grasping it in his own horny palm. Then--

"Good-night, old chap!" he responded heartily. "Ef I don't see ye i' the
mornin' I'll leave ye a bottle o' yerb wine to take along wi' ye
trampin', for the more ye drinks o't the soberer ye'll be an' the better
ye'll like it. But ye should give up the idee o' footin' it to