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“What roight had yo’ to change the neame aw chuse to gi’e that choilt?”

“What right had yo’ to saddle the poor lad with an Irksome name like that?” was the quick rejoinder.

“Roight! why, aw wanted to gi’e th’ lad a neame as should mak’ him thankful fur bein’ saved from dreawndin’ to the last deays o’ his loife.”

“An Irksome name like that would have made him the butt of every little imp in the gutters, until he’d have been ready to drown himself to get rid of it. Jabez is an honourable name, man. You go home, and look through your Bible till you find it.”

Simon was open to conviction; his bright eyes twinkled as a new light dawned upon them.

The gruff chaplain had brushed past him on his way to the robing-room; but he turned back, with his right hand in his breeches pocket, and put a seven-shilling piece in the palm of the tanner, saying:

“Here’s something towards the christening feast of th’ little chap I’ve stood godfather to. And don’t you forget to look in ‘Chronicles’ for Jabez; and, above all, see that the lad doesn’t disgrace his name.”