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“Hardly,” was the hesitating answer.

“She’s been laid in consecrated ground, and I’ve read the burial service over her; what more would you have? Some folk are never satisfied.”

Emptying half his horehound drops into the hand of Master Laurence, Joshua turned on his heel, went to the chapter-house to disrobe, and then back over the wall to Mrs. Clowes.

“I say, dame, you were not at church on Sunday.”

“No, Parson Brookes; I was in Liverpool.”

“Oh!” grunted he, “in Liverpool. Sugar-buying, I suppose?”

“Yea; an’ a fine joke I’ve had.”

Joshua pricked up his ears: he did not object to a little fun.

“You mun know I thought I’d give Branker, the new sugar-brokers, a trial, an’ I went there and asked to see samples; but the young whipper-snapper of a salesman looked at me from top to toe, an’ I suppose, reckoned up the value of my old black bonnet, my kerchief an’ mutch, an’ my old stuff dress, and fancied my pocket must match my gown, for he was barely civil, and didn’t seem to care for the trouble o’ showin’ th’ samples. So I bade my young man good day, and said I’d call again.”