talk in the village, that you have been brought home intoxicated from the White Horse."

Sir," said George, starting from his chair with his face flushed as the utter falsehood of the accusation stung him into angry indignation, "Sir, it's a," then recollecting he was speaking to the clergyman, he said hastily, "I beg pardon, sir, for speaking so hasty, but it is, sir, it is a lie; and who it is that has done me this cruel wrong, and why, I know no more than you do, sir. Me drunk at the White Horse!" and then he put his head upon the table and sobbed. It had cut him to the heart. Had he heard it through some village gossip he would very likely have laughed it off as absurd. But the accusation having come through his friend the vicar, made its falsehood doubly galling.

"Be calm, George," said Mr. Thompson, putting his hand on his shoulder. "I am as much concerned as you are in clearing up this matter, and will not leave it till I have done so. I want first, however, to ask you a question

or two."

"But

it "

you don't believe it, sir, do you? You can't believe

The vicar smiled slightly at his eagerness, and said, “I suppose I need not," so calmly and with so pleasant a tone that George's brow grew smooth, and he exclaimed, "Thank you for that, sir, and thank God too; but it's very hard, sir, to bear-very hard."

"Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for him," repeated Mr. Thompson; "fret not thyself because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass. Cease from anger and forsake wrath; fret not thyself in anywise to do evil." "And now," he added, "I want you to tell me what there is, if there is anything, which can have given rise to this report, this absurd and false report as I feel assured it is. Your wife tells me you have just been to the White Horse; have you ever been there at a time which might give rise to suspicion ?"

George thought a bit and then said, "I've been there a good deal betimes, for there's been a good deal to do about the old place, and the landlord says to me, 'George, I have you because you ain't one of those drinking chaps; and don't you never join 'em,' he says. 'You're welcome,' he says, 'to a drop o' beer if you wants it, but never be a drinking man, George,' he says, 'or you don't do no more

work for me.' But I never took a drop at his house, for I said to myself, though there might be no harm in it, yet there's them as will talk; and I wouldn't, and Mr. Drover he'll tell you the same."

"Mr. Drover's testimony will be valuable," replied the vicar; "but were you never there late at night, or under any circumstances that may have given occasion to malicious tongues."

Well, to be sure, so I was, but I'd never thought of it till now; it was one stormy night not a great while back, you know it's an old place, and the wind took off some tiles, then it came on to rain and blow harder, and presently the wet poured into the bedroom, and Mr. Drover sent to me to see if I could come and do something to stop it just for the night, till the roof could be properly mended; and I was there I daresay a good part of an hour about it. And when I was coming away old Mrs. Drover was standing at the bar, and she spoke to me and says, 'George, you're wet, have a drop of something warm;' and I says No thank'ee, ma'am, and much obliged to you all the same, but I'd rather not.' Well, she begged me to, but I wouldn't, and I stood talking there may be half a minute, and then the old gentleman he says, You're right, George, you're as well without it, and it 'ud be a good thing if more thought like you:' and so we said good night, and I came away about eleven o'clock, I think; and just as I was passing, old Backbite came out to put up his shutters, for he'd been up late finishing a job, and I noticed that he stopped and looked after me after I'd said good-night, but I never thought any more about it."

"And you hadn't heard this report?" asked Mr. Thomp

son.

"Not a word, sir; it came on me like a thunder-clap; and I'm sure I beg pardon for being so hasty, sir, but I felt so angry that I couldn't help it at the time."

แ

"I shall not think anything more about it," said the vicar; "but now we must see what's to be done. The best thing, I think, will be for you and me to go together to the White Horse. I don't suppose," he added, pleasantly, they'll say the vicar's taken to drinking; anyhow I'll run the risk."

George smiled, and they walked away together.

A very few minutes sufficed to put Mr. Thompson in possession of the facts of the case. He felt satisfied either

that George had been the victim of some malicious misrepresentation, or else of that scarcely less evil and no less mischievous thing, scandalous gossip. Old Mr. Drover was scarcely less indignant than George Willis himself.

I

tell'ee, sir, if it was true of him he should never have a job of me again. But it's the truth, sir, that he's never took a drop in my house, no, not that night when he was a'most wet through, and when it 'ud a been no harm if you'd a took it yourself, sir. But I tell'ee what it is, sir, there's some in the parish as aren't satisfied unless they're doing somebody mischief, and especially them as aren't as bad as themselves; and I'll stand by him, Mr. Thompson I will; and very kind it is of you to do it too."

As Benjamin Backbite was the only person, as far as George knew, who had seen him that night; the vicar, now that he was armed with the old innkeeper's version of the story, thought it would be as well to go and see him.

In answer to the vicar's question he admitted he had heard about the story," but there," he said, "it don't do to believe all we hears."

66

Certainly not," replied the vicar, "but this is not a question to be so lightly disposed of. Here's a character at stake, and character is a man's bread; and it's more than that, it's his honour; and we have no more right to steal a man's good name than we have to steal his purse. So you must excuse my asking you a question or two, Mr. Backbite."

Benjamin moved a little uneasily in his seat as if he didn't like the turn things were taking, and took up his lapstone and hammer as if he were resolved not to hear what was said; but the vicar looked stern and decided, so he thought better of it and said, “Well, there, it was only a bit of neighbour's gossip."

"Of whom did you hear it," asked Mr. Thompson. “Well, it was Crabs, the clerk, that told me first.” "What did he tell you?"

"Well, I can't rightly say, but he'd heard something up at the shop about it not being all right with George Willis." "At the shop? Mrs. Cross's I presume," said the vicar, as he made a note of the fact in his mind. " Well, and then you told some one else perhaps?"

"I might have done, certainly; leastways I won't say I didn't; for Chips came in that evening, and I might have mentioned it."

"Will you tell me what you did say," answered the vicar.

66

Well, it aren't worth making so much stir about if I did say I'd seen him come out of the White Horse; that's no harm," said Backbite, rather sulkily.

"It has been made harm of at any rate," replied the vicar. "I may as well tell you I know as much and more than you do about that, and I have the means of proving that Willis never touched a drop of liquor in that house; and I wish more of my parishioners could say the same. Good afternoon."

Then they went to Chips, who was frightened and very sorry that he'd made any harm, and begged George's pardon very humbly, but said he was sure old Backbite gave him to understand that he'd been drinking, though he couldn't say that he said those words; and he was sure he had told nobody but his wife. And Mrs. Chips said she only told Mrs. Pratt, and she was sure she didn't mean harm.

The vicar did not let the grass grow under his feet, and they soon reached the house of Crabs the sexton, who of course was humble enough before him. He was sure he was most sorry that he had made any unpleasantness, but certainly Mrs. Cross at the shop had intimated there was something wrong.

"And on the strength of that," said the vicar, "you, of whom better things might be expected, go and tell somebody else that there is something wrong, and so set a story going which ends in a public scandal. I hope this will be a warning to you and to many more, for depend upon it I'll not stand by and see men robbed of their good name. Now come with us to Mrs. Cross, and let us hear what she has to say."

Humbly, almost sneakingly, Crabs followed the vicar and George to the village shop, where stood Mrs. Cross in all her glory, "monarch of all she surveyed."

"I'm sure I'm most happy to see you, sir," she said, curtseying low, "and I hope your lady and the children are well; and, George Willis too, I hope you're pretty well, and missus too."

"Thank you, Mrs. Cross, we are all well," replied the vicar. Then turning to Crabs, who stood as near the door as possible, as if he would be glad to be safe outside, he said, "Now, Crabs, let me hear in Mrs. Cross's presence what she thought proper to say to you about George Willis."

Mrs. Cross was taken by surprise; but rage and mortification kept her tongue tied.

"Well, sir, since you ask me to repeat it, to the best of my recollection it was something like this, 'Ah, well, Mr. Crabs, everybody don't know what I do.'

"And to what did she refer?" asked the vicar.

"Why, sir, she didn't refer to anything in particular, only we were talking about George Willis, sir, and I thought by Mrs. Cross's manner she meant something bad."

"And you went and made it worse by repeating it! I'm ashamed of you. Mrs. Cross, do you acknowledge these words?" 66 I

"Well and if I do," exclaimed Mrs. Cross, angrily, don't think it's the part of gentlemen" (laying emphasis on the word)" to come into a shop and talk to a female in that manner, and about people as are too stuck up to buy their bit of things of their neighbours as other people do, and I daresay no better than the rest if all was known; and here I've been and paid rates and taxes, and never been behind with my rent, nobody can't say I have; and I do call it a shame

وو

Stay," said the vicar, gently but firmly. "We are not here, Mrs. Cross, to say anything of the kind. I am here as the friend as well as the pastor of one of my parishioners whose good name has been grossly abused in this village; and reprehensible as the conduct of all concerned is, yours in this matter is most inexcusable of all. You have, without the least foundation, given rise to suspicions of the worst kind; but I am happy to say those suspicions have been completely removed, and George Willis's character stands higher than ever. You, Mrs. Cross, have told a wilful and wicked falsehood, and I can only express my hope that you may repent and make the only reparation in your power by an ample apology to the man you have injured. I am thankful to have heard of this story so soon that I may put a stop to it; but if I know that it is repeated in the village, I will call a meeting and tell the whole story and give the names of those who have invented and circulated this wicked scandal." So saying, and allowing no time for the angry Mrs. Cross or the frightened Crabs to reply, he took George Willis's arm and went out of the shop.

They parted in the street, the vicar shaking hands heartily with George so that all might see; and George,