Another pipe is empty. "Looking at this inventory," said the curate, "I
should imagine the articles to be of no great value. One fur cap, one
round hat, one pair of plush breeches, one--; they are not worth a
couple of pounds altogether," continued he, stuffing the tobacco into his
pipe, which he relighted, and no more was said. Nicholas was the third
in, or rather _out._ "It appears to me," observed he;--but what appeared
is lost, as some new idea flitted across his imagination, and he
commenced his second pipe without further remark.

Some ten minutes after this, Mr Spinney handed the pot of porter to the
curate, and subsequently to the rest of the party. They all took
largely, then puffed away as before.

How long this cabinet-council might have continued, it is impossible to
say; but "Silence," who was in "the chair," was soon afterwards driven
from his post of honour by the most implacable of his enemies, a
"woman's tongue."

"Well, Mr Forster! well, gentlemen! do you mean to poison me? Have you
made smell and dirt enough? How long is this to last, I should like to
know?" cried Mrs Forster, entering the room. "I tell you what, Mr
Forster, you had better hang up a sign at once, and keep an ale-house.
Let the sign be a Fool's Head, like your own. I wonder you are not
ashamed of yourself, Mr Curate; you that ought to set an example to your
parishioners!"

But Mr Dragwell did not admire such remonstrance; so taking his pipe out
of his mouth, he retorted--"If your husband does put up a sign, I
recommend him to stick you up as the 'Good Woman;' that would be without
your head--Ha, ha, ha!"