"And yet you shake hands with me, sir? Well, indeed."

"Yes, with more respect than I have ever done before. Not condoning
your sin, remember that, Ebben Owens; but honouring you for having the
courage to confess it. That is sufficient proof of your repentance."

There were tears in the old man's eyes as he tried to answer; but Mr.
Price, seeing his emotion, hastened to change the subject.

"Now let us see the pigs," he said, holding out his snuff box, from
which Ebben Owens helped himself with more cheerfulness than he had
felt since the meeting at which he had made his confession.

They bent over the pen in conclave, during which the vicar exhibited
such lamentable ignorance of the points of a pig that, had it not been
for his previous kindness, he would have fallen considerably in the old
farmer's estimation.

"This is the fattest," he said, prodding one with his stick, and trying
to look like a connoisseur.

"Oh! he's too fat for you, sir; this is the one that would look well on
your table."

"Poor thing," said the vicar, a shadow falling on his face, as he
realised that there would come a morning when the air would be rent
with shrieks, and he would wish himself in the next parish. "No doubt,
you're right, you're right, he looks a nice little pig; there's a nice
curl in his tail, and I like his ears; he'll do very nicely. And
here's Dyc 'pigstye.' Well, Dyc, how are you? Will you drive the pig