Augustus raised his surpliced arm and begged leave to acquaint them
with the contents of a short note that had just been handed up to him.
It would send them all home, he felt sure, with joy and thankfulness
in their hearts. An example of Christian benevolence was among them
that did honour to the Church.

Here a retired wholesale clothier from the East-end of London--a
short, tubby gentleman who had recently taken the Manor House--was
observed to turn scarlet.

A gentleman hitherto unknown to them had signalled his advent among
them by an act of munificence that should prove a shining example to
all rich men. Mr. Horatio Copper--the reverend gentleman found some
difficulty, apparently, in deciphering the name.

"Cooper-Smith, sir, with an hyphen," came in a thin whisper, the voice
of the still scarlet-faced clothier.

Mr. Horatio Cooper-Smith, taking--the Rev. Augustus felt confident--a
not unworthy means of grappling to himself thus early the hearts of
his fellow-townsmen, had expressed his desire to pay for the expense
of a curate entirely out of his own pocket. Under these
circumstances, there would be no further talk of a farewell between
the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe and his parishioners. It would be the
hope of the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe to live and die the pastor of
St. Jude's.

A more solemn-looking, sober congregation than the congregation that
emerged that Sunday morning from St. Jude's in Wychwood-on-the-Heath
had never, perhaps, passed out of a church door.