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‘”These hosses of yours, sir, will be much improved by this!” says the clerk as he rode along, just a neck behind the pa’son. “‘Twas a happy thought of your reverent mind to bring ’em out to-day. Why, it may be frosty in a day or two, and then the poor things mid not be able to leave the stable for weeks.”

‘”They may not, they may not, it is true. A merciful man is merciful to his beast,” says the pa’son.

‘”Hee, hee!” says the clerk, glancing sly into the pa’son’s eye.

‘”Ha, ha!” says the pa’son, a-glancing back into the clerk’s. “Halloo!” he shouts, as he sees the fox break cover at that moment.

‘”Halloo!” cries the clerk. “There he goes! Why, dammy, there’s two foxes–“

‘”Hush, clerk, hush! Don’t let me hear that word again! Remember our calling.”

‘”True, sir, true. But really, good sport do carry away a man so, that he’s apt to forget his high persuasion!” And the next minute the corner of the clerk’s eye shot again into the corner of the pa’son’s, and the pa’son’s back again to the clerk’s. “Hee, hee!” said the clerk.

‘”Ha, ha!” said Pa’son Toogood.

‘”Ah, sir,” says the clerk again, “this is better than crying Amen to your Ever-and-ever on a winter’s morning!”

‘”Yes, indeed, clerk! To everything there’s a season,” says Pa’son Toogood, quite pat, for he was a learned Christian man when he liked, and had chapter and ve’se at his tongue’s end, as a pa’son should.

‘At last, late in the day, the hunting came to an end by the fox running into a’ old woman’s cottage, under her table, and up the clock-case. The pa’son and clerk were among the first in at the death, their faces a-staring in at the old woman’s winder, and the clock striking as he’d never been heard to strik’ before. Then came the question of finding their way home.

‘Neither the pa’son nor the clerk knowed how they were going to do this, for their beasts were wellnigh tired down to the ground. But they started back-along as well as they could, though they were so done up that they could only drag along at a’ amble, and not much of that at a time.

‘”We shall never, never get there!” groaned Mr. Toogood, quite bowed down.

‘”Never!” groans the clerk. “‘Tis a judgment upon us for our iniquities!”

‘”I fear it is,” murmurs the pa’son.

‘Well, ’twas quite dark afore they entered the pa’sonage gate, having crept into the parish as quiet as if they’d stole a hammer, little wishing their congregation to know what they’d been up to all day long. And as they were so dog-tired, and so anxious about the horses, never once did they think of the unmarried couple. As soon as ever the horses had been stabled and fed, and the pa’son and clerk had had a bit and a sup theirselves, they went to bed.

‘Next morning when Pa’son Toogood was at breakfast, thinking of the glorious sport he’d had the day before, the clerk came in a hurry to the door and asked to see him.

‘”It has just come into my mind, sir, that we’ve forgot all about the couple that we was to have married yesterday!”

‘The half-chawed victuals dropped from the pa’son’s mouth as if he’d been shot. “Bless my soul,” says he, “so we have! How very awkward!”

‘”It is, sir; very. Perhaps we’ve ruined the ‘ooman!”

‘”Ah–to be sure–I remember! She ought to have been married before.”

‘”If anything has happened to her up in that there tower, and no doctor or nuss–“

(‘Ah–poor thing!’ sighed the women.)

‘”–’twill be a quarter-sessions matter for us, not to speak of the disgrace to the Church!”

‘”Good God, clerk, don’t drive me wild!” says the pa’son. “Why the hell didn’t I marry ’em, drunk or sober!” (Pa’sons used to cuss in them days like plain honest men.) “Have you been to the church to see what happened to them, or inquired in the village?”