"Ah," said the overseer, "no work, and the fever and starving; that's
what they always say. I'll bet a sovereign you've been after them
Blanketeers."
"It's a judgment on you," observed the parson. "You and your like go
setting class against class; you never come near the church, and then
you wonder God Almighty punishes you."
"You can come on your knees to us when it suits you, and you'd burn
my rick to-morrow," said a third.
"There's a lot of fever amongst 'em down my way," said another, whose
voice was rather thick, "and a damned lot of expense they are, too,
for physic and funerals. It's my belief that they catch it out of
spite."
"Aren't you going to give me nothing?" said the man. "There isn't a
mouthful of food in the place, and the wife may be dead before the
morning."
"Well, what do you say, parson?" said the overseer.
"I say we've got quite enough to do to help those who deserve help,"
he replied, "and that it's flying in the face of Providence to
interfere with its judgment." With that he knocked the ashes out of
his pipe, and took a great gulp of his brandy-and-water.
There was an echo of assent.
"God have mercy on me!" said the man, as he sat down on the form by
the table.
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