I am known in London; I can raise subscriptions.

The vile Laws of Supply and Demand shall find labor scarce in that agricultural district; and pitiless Political Economy shall spend a few extra shillings on the poor, as certainly as I am that Radical, Communist, and Incendiary--Julian Gray!" He rose--making a little gesture of apology for the warmth with which he had spoken--and took a turn in the room.

Fired by _his_ enthusiasm, Mercy followed him.

Her purse was in her hand, when he turned and faced her.
"Pray let me offer my little tribute--such as it is!" she said, eagerly.
A momentary flush spread over his pale cheeks as he looked at the beautiful compassionate face pleading with him.
"No! no!" he said, smiling; "though I am a parson, I don't carry the begging-box everywhere." Mercy attempted to press the purse on him.

The quaint humor began to twinkle again in his eyes as he abruptly drew back from it.