“The opposition coach contracts for these two; and takes them cheap,” said Mr. Bumble. “They are both in a very low state, and we find it would come two pound cheaper to move ’em than to bury ’em⁠—that is, if we can throw ’em upon another parish, which I think we shall be able to do, if they don’t die upon the road to spite us. Ha! ha! ha!”

When Mr. Bumble had laughed a little while, his eyes again encountered the cocked hat; and he became grave.

“We are forgetting business, ma’am,” said the beadle; “here is your porochial stipend for the month.”

Mr. Bumble produced some silver money rolled up in paper, from his pocketbook; and requested a receipt: which Mrs. Mann wrote.