Contents:

The Cost of Kindness..........................................................................................................................................1

Jerome K. Jerome .....................................................................................................................................1

"And, speaking generally, my dear, is valued precisely at cost price," retorted Mr. Pennycoop, who, as an

auctioneer of twenty years' experience, had enjoyed much opportunity of testing the attitude of the public

"I don't care what you say, George," persisted his wife; "he may be a disagreeable, cantankerous old bruteI

don't say he isn't. All the same, the man is going away, and we may never see him again."

"If I thought there was any fear of our doing so," observed Mr. Pennycoop, "I'd turn my back on the Church

"Don't talk like that, George," his wife admonished him, reprovingly; "the Lord might be listening to you."

"If the Lord had to listen to old Cracklethorpe He'd sympathize with me," was the opinion of Mr. Pennycoop.

"The Lord sends us our trials, and they are meant for our good," explained his wife. "They are meant to teach

"You are not churchwarden," retorted her husband; "you can get away from him. You hear him when he is in

"You forget the rummage sale, George," Mrs. Pennycoop reminded him; "to say nothing of the church

"The rummage sale," Mr. Pennycoop pointed out to her, "occurs only once a year, and at that time your own

"I always try to remember I am a Christian," interrupted little Mrs. Pennycoop. "I do not pretend to be a saint,

"It's what I am saying," explained her husband. "A vicar who has contrived in three years to make every

member of his congregation hate the very sight of a churchwell, there's something wrong about it

Mrs. Pennycoop, gentlest of little women, laid her plump and still pretty hands upon her husband's shoulders.

"Don't think, dear, I haven't sympathized with you. You have borne it nobly. I have marvelled sometimes that

you have been able to control yourself as you have done, most times; the things that he has said to you."

Mr. Pennycoop had slid unconsciously into an attitude suggestive of petrified virtue, lately discovered.

"One's own poor self," observed Mr. Pennycoop, in accents of proud humility"insults that are merely

personal one can put up with. Though even there," added the senior churchwarden, with momentary descent

towards the plane of human nature, "nobody cares to have it hinted publicly across the vestry table that one

has chosen to collect from the left side for the express purpose of artfully passing over one's own family."

"The children have always had their threepennybits ready waiting in their hands," explained Mrs.

"It's the sort of thing he says merely for the sake of making a disturbance," continued the senior

"The things he has done, you mean, dear," laughed the little woman, with the accent on the "has." "It is all

over now, and we are going to be rid of him. I expect, dear, if we only knew, we should find it was his liver.

You know, George, I remarked to you the first day that he came how pasty he looked and what a singularly

unpleasant mouth he had. People can't help these things, you know, dear. One should look upon them in the

"I could forgive him doing what he does if he didn't seem to enjoy it," said the senior churchwarden. "But, as

you say, dear, he is going, and all I hope and pray is that we never see his like again."

"And you'll come with me to call upon him, George," urged kind little Mrs. Pennycoop. "After all, he has

been our vicar for three years, and he must be feeling it, poor manwhatever he may pretendgoing away

"That will be all right, dear," laughed his wife, "so long as you don't say what you do feel. And we'll both of

us keep our temper," further suggested the little woman, "whatever happens. Remember, it will be for the last

Little Mrs. Pennycoop's intention was kind and Christianlike. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe would be

quitting WychwoodontheHeath the following Monday, never to set footso the Rev. Augustus

Cracklethorpe himself and every single member of his congregation hoped sincerelyin the neighbourhood

again. Hitherto no pains had been taken on either side to disguise the mutual joy with which the parting was

looked forward to. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe, M.A., might possibly have been of service to his

Church in, say, some Eastend parish of unsavoury reputation, some mission station far advanced amid the

hordes of heathendom. There his inborn instinct of antagonism to everybody and everything surrounding him,

his unconquerable disregard for other people's views and feelings, his inspired conviction that everybody but

himself was bound to be always wrong about everything, combined with determination to act and speak

fearlessly in such belief, might have found their uses. In picturesque little WychwoodontheHeath, among

the Kentish hills, retreat beloved of the retired tradesman, the spinster of moderate means, the reformed

Bohemian developing latent instincts towards respectability, these qualities made only for scandal and

For the past two years the Rev. Cracklethorpe's parishioners, assisted by such other of the inhabitants of

WychwoodontheHeath as had happened to come into personal contact with the reverend gentleman, had

sought to impress upon him, by hints and innuendoes difficult to misunderstand, their cordial and

dailyincreasing dislike of him, both as a parson and a man. Matters had come to a head by the determination

officially announced to him that, failing other alternatives, a deputation of his leading parishioners would

wait upon his bishop. This it was that had brought it home to the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe that, as the

spiritual guide and comforter of Wychwoodonthe Heath, he had proved a failure. The Rev. Augustus had

sought and secured the care of other souls. The following Sunday morning he had arranged to preach his

farewell sermon, and the occasion promised to be a success from every point of view. Churchgoers who had

not visited St. Jude's for months had promised themselves the luxury of feeling they were listening to the

Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe for the last time. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe had prepared a sermon that

for plain speaking and directness was likely to leave an impression. The parishioners of St. Jude's,

WychwoodontheHeath, had their failings, as we all have. The Rev. Augustus flattered himself that he had

not missed out a single one, and was looking forward with pleasurable anticipation to the sensation that his

What marred the entire business was the impulsiveness of little Mrs. Pennycoop. The Rev. Augustus

Cracklethorpe, informed in his study on the Wednesdav afternoon that Mr. and Mrs. Pennycoop had called,

entered the drawingroom a quarter of an hour later, cold and severe; and, without offering to shake hands,

requested to be informed as shortly as possible for what purpose he had been disturbed. Mrs. Pennycoop had

had her speech ready to her tongue. It was just what it should have been, and no more.

It referred casually, without insisting on the point, to the duty incumbent upon all of us to remember on

occasion we were Christians; that our privilege it was to forgive and forget; that, generally speaking, there are

faults on both sides; that partings should never take place in anger; in short, that little Mrs. Pennycoop and

George, her husband, as he was waiting to say for himself, were sorry for everything and anything they may

have said or done in the past to hurt the feelings of the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe, and would like to shake

hands with him and wish him every happiness for the future. The chilling attitude of the Rev. Augustus

scattered that carefullyrehearsed speech to the winds. It left Mrs. Pennycoop nothing but to retire in choking

silence, or to fling herself upon the inspiration of the moment and make up something new. She choose the

At first the words came halting. Her husband, manlike, had deserted her in her hour of utmost need and was

fumbling with the doorknob. The steely stare with which the Rev. Cracklethorpe regarded her, instead of

chilling her, acted upon her as a spur. It put her on her mettle. He should listen to her. She would make him

understand her kindly feeling towards him if she had to take him by the shoulders and shake it into him. At

the end of five minutes the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe, without knowing it, was looking pleased. At the

end of another five Mrs. Pennycoop stopped, not for want of words, but for want of breath. The Rev.

Augustus Cracklethorpe replied in a voice that, to his own surprise, was trembling with emotion. Mrs.

Pennycoop had made his task harder for him. He had thought to leave WychwoodontheHeath without a

regret. The knowledge he now possessed, that at all events one member of his congregation understood him,

as Mrs. Pennycoop had proved to him she understood him, sympathized with himthe knowledge that at

least one heart, and that heart Mrs. Pennycoop's, had warmed to him, would transform what he had looked

Mr. Pennycoop, carried away by his wife's eloquence, added a few halting words of his own. It appeared

from Mr. Pennycoop's remarks that he had always regarded the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe as the vicar of

his dreams, but misunderstandings in some unaccountable way will arise. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe,

it appeared, had always secretly respected Mr. Pennycoop. If at any time his spoken words might have

conveyed the contrary impression, that must have arisen from the poverty of our language, which does not

Then following the suggestion of tea, Miss Cracklethorpe, sister to the Rev. Augustusa lady whose

likeness to her brother in all respects was startling, the only difference between them being that while he was

cleanshaven she wore a slight moustachewas called down to grace the board. The visit was ended by

"I said more than I intended to," admitted Mrs. Pennycoop to George, her husband, on the way home; "but he

Rumour of the Pennycoops' visit flew through the parish. Other ladies felt it their duty to show to Mrs.

Pennycoop that she was not the only Christian in WychwoodontheHeath. Mrs. Pennycoop, it was feared,

might be getting a swelled head over this matter. The Rev. Augustus, with pardonable pride, repeated some of

the things that Mrs. Pennycoop had said to him. Mrs. Pennycoop was not to imagine herself the only person

in WychwoodontheHeath capable of generosity that cost nothing. Other ladies could say graceful

nothingscould say them even better. Husbands dressed in their best clothes and carefully rehearsed were

brought in to grace the almost endless procession of disconsolate parishioners hammering at the door of St.

Jude's parsonage. Between Thursday morning and Saturday night the Rev. Augustus, much to his own

astonishment, had been forced to the conclusion that fivesixths of his parishioners had loved him from the

first without hitherto having had opportunity of expressing their real feelings.

The eventful Sunday arrived. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe had been kept so busy listening to regrets at

his departure, assurances of an esteem hitherto disguised from him, explanations of seeming discourtesies

that had been intended as tokens of affectionate regard, that no time had been left to him to think of other

matters. Not till he entered the vestry at five minutes to eleven did recollection of his farewell sermon come

to him. It haunted him throughout the service. To deliver it after the revelations of the last three days would

be impossible. It was the sermon that Moses might have preached to Pharaoh the Sunday prior to the exodus.

To crush with it this congregation of brokenhearted adorers sorrowing for his departure would be inhuman.

The Rev. Augustus tried to think of passages that might be selected, altered. There were none. From

beginning to end it contained not a single sentence capable of being made to sound pleasant by any ingenuity

The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe climbed slowly up the pulpit steps without an idea in his head of what he

was going to say. The sunlight fell upon the upturned faces of a crowd that filled every corner of the church.

So happy, so buoyant a congregation the eyes of the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe had never till that day

looked down upon. The feeling came to him that he did not want to leave them. That they did not wish him to

go, could he doubt? Only by regarding them as a collection of the most shameless hypocrites ever gathered

together under one roof. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe dismissed the passing suspicion as a suggestion of

the Evil One, folded the neatlywritten manuscript that lay before him on the desk, and put it aside. He had

no need of a farewell sermon. The arrangements made could easily be altered. The Rev. Augustus

The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe wished to acknowledge himself in the wrong. Foolishly founding his

judgment upon the evidence of a few men, whose names there would be no need to mention, members of the

congregation who, he hoped, would one day be sorry for the misunderstandings they had caused, brethren

whom it was his duty to forgive, he had assumed the parishioners of St. Jude's, WychwoodontheHeath, to

have taken a personal dislike to him. He wished to publicly apologize for the injustice he had unwittingly

done to their heads and to their hearts. He now had it from their own lips that a libel had been put upon them.

So far from their wishing his departure, it was selfevident that his going would inflict upon them a great

sorrow. With the knowledge he now possessed of the respectone might almost say the venerationwith

which the majority of that congregation regarded himknowledge, he admitted, acquired somewhat lateit

was clear to him he could still be of help to them in their spiritual need. To leave a flock so devoted would

stamp him as an unworthy shepherd. The ceaseless stream of regrets at his departure that had been poured

into his ear during the last four days he had decided at the last moment to pay heed to. He would remain with

There quivered across the sea of humanity below him a movement that might have suggested to a more

observant watcher the convulsive clutchings of some drowning man at some chance straw. But the Rev.

The parish was large and he was no longer a young man. Let them provide him with a conscientious and

energetic curate. He had such a one in his mind's eye, a near relation of his own, who, for a small stipend that

was hardly worth mentioning, would, he knew it for a fact, accept the post. The pulpit was not the place in

which to discuss these matters, but in the vestry afterwards he would be pleased to meet such members of the

The question agitating the majority of the congregation during the singing of the hymn was the time it would

take them to get outside the church. There still remained a faint hope that the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe,

not obtaining his curate, might consider it due to his own dignity to shake from his feet the dust of a parish

generous in sentiment, but obstinately closefisted when it came to putting its hands into its pockets.

But for the parishioners of St. Jude's that Sunday was a day of misfortune. Before there could be any thought

of moving, the Rev. 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

Here a retired wholesale clothier from the Eastend of Londona short, tubby gentleman who had recently

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 Copperthe reverend gentleman found some

"CooperSmith, sir, with an hyphen," came in a thin whisper, the voice of the still scarletfaced clothier.

Mr. Horatio CooperSmith, takingthe Rev. Augustus felt confidenta not unworthy means of grappling

to himself thus early the hearts of his fellowtownsmen, 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

A more solemnlooking, sober congregation than the congregation that emerged that Sunday morning from

St. Jude's in WychwoodontheHeath had never, perhaps, passed out of a church door.

"He'll have more time upon his hands," said Mr. Biles, retired wholesale ironmonger and junior

churchwarden, to Mrs. Biles, turning the corner of Acacia Avenue"he'll have more time to make himself a

"Which you may depend upon it is the Case, or he'd never have thought of him," was the opinion of Mr.

"I shall give that Mrs. Pennycoop," said Mrs. Biles, "a piece of my mind when I meet her."