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No word or message from Mr Crawley reached Barchester throughout the week, and on the Sunday morning Mr Thumble was under a positive engagement to go out to Hogglestock, and to perform the services of the church. Dr Tempest had been quite right in saying that Mr Thumble would be awed by the death of his patroness. Such was altogether the case, and he was very anxious to escape from the task he had undertaken at her instance, if it were possible. In the first place, he had never been a favourite with the bishop himself, and had now, therefore, nothing to expect in the diocese. The crusts and bits of loaves and the morsels of broken fishes which had come his way had all come from the bounty of Mrs Proudie. And then, as regarded this special Hogglestock job, how was he to get paid for it? Whence, indeed, was he to seek repayment for the actual money which he would be out of pocket in finding his way to Hogglestock and back again? But he could not get to speak to the bishop, nor could he induce anyone who had access to his lordship to touch upon the subject. Mr Snapper avoided him as much as possible; and Mr Snapper, when he was caught and interrogated, declared that he regarded the matter as settled. Nothing could be in worse taste, Mr Snapper thought, than to undo, immediately after the poor lady's death, work in the diocese which had been arranged and done by her. Mr Snapper expressed his opinion that Mr Thumble was bound to go to Hogglestock; and, when Mr Thumble declared petulantly the he would not stir a step out of Barchester, Mr Snapper protested that Mr Thumble would have to answer for it in this world and in the next if there was no services at Hogglestock on that Sunday. On the Saturday evening Mr Thumble made a desperate attempt to see the bishop, but was told by Mrs Draper that the bishop had positively declined to see him. The bishop himself probably felt unwilling to interfere with his wife's doings so soon after her death! So Mr Thumble, with a heavy heart, went across to the 'Dragon of Wantly', and ordered a gig, resolving that the bill should be sent to the palace. He was not going to trust himself again on the bishop's cob!

Up to Saturday evening Mr Crawley did the work of the parish, and on the Saturday evening he made an address to his parishioners from his pulpit.

He had given notice among the brickmakers and labourers that he wished to say a few words to them in the schoolroom; but the farmers also heard of this and came with their wives and daughters, and all the brickmakers came and most of the labourers were there, so that there was no room for them in the schoolhouse. The congregation was much larger than was customary even in the church. 'They will come,' he said to his wife, 'to hear a ruined man declare his own ruin, but they will not come to hear the word of God.' When it was found that the persons assembled were too many for the school-room, the meeting was adjourned to the church, and Mr Crawley was forced to get into his pulpit. He said a short prayer, and then he began his story.

His story as he told it then shall not be repeated now, as the same story has been told too often already in these pages. Surely it was a singular story for a parish clergyman to tell himself in so solemn a manner. That he had applied the cheque to his own purposes, and was unable to account for its possession of it, was certain. He did not know when or how he had got it. Speaking to them then in God's house he told them that. He was to be tried by a jury, and all he could do was to tell the jury the same. He would not expect the jury to believe him. The jury would, of course, believe only that which was proved to them. But he did expect his old friends at Hogglestock, who had known him so long, to take his word as true. That there was no sufficient excuse for his conduct, even in his own sight, this, his voluntary resignation of his parish, was, he said, sufficient evidence. Then he explained to them, as clearly as he was able, what the bishop had done, what the commission had done, and what he had done himself. That he spoke no word of Mrs Proudie to that audience need hardly be mentioned here. 'And now, dearest friends, I leave you,' he said, with that weighty solemnity which was so peculiar to the man, and which he was able to make singularly impressive even on such a congregation as that of Hogglestock, 'and I trust that the heavy burden but pleasing burden of the charge which I have had over you may fall into hands better fitted than mine have been for such work. I have always known my own unfitness, by reason of the worldly cares with which I have been laden. Poverty makes the spirit poor, and the hands weak, and the heart sore--and too often makes the conscience dull. May the latter never be the case with any of you.' Then he uttered another short prayer, and, stepping down from the pulpit, walked out of the church, with his weeping wife hanging on his arm, and his daughter following them, almost dissolved in tears.

He never again entered that church as the pastor of the congregation.

There was an old lame man from Hoggle End leaning on his stick near the door as Mr Crawley went out, and with him was his old lame wife. 'He'll pull through yet,' said the old man to his wife; 'you'll see else. He'll pull through because he's so dogged. It's dogged as does it.'