Sandy the Tinker-2

There was silence for a minute—then one of the ladies said softly, “Poor Sandy.” “And what became of Mr. Crawley?” asked the other. “He gave up his parish and went abroad as a missionary. He is still living.” “What a most extraordinary story!” I remarked. “Yes, I think so,” said the minister. “If you like to go round by Deldy tomorrow, my son, who now occupies the manse, would show you the scene of the occurrence.” The next day we all stood looking at the frowning cliff and at the Deldy, swollen by recent rains, rushing on its way. The youngest of the party went up to the rock and knocked upon it loudly with his cane. “Oh, don't do that, pray!” cried both the ladies nervously—the spirit of the weird story still brooded over us. “What do you think of the coincidence, Jack?” I inquired of my friend, as we talked apart from the others. “Ask me when we get back to Fleet Street,” he answered. Old Mrs. Jones –––––––– * * * *