Within the town-hall all was bustle¹ and turmoil². At one side behind a low table covered with green baize sat two scriveners with great rolls of paper in front of them. A long line of citizens passed slowly before them, each in turn putting down a roll or bag of coins which was duly noted⁵ by the receivers. A square iron-bound chest stood by their side, into which the money was thrown, and we noted as we passed that it was half full of gold pieces. We could not but mark that many of the givers were men whose threadbare doublets and pinched faces showed that the wealth which they were dashing down so readily must have been hoarded⁶ up for such a purpose, at the cost of scanty⁷ fare and hard living. Most of them accompanied their gift by a few words of prayer, or by some pithy⁸ text anent the treasure which rusteth not, or the lending to the Lord. The town clerk stood by the table giving forth⁹ the vouchers¹⁰ for each sum, and the constant clack of his tongue filled the hall, as he read aloud the names and amounts, with his own remarks between.

‘Abraham Willis,’ he shouted as we entered; ‘put him down twenty-six pounds and ten shillings. You shall receive ten per centum upon this earth, Master Willis, and I warrant that it shall not be forgotten hereafter. John Standish, two pounds. William Simons, two guineas. Stand-fast Healing, forty-five pounds. That is a rare blow which you have struck into the ribs¹¹ of Prelacy, good Master Healing. Solomon Warren, five guineas. James White, five shillings — the widow’s mite¹², James! Thomas Bakewell, ten pounds.

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