"Oh Mr. Thorpe!" ejaculated Mrs. Buggins, almost tearfully--"It is not this world but the next, that we must think of! We must pray for our souls!"
"Well, marm, I ain't got a 'soul' wot I knows on--an' as for the next world, if there ain't no cattle farmin' there, I reckon I'll be out o' work. Do you count on keepin' a bar in the 'eavenly country?"
A loud guffaw went the round of the room, and Mrs. Buggins gasped with horror.
"Oh, Roger!" she murmured, addressing her portly spouse, who at once took up the argument.
"You goes too fur--you goes too fur, Mister Thorpe!" he said severely--"There ain't no keepin' bars nor farmin' carried on in the next world, nor marrying nor givin' in marriage. We be all as the angels there."
"A nice angel you'll make too, Mr. Buggins!" said Farmer Thorpe, as he sent his tankard to be refilled,--"Lord! We won't know you!"
Again the laugh went round, and Mrs. Buggins precipitately retired to her 'inner parlour' there to recover from the shock occasioned to her religious feelings by the irreverent remarks of her too matter- of-fact customer. Meanwhile Dan Ridley, the tailor, had again reverted to the subject of Miss Vancourt.
"There's one thing about her comin' to church,"--he said; "If so be as she did come it 'ud do us all good, for she's real pleasant to look at. I've seen her a many times in the village."
"Ah, so have I!" chorussed two or three more men.
"She's been in to see Adam Frost's children an' she gave Baby Hippolyta a bag o' sweeties,"--said Bainton. "An' she's called at the schoolhouse, but Miss Eden, she worn't in an' Susie Prescott saw her, an' Susie was that struck that she 'adn't a wurrd to say, so she tells us, an' Miss Vancourt she went to old Josey Letherbarrow's straight away an' there she stayed iver so long. She ain't called at our house yet."
"Which 'ouse might you be a-meanin', Tummas?" queried Farmer Thorpe, with a slow grin--"Your own or your measter's?"
"When we speaks in the plural we means not one, but two,"--rejoined Bainton with dignity. "An' when I sez 'our' I means myself an' Passon, which Miss Vancourt ain't as yet left her card on Passon. He went up in a great 'urry one afternoon when he knowed she was out,-- he knowed it, 'cos I told 'im as 'ow I'd seen her gallopin' by on that mare of hers which, they calls Cleopatra-an' away 'e run like a March 'are, an' he ups to the Manor and down again, an' sez he, laughin' like: 'I've done my dooty by the lady' sez he--'I've left my card!' That was three days ago, an' there ain't been no return o' the perliteness up to the present--"