Dill—dill!
“Squire Thorpe got visitors, yent a’?” asked Hedges, perfectly well aware of the fact, but desirous of learning something else, and getting at it sideways, as country folk will.
“Aw; that tall fellow, Geoffrey Newton, and Val Browne, as have set up the training-stables.”
“Warn he’ll want some hay?” This was a leading question, and Hedges rubbed away at the pig to appear innocently unconcerned.
“I sold his trainer eighty ton o’ clauver,” said Ruck. “A’ be a gentleman, every inch of un.”
“Stiffish price, you?”
“Five pound ten.”
Whew!
“Ay, ay; but it be five mile to cart it; and a nation bad road.”
“What’s that long chap doing at Squire’s? He ’as been to Australia.”
“A’ be goin’ to larn farming.”
“Larn farming!” Intense contempt.
“A’ be down to Greene Ferne a’ studying pretty often,” said Ruck, with a wink and a broad grin.
“Wimmen,” said Hedges, giving an extra hard scrape at the pig, who responded Humph—humph!
“Wimmen,” repeated Ruck still more emphatically.
“There be worse thengs about,” said a voice behind. It was the clerk, who, having put the rector’s surplice ready, had slipped out for a minute into the churchyard to communicate a piece of news. He was a little shrivelled old fellow.
“Nash was allus a gay man,” said Ruck.
“So was his father afore un,” added Hedges. “It runs in the family.”
“Summut in the blood, summut in the blood,” said Nash, not to appear to value the hereditary propensity too highly. “Did ee never notice that shart men be a’most sure to get on with th’ wimmen? I got summut to tell ee.”
“What be it?” from both listeners at once.
If the Athenians were eager for something new, those that dwell in the fields are ten times more so.
“You knows Mr. Valentine Browne as built the new stables?”
“Sartainly.”
“He have took my cottage for the trout-fishing.”
“Aw! You calls un Hollyocks, doan’t ee?” said Ruck.
“A’ bean’t very far from Greene Ferne, be a’?” asked Hedges.
“Wimmen,” said the clerk meaningly. “ ’Pend upon it, it be the wimmen!”
“Lor, here um comes!” said Ruck.
Two young men walked quickly round the tower, coming from the other side, down the gravel path past the group, and opening the wicket-gate went out into the field. Nash bowed and scraped, Ruck lifted his beaver, but neither seemed to observe these attentions.
“It be the wimmen, and no mistake,” said Ruck. “Thaay be gone to meet um. The Ferne folk be moast sure to come up thuck path this sunny day, ’stead of driving.”
“Marnin’, shepherd,” said the clerk to a labouring man who had just entered the churchyard. “I was afeared you’d be late. ’Spose you come from Upper Furlong. How’s your voice?”
“Aw, featish (fairish). I zucked a thrush’s egg to clear un.”
“Arl right, Jabez; mind as you doan’t zeng too fast. It be your fault, shepherd, it be your fault.”
For Jabez was the leader of the choir. “Nash!” cried a stern voice, and the clerk jumped and tore his hat off at the sound. “Catch those boys!”
It was Squire Thorpe, whose magisterial eye had at once detected the youthful gamblers behind the buttress. Nash rushed towards them; but they had scented the Squire’s arrival, and dodged him round the big tombstones. Thorpe turned to the two farmers, who lifted their hats.
“Grass coming on nicely, Hedges,” said he. “Ought to be a good hay year.”
The Squire was as fond of gossip as any man in the parish; but he was rather late that morning; for he had hardly taken his stand by the wall when the dill-dill of the bell came to a sudden stop. The two gentlemen who had gone out into the field returned at a run.
“Ah, here you are!” said the Squire; and the three walked rapidly to the chancel door.
Ruck and Hedges, however, showed no signs of moving. A low hum arose from the hand-organ within; still they leant on the wall, deferring action to the last moment.
The sound of voices—the speakers clearly almost out of breath, but none the less talking—approached the wicket-gate, and three bonnets appeared above the wall there.
“It be the Greene Ferne folk,” said Hedges. “Measter Newton and t’other chap was too much in a hurry.”
Three ladies—two young and one middle-aged—entered the churchyard. The taller of the two girls left the path, and ran to a tomb enclosed with low iron railings. She carried a whole armful of spring flowers, gathered in the meadows and copses en route, bluebells and cowslips chiefly, and threw them broadcast on the grave.
“Miss Margaret don’t forget her feyther,” said Hedges.
The three, as they passed, nodded smilingly to the two farmers, and went into the church.
“May Fisher be allus down at the Estcourts,” said Ruck. “S’pose her finds it dull up on the hills with the old man.”
“Mrs. Estcourt looks well,” said Hedges. “Warn hur’ll marry agen some day. Miss Margaret do dress a bit, you.”
“Nation gay. Hur be a upstanding girl, that Margaret Estcourt. A’ got a thousand pound under the will.”
“And the Greene Ferne Farm when the widder goes.”
“Five hundred acres freehold, and them housen in to town.”
“A’ be a featish-looking girl, you.”
“So be May Fisher; but a’ bean’t such a queen as Mother. Margaret walks as if the parish belonged to her.”
“If a’ did, her would sell un, and buy a new bonnet. These yer wimmen!”
The sound of singing came from the open door under the tower hard by.
“Dall’d if it bean’t ‘I Will Arise.’ ”
“S’pose us had better go in.” They walked to the tower-door. It was arched and low—so low that to enter it was necessary to stoop, and inside the pavement was a step beneath the level of the ground. Within stood the font, and by it some forms against the wall, on which the school children left their caps. There was a space behind the first pillar of the side-aisle unoccupied by pews, being dark and not affording a view of the pulpit. Now it was possible to tell the rank of the congregation as they entered, by the length of time each kept his hat on after
