“Give you good evening, friend,” said our hero. “Good evening to one and all.”
The villagers made room for him on one of the forms which ran by the side of the building, and Peace sat himself down.
“Ha’ the first drink of the new pot,” said a broad-shouldered man to a companion by his side, “an’ don’t ’ee cuss and swear. I hate to hear a man swear for nothing.”
“I’m not going to drink your froth for ’ee,” returned the other. “I’ll ha’ some. An’ you’ll find it as thick as molasses, I’ll warrant. Bricket poured a lot of beer into a barrel without clearing out the dregs, and a prutty mess he’s made of it. The way business is done here now would make his dead wife walk if anythin’ could.”
“What, yer grumbling agen as usual?” said another of the company. “Don’t be a runnin’ down Bricket, for he’s a good sort.”
“Who says he aint?” cried Nelly; “but some people are never satisfied.”
“Right you are, lass!” exclaimed several, for it was evident enough that the young woman was a general favourite.
“Aint nobody seen nothin’ of never a hat nowhere?” inquired a thin old man in a querulous voice, twisting in and out of the crowd like a ferret in a rabbit burrow.
“One ’ud think your silly old head were inside on it a wanderin’ about like that there,” said Nelly.
“Don’t ’ee say much to him,” whispered the woman with a child in her arms. “Poor Nat Peplow has aged wonderful these last three years. He don’t seem like the same man.”