"Parson, as we had then in Bull'umpton, kep' a few sheep."
"Ah!—just so. And he would get a bit of feeding off the ground?" The miller nodded his head. "Was that the Vicar just before Mr. Fenwick?" asked the lawyer.
"Not by no means. There was Muster Brandon, who never come here at all, but had a curate who lived away to Hinton. He come after Parson Smallbones."
"It was Parson Smallbones who kept the sheep?"
"And then there was Muster Threepaway, who was parson well nigh thirty years afore Muster Fenwick come. He died up at Parsonage House, did Muster Threepaway."
"He didn't keep sheep?"
"No; he kep' no sheep as ever I heard tell on. He didn't keep much barring hisself,—didn't Muster Threepaway. He had never no child, nor yet no wife, nor nothing at all, hadn't Muster Threepaway. But he was a good man as didn't go meddling with folk."
"But Parson Smallbones was a bit of a farmer?"
"Ay, ay. Parsons in them days warn't above a bit of farming. I warn't much more than a scrap of a boy, but I remember him. He wore a wig, and old black gaiters; and knew as well what was his'n and what wasn't as any parson in Wiltshire. Tithes was tithes then; and parson was cute enough in taking on 'em."
"But these sheep of his were his own, I suppose?"