"Ay, ay, 'squire;" and the old fellow, who had some humour in him, pulled his hair again civilly to Mr. Brithwood. "Wait till I ha' got shut o' these."
And he counted out of his ragged pockets a handful of guineas. Poor fellow! how bright they looked; those guineas, that were food, clothing, life.
"Three was paid to I, two to Will Horrocks, and the rest to Matthew Hales. But, sir, we has changed our minds; and please, would 'ee give back the money to them as owns it?"
"Still, my honest friend—"
"Thank 'ee, Sir Ralph, that's it: we be honest; we couldn't look the master in the face else. Twelve year ago, come Michaelmas, he kept some on us from starving—may be worse. We bean't going to turn rascals on's hands now. Now I'll vote, sir,—and it won't be for Vermilye."
A smothered murmur of applause greeted old Jacob, as he marched back down the aisle, where on the stone benches of the porch was seated a rural jury, who discussed not over-favourably the merits of Lord Luxmore's candidate.
"He owes a power o' money in Norton Bury—he do."
"Why doesn't he show his face at the 'lection, like a decent gen'leman?"
"Fear'd o' bailiffs!" suggested the one constable, old and rheumatic, who guarded the peace of Kingswell. "He's the biggest swindler in all England."
"Curse him!" muttered an old woman. "She was a bonny lass—my Sally! Curse him!"