William Churchward looked up from his work on the ground. He dropped a bundle of long straw and assured Weekes that he must be mistaken.
"I only just said, in a vague way, that one of them famous funerals of the living was on hand, and advised her to be up at Taverner's field on a night I'd let her know."
Jacob Taverner, another of the company, also spoke.
"All the same, we must let the people hear about it. We want all Lydford there on the night, else the fun's spoiled. The more the merrier, surely. It must be blazed abroad."
"In reason. But there's some won't hold with it, and will try to stop it at the last moment."
"They can't," declared old Huggins. "Take care of your pipe, Jacob, or else you'll set William's straw alight and spoil all. They can't stop you, Jarratt, because you'll be 'pon private land. 'Tis Jacob's field, and nobody in the kingdom—not the Queen of England's self—have the power to say what Jacob shall not do on his own ground. The constable may be allowed in to keep the peace, and that's all."
"When will you have the dolls done, William?" asked Mr. Taverner.
Young Churchward desisted from his labour, rose to his feet, and with an artist's eye regarded two headless dummies upon which he was engaged. They were of full human proportions and represented a male and female. The man's image showed a long and thin figure. It wore brown leggings, riding breeches, and a Norfolk jacket. Spurs were attached to its boots, and from its hand, modelled in putty and painted, there hung a hunting-stock.
"What fashioned tie did the man use to wear?" inquired William.
"Red as often as not," answered Weekes.