The young man gave him a cordial greeting; somehow with Dr. Coke everyone’s first thought was of the matters they had in common. The Vicar held to his own opinions, and had his likes and his dislikes, but there was nothing combative about him.
“Truth to tell, we are about to march towards Canon Frome,” said Sir Richard’s son. “We shall not trouble you long in Bosbury, but the men need food and a few hours’ sleep. A good many of them can be quartered in the Old Palace. I must go round there and see to the arrangements.”
“I will come with you,” said the Vicar. “A word to the caretaker may smooth matters. You will find few comforts there, for, as you know, the place was dismantled in the days of good Queen Bess. But here, I see, comes Mr. Silas Taylor, who hath a special love for the old building, and will be able to serve you better than I can. And when you have bestowed your men, come and sup with us at the Vicarage, and bring one of your friends with you; ’tis bitter cold, and you will be glad to sit by a comfortable hearth.”
“Good evening to you, Vicar,” said Mr. Taylor, joining them. “You and I are, maybe, on the same errand, for though I am all for the Parliament, I should be sorely grieved were any of our much-prized antiquities to be marred by the troops.”
“To be sure you would,” said the Vicar, with his genial laugh. “I was but saying as much to Mr. Hopton here. For the sake of old times you will, I know, have a care of the Old Palace, and we will seek to quarter as many as can be well stowed there, for it will put the villagers to less trouble.”
Sounds of a vehement altercation at a little distance made the Vicar hasten down the street.
“What is amiss now?” said Silas Taylor, straining his eyes to see what was passing.
The purple-grey gloom of the wintry twilight, broken here and there by the glimmer of candles in the windows, or the glare of torches kindled in the road by the newcomers, just revealed the picturesque houses on either side, and the confused mass of weary buff-coated soldiers, girt with orange scarves; while the inhabitants, divided between alarm and curiosity, stood about their doors eager to learn with what intentions these men had come.
“Save us from the dastardly robbers at Canon Frome garrison and we’ll give you the best supper we have,” cried one good woman, vehemently.
“Ay, down with the vile thieves that pillage every farm around,” shouted a man.