"General Battle's still protesting," he replied. "He swears it makes Kingsborough common."
Dudley thoughtfully examined his cigar, an amused smile about his mouth.
"My mother doesn't want the cows turned out of the churchyard," he observed, "because it would abolish one of Kingsborough's characteristics. She's right, too, by Jove."
"They're having a fight over it now," put in Nicholas with the gravity he rarely lost. "The people who own cows call it an 'ancient right.' The people who don't, call it sacrilege. The rector leads one faction, and the congregation has split."
"And split we smash," added Dudley. "Well, these are exciting times in Kingsborough's history; it is almost as lively as Richmond. There we had a religious convention and an elopement last week. I don't suppose you come up to that?"
Nicholas ran his hand through his hair with a habitual gesture. He was idly watching the light of Dudley's cigar and noting the quality by the aroma. He could not afford cigars himself, and he wondered how Dudley managed to do so.
"We are a people without a present," he returned inattentively. "You've heard, I take it, that an old elm has gone near the court-house."
"My mother told me. I believe she knows every brick that used to be and is not. I'm trying to get her away with me, but she won't come."
"Sally Burwell was telling me," said Tom, a dawning interest in his face, "she had tried to persuade her."
"Yes, we tried and failed. By the way, is it true that Sally's engaged to Jack Wyth? I hear it at every turn."