“Call him Alegar! what on earth for?” asked Rose indignantly.
Elizabeth laughed. “Well, they say he’s so sour. He’ll not dance, nor sing idle songs, nor play quoits and bowls, but loveth better to sit at home and read; so they call him Alegar.”
Alegar is malt vinegar; the word vinegar was then used only of white wine vinegar.
“He’s not a bit sour!” cried Rose. “I’ve seen him with his little lad and lass; and right good to them he was. It’s a shame to call folks names that don’t fit them!”
“Nay, I don’t call him no names, but other folks do. Did you know his wife, that died six months gone?”
“No, but I’ve heard her well spoken of.”
“Then you’ve heard truth. Those children lost a deal when they lost her, and so did poor Johnson. Well, he’ll never see her burn: that’s one good thing!”
“Ay,” said Alice, “and that’s what he said himself when she died. Well, God help us to stand firm! Have you been asked any questions, Bess?”
“Not yet,” said Elizabeth quietly, “but I look for it every day. Have you?”
“Not I; but our Rose here foregathered with the priest one even of late, and he was set to know why we came not to church these eight weeks past. She parried his darts right well; but I look to hear more thereabout.”