"You have lived here for thirty years, Mr. Jarner?"
"For thirty years, sir. I have charge of three parishes within a radius of twenty miles, and ride over to preach in one of them every second and third Sunday; the first I keep for Farbis."
"How do the people live in this outlandish place?"
"By weaving. Have you not seen the looms at work in the cottages?"
"Well, yes; but I did not----"
"See how inobservant is youth!" laughed Jarner, filling himself another tankard. "Don't be alarmed at my thirst, young man. I have been in the saddle for five hours to-day, over the hills at Silkon, where I met a friend of yours."
"Indeed! I didn't know I had friends here."
"Pooh! What about Tinker Tim? He is a warm admirer of you, sir, and thinks you a pretty light-weight fighter. Tim gave me a description of your battle in the dell. It was glorious--glorious! I should like to have been present."
"Come to my camp, then, and I'll put on the gloves with you."
"Not me--not me!" said Parson Jarner, wagging his large head. "Too old; and besides, I'm a vicar--must respect the cloth, young man!"