“Grumbling again—grumbling again,” muttered the old man, as he followed his superior, to stand before him, humbly waiting for the lecture he expected to receive, but with his conscience quite at rest respecting the vault.
“Now, Moredock,” said Salis, “I have received a letter from Mr May, in which he speaks very severely of the state of the churchyard.”
“Why, he never said nothing when he were here.”
“No; it seems as if he preferred to write, and in addition to complaining of the state of the grass, he thinks that the walks are in very bad condition.”
“Why didn’t he say so, then?”
“I tell you he preferred to write.”
“How can I help the place looking bad when they sheep as Churchwarden Candlish put in was always galloping over the graves!”
“Yes; the sheep do make the place untidy,” said the curate, with a sigh.
“And now it’ll be just as bad as ever, for Squire Tom sent a fresh lot in ’smorning by one of his men.”
“But the walks, Moredock—the weeds in the walks. You know I’ve complained before.”