“Well, look how bad my back’s been. How could I weed walks with a back as wouldn’t bend; and seems to me, parson, as a man as has seen a deal, as it ’d be better if you mended your own ways about church ’fore you finds fault wi’ an old servant like me.”
“What do you mean?” said the curate sternly.
“Why, I mean that,” said the old man, pointing to the floor with an extremely grubby finger. “I’ve got it to keep clean, and I do it; but you grumbled at me for smoking a pipe one day when I was digging a nasty grave. You said it wer’n’t decent to smoke in the churchyard.”
“I did, Moredock, and I repeat it.”
“And I say as ’tarn’t decent to smoke in vestry, and chuck the bits o’ cigars about. You’re always a-smoking now.”
Salis turned crimson as he followed the direction of the pointing finger, and saw several traces of white ash and the stump of a cigar.
“Why, Moredock, I—I—”
“There, don’t go and deny it, parson. You’ve took to smoking bad as any one now; and I’ve allus done my best about church, and it comes hard to be found fault on, and if it’s coming to this, sooner I goes the better, and sooner Mr May finds fault with you the better, too.”
The old man walked defiantly out of the vestry, and went toward his cottage, while Salis picked up the cigar stump and thrust it into his pocket.
“How provoking!” he said. “Must be growing fearfully absent, and dropped it. I’m sure I did not smoke here when I came yesterday—no, it was the day before—to find out about that old baptismal entry. I must have walked in smoking, and thrown the end of the cigar down. Good gracious! If May had seen me—or anybody else. It is outrageous. I’m growing quite a slave to the habit, and forgetful of everything I do. Tut—tut—tut! How provoking! The old man is quite right. How can I reproach him again!”