“Why, the Lord ha’ mussy! you’re never coming into the place this how!”
“Indeed, Mrs Slee, but I am. There’s half a sovereign; go and do the best you can.”
“But the place ought to be clent before you come in.”
“Oh, we’ll get that done by degrees. You will see about something for me to eat. I shall be back in an hour. But tell me first, if I want to get into the church, who has the keys?”
“Mr Budd”—Mrs Slee pronounced it Bood—“has ’em; he’s churchwarden, and lives over yonder.”
“What, at that little old-fashioned house?”
“Nay, nay, mun, that’s th’owd vicarage. Next house.”
“Oh,” said the vicar, looking curiously at the little, old-fashioned, sunken, thatch-roofed place. “And who lives there?”
“Owd Isaac Budd.”
“Another Mr Budd; and who is he?”