“Like that tobacco?” said the new vicar, quietly.
There was a pause, during which the workman seemed to be debating within himself whether he should answer or not. At last he condescended to reply, “’taint bad.”
“No; it’s really good. I always get the best.”
The last speaker took in at a glance what was going on in his companion’s breast, and that was a fight between independent defiance and curiosity, but he seemed not to notice it.
“Give him time,” he said to himself; and he smoked on, amused at the fellow’s rough independence. He had been told that he would find Dumford a strange place, with a rough set of people; but nothing daunted, he had accepted the living, and had made up his mind how to act. At last the workman spoke:
“I never see a parson smoke afore!”
“Didn’t you? Oh, I like a pipe.”
“Ain’t it wicked?” said the other, with a grin.
“Wicked? Why should it be? I see nothing wrong in it, or I should not do it.”
There was another pause, during which pipes were refilled and lighted once more.