"Why be it more black to-day than 'tis a-Sunday?" asked the youth. "'Tis Tuesday, gaffer, bean't it? and new pa'son didn't holler it in church for a holy day."
"Boy, your poor yead won't stand high things, 'tis true, but 'ee know young pa'son be off to Lun'on town to-day, an' that's why all the souls be here, to see the last on un."
Jemmy looked up again at the defaced sign-board, puzzling his poor brains to find some connection between it and the departure of "young pa'son".
"'Tis a shame, gaffer," said Honest John, "to deceive the poor lad, when you know the sign bean't painted out for no such thing."
"Why, there now," returned old Minshull, "bean't it all one? I axe 'ee that, souls. Young pa'son be a-gwine to Lun'on 'cause his poor feyther's dead an' gone; Pa'son Rochester be dead an' gone 'cause o' the fight; an I weren't afeard on un, I'd say the fight were all along o' Squire; and Mis'ess Joplady ha' changed the ancient sign of th' inn 'cause her can't abear to think on't. Bean't that gospel truth, souls all?"
The group looked impressed with the old man's logic. Mistress Joplady, coming for a moment to the door, had overheard his concluding sentences.
"'Tis true," she said, wiping away a tear. "I never liked Squire; nobody never did as I ever heerd on; but when pa'son died I couldn't abear him. One thing I'm thankful for from the bottom o' my heart, and that is, that my house is college property, like the church, and I can snap my vingers at Squire, and I do." She suited the action to the word. "Has been the Berkeley Arms for a hunnerd years, but 'twill be so no longer. When paint's dry, up goos the yead o' Queen Annie, bless her! a poor soul as ha' lost all her childer, like myself, and the Queen's Head it'll be for ever more."
"Ay, things be main different in village now, sure," said Lumpy. "To think what mighty changes come in a little time! Zeems only a few days sin' young pa'son won that noble match—you mind, souls, the day the lord's carriage broke under the weight of the Queen's purse—ay, the day afore he were stopped in old road. I never understood the rights o' that bit o' work. Gaffer, hav 'ee got that printed paper ye read, where the Lun'on talk be given like the words of a book?"
Old Minshull slowly drew from his pocket a folded sheet, rather dirty, worn at the edges, and falling apart at the folds. He opened it out with great care, and spread it on his knees.
"That's he," said Lumpy. "Gaffer, you be a scholard; read it out loud to us again."