Reluctantly, Cicely told the tale of diphtheria and two graves in the churchyard. Tiddy refrained from comment. Crossing the village green, after five minutes with Mrs. Rockram, they encountered Nicodemus Burble, hearty and garrulous as ever.
“It do tickle me to death to see ’ee, miss,” he assured Cicely. “A fair stranger you be.”
“How is everything in the village, granfer?”
“We be gettin’ older, miss, and more rheumaticky. But I keeps on my old pins, I does, being scairt o’ takin’ to my bed wi no ’ooman to fend for me.”
“An old bachelor?” asked Tiddy.
“Lard love ’ee, miss, I ha’ buried two wives, and might ha’ taken a third, a very praper young wench, but too free wi’ her tongue like.”
“Was she?” asked Tiddy.
“Aye. Whatever do ’ee think she says to me, the lil’ besom, when I up and axed her to be number three?”
“I can’t imagine,” said Cicely.
Tiddy observed thoughtfully: