Guy was very cross when he told the story. Only to think that he had painted London town and London wit in such colours; and then to be dropped on by a simple cobbler before a handsome woman! But he wasn't cross long, and he went out and bought a pretty chain, and gave it to the cobbler to lead his "badger" with. So Guy and the cobbler cried quits.
The Parson trumps.
To be able to do a "clane off trick" is to be the hero in a parish for generations, and Parson Arscott was quoted at all the fairs as a masterpiece for doing the thing clane off at a horse deal. The story goes that the reverend gentleman attended Summercourt Fair, which is famed throughout the land. If you can't get what you want at Summercourt Fair, you must be hard to please, for the lame and the blind are there, the young and the aged, the sound and unsound, and you buy on your own judgment and without warranty. Parson Arscott knew a good horse when he saw it, and went early and looked about him. In the thick of the fair the parson went and examined the horses' tails, and so attracted attention to himself, for every one knows that to tell a horse's age you must open its mouth, and look at its teeth. And the curious part of the business was that the parson knew as much about the animal he was handling by lifting its tail as other people did by opening its mouth. At length, parson came to a nice little cob that suited him, and the deal began. It was a weary deal, but parson was firm. "I've looked at his tail, and I know he's rising five," said he; and he was right,—whatever the parson said about the cob was right, and yet he never once looked at its mouth. There was a trifle of five pounds between them when the shades of evening began to fall, and no hope of any advance on the part of the parson. At last the dealer said, "Tell me how you know a horse's age by his tail, and you shall have the cob." The parson counted down the guineas, and whispered, "I looked into his mouth beforehand." "Parson Arscott's deal" makes a horse-dealer shiver to this day.
The Parson euchred.
But sharp as the parson was at the fair, he was no match for a woman on her own ground. Parson was round collecting his tithes, and came to a farm whereon the farmer's wife presented her husband with a tenth child, and an old sow littered ten years.
"Passun es out in the town plaace, and es coom vur th' tithe pig. Which shall us giv'm?" asked the farmer of his better half, sitting in the kitchen suckling her baby.
"Tithe pig, es et? What next, I wonder? I'll tithe pig'n," says Mrs. Farmer, rising and taking the infant with her.
The parson was very polite, of course, to Mrs. Farmer and number ten, and asked about the christening.
"That's vur you to zay, passun," says the lady, holding out number ten. "He do belong to you."
The parson flushed. This was not in his line.