“Ay, more’s the pity,” says Levion. “I’ll not deny it’s been that way more than once.”
“And there’s another thing. You follow your wife to the grave, and drag a dead calf along after her. Now I ask you, is that right or decent?”
But Levion, fisherman-peasant, found such niceties beyond him; he stared uncomprehendingly at the priest. His wife had always been a thrifty soul; she would have been the first to remind him herself to take the calf along if she could have spoken. “Seeing it’s up that way,” she would have said.
“If as Pastor’s going to be so niggling particular,” said Levion, “you’ll never get a decent helper anywhere.”
“That’s my business,” said the priest. “Anyhow, you are dismissed.”
Levion looked down at his sou’wester. It was a blow to him and a disgrace; his neighbours would rejoice at his fall.
But the priest had not finished yet. “For Heaven’s sake,” he said, “can’t you get that sister of yours married to the man?”
“Do you think I haven’t tried?” said Levion. “But the worst of it is, she’s not quite sure which one it is.”
The priest looked at him open-mouthed. “Not quite what did you say?” And then at last, realising what it meant, he clasped his hands. “Well, well!... I must find another helper, that is all.”