Saunders was the village smith, a tall, brawny man, of great size and corresponding wisdom, who had been the village arbiter and general councillor for a generation. There was not a will made in Clinton Magna that he did not advise upon; not a bit of contentious business that he had not a share in; not a family history that he did not know. His probity was undisputed; his ability was regarded with awe; but as he had a sharp tongue and was no respecter of persons, there was of course an opposition.
John took a seat on the wooden box he had just been cording, and mopped his brow. His full cheeks were crimson, partly with exertion, partly with sudden annoyance.
'What's 'ee been sayin now? Though it doan't matter a brass farthin to me what 'ee says.'
'He says you 'aven't got no proper feelins about poor Eliza, and you'd ought to have done a great deal more for Louisa. But 'ee says you allus were a mean one with your money—an you knew that 'ee knew it—for 'ee 'd stopped you takin an unfair advantage more nor once. An 'ee didn't believe as your money would come to any good; for now Eliza was gone you wouldn't know how to take care on it.'
John's eyes flamed. 'Oh! 'ee says that, do 'ee? Well Saunders wor allus a beast—an a beast 'ee'll be.'
He sat with his chin on his large dirty hands, ruminating furiously.
It was quite true that Saunders had thwarted him more than once. There was old Mrs. Moulsey at the shop, when she wanted to buy those cottages in Potter's Row—and there was Sam Field the higgler—both of them would have borrowed from him if Saunders hadn't cooled them off. Saunders said it was a Jew's interest he was asking—because there was security—but he wasn't going to accept a farthing less than his shilling a pound for three months—not he! So they might take it or leave it. And Mrs. Moulsey got hers from the Building Society, and Sam Field made shift to go without. And John Bolderfield was three pounds poorer that quarter than he need have been—all along of Saunders. And now Saunders was talking 'agen him' like this—blast him!
'Oh, an then he went on'—pursued Bessie with gusto—'about your bein too ignorant to put it in the post-office. 'Ee said you'd think Edwards would go an spend it' (Edwards was the postmaster), 'an then he laughed fit to split 'imself. Yer couldn't see more nor the length of your own nose he said—it was edication you wanted. As for 'im, 'ee said, 'ee'd have kep it for you if you'd asked him, but you'd been like a bear with a sore 'ead, 'ee said ever since Mrs. Moulsey's affair—so 'ee didn't suppose you would.'
'Well, 'ee's about right there,' said John, grimly; ''ee's talkin sense for onst when 'ee says that. I'd dig a hole in the hill and bury it sooner nor I'd trust it to 'im—I would, by—' he swore vigorously. 'A thieving set of magpies is all them Saunders—cadgin 'ere and cadgin there.'
He spoke with fierce contempt, the tacit hatred of years leaping to sight. Bessie's bright brown eyes looked at him with sympathy.