“Certainly, my dear. The lord-lieutenant is going to make Gammon sheriff.”
“Why Gammon?”
“Because he can afford to pay for the honour. The old squirearchy can’t bear the expense.”
“Hush, we are close to the church, and must withdraw our minds from the world.”
“So I will, dear. Eggin’s pigs have been in the garden again.”
“There’ll be the exhortation to-day, Lamerton, and you must stand up for it. Next Sunday is Sacrament Sunday.”
“To be sure. I’ll have a lower line of wire round the fences. Those pigs go where a hare will run.”
“Have you brought your hymnal with you?”
Lord Lamerton fumbled in his pocket, and produced his yellow silk kerchief and a book together.
“That,” said his wife, “is no good; it is the old edition.”