“And I’ll have same of Virginia shag,” said the sailor.
“Fine day, mem,” said Newbold.
“Which way is the wind?” asked the widow.
“East by nor’-east,” answered Westcott.
“Ah! then we shall have fine weather, and lasting for the revel.”
“Hope so,” said the mason.
“It is really distressing—I can now never tell the way of the wind. It is as bad as having a kitchen clock as won’t work. That there church stag——”
Mrs. French never spoke of the weathercock, but used the local term for a cock, which throughout Devon is invariably—a stag.
“Ah!” said Newbold.
“Well, now,” said Westcott.