The group of men and dogs had drawn up in front of the church just as Brother Peter crossed the church-yard to the porch, carrying a red paper in his hand.
"Who's that—the Methodee man?"
"It's the Methodee, for sure," said the blacksmith.
"Ey, it's the parson's Peter," added the postman, "and yon paper is a telegraph—it's like he's takin' it to somebody."
"Hold hard, my boys," said Drayton; and, leaving his cronies he strode through the lych-gate and down the path, the dogs yapping around him.
Brother Peter had drawn up at the door of the porch; the children were still singing.
"If that telegram is for my wife, you may hand it over to me," said Drayton, and reached out his hand to take it.
Brother Peter drew back.
"It'll be all right, old fellow—I'll see she gets it."
"Ey, thoo'll manish that, I's warn," said Peter, in a caustic voice.