‘Now, wait, ma’am. I don’t say ’twere a low smell, mind ye. ’Twere a high smell, a sort of gamey flaviour, calling to mind venison and hare, just as you’d expect of a great squire,—not like a poor man’s ’natomy, at all; and that was what strengthened my faith that ’twas Sir Blount.’
(‘The skins that old coat was made of,’ ruminated Swithin.)
‘Well, well; I’ve not held out against the figure o’ starvation these five-and-twenty year, on nine shillings a week, to be afeard of a walking vapour, sweet or savoury,’ said Hezzy. ‘So here’s home-along.’
‘Bide a bit longer, and I’m going too,’ continued Fry. ‘Well, when I found ’twas Sir Blount my spet dried up within my mouth; for neither hedge nor bush were there for refuge against any foul spring ’a might have made at us.’
‘’Twas very curious; but we had likewise a-mentioned his name just afore, in talking of the confirmation that’s shortly coming on,’ said Hezzy.
‘Is there soon to be a confirmation?’
‘Yes. In this parish—the first time in Welland church for twenty years. As I say, I had told ’em that he was confirmed the same year that I went up to have it done, as I have very good cause to mind. When we went to be examined, the pa’son said to me, “Rehearse the articles of thy belief.” Mr. Blount (as he was then) was nighest me, and he whispered, “Women and wine.” “Women and wine,” says I to the pa’son: and for that I was sent back till next confirmation, Sir Blount never owning that he was the rascal.’
‘Confirmation was a sight different at that time,’ mused Biles. ‘The Bishops didn’t lay it on so strong then as they do now. Now-a-days, yer Bishop gies both hands to every Jack-rag and Tom-straw that drops the knee afore him; but ’twas six chaps to one blessing when we was boys. The Bishop o’ that time would stretch out his palms and run his fingers over our row of crowns as off-hand as a bank gentleman telling money. The great lords of the Church in them days wasn’t particular to a soul or two more or less; and, for my part, I think living was easier for ’t.’
‘The new Bishop, I hear, is a bachelor-man; or a widow gentleman is it?’ asked Mrs. Martin.
‘Bachelor, I believe, ma’am. Mr. San Cleeve, making so bold, you’ve never faced him yet, I think?’