“But you haven’t changed your mind, Sir,” said I.
“No,” said he, “I should be sorry to hear that these sports had died out, but I should like to hear that people took an interest in them who could manage the men thoroughly.”
“The Doctor,” said I, “as we drove home, said he would have the parish clerk and constable for perpetual umpires.”
“They wouldn’t be so good as the parson or the squire,” said he; “if I were rector of one of the parishes where they are still kept up, I would give prizes for them, but I would always be umpire myself.”
“I wish to goodness you was then,” said Joe, as we lighted our candles.
“You remember, Sir,” said I, “that you promised to write a sermon about the pastime.”
“What! after the fair?” said he.
“’Twill do just as well,” said Joe, “I should mortally like to hear it.”
“Well, it might keep you awake perhaps. He has an hereditary weakness for slumber in church, you must know,” said the Parson, turning to me; “when we wanted to alter the sittings in the church six or seven years ago, his father stood out for his old high box so sturdily, that I took some pains to argue with him, and to find out what it was which made it so dear to him. I found out at last that it was a snug corner, which just fitted his shoulders, where nobody could see him, and where, as soon as the text was given out, in his own words, “I just watches my missus wipe her spectacles, and fix herself to listen, and then I vaulds my arms and thenks o’ nothin’.”
I looked at Joe to see how he would take it, but he only chuckled, and said, “Well, ’tis the parson’s business to keep us awake. But a sermon on our sports, just showing folk about the rights on it, is just what I should amazingly like to have by me.”