“Won’t I go up though?” said she, laughing; “we’ll see, Master Joe; why, I can walk up by myself, if it comes to that; besides, any of the neighbours will give me a lift—or here’s Mr. Richard, or Mr. Warton. I’m sure—”
“What’s that you’re saying, Miss Lucy? What am I to do, eh?” and the parson walked in just as I was going to speak. I was vexed at his just coming in, and taking the word out of my mouth.
“Why I was telling Joe that you’ll stop and take me up the hill, if he leaves me behind; won’t you now, Mr. Warton?”
“Leave you behind, indeed! here’s a pretty to do!” said he, laughing. “What in the world are you all talking about?”
“About the wrestling and backsword play,” struck in Joe; “now she says—”
“Well, now, I’ll leave it to Mr. Warton,” said Miss Lucy, interrupting him; “I know he won’t say it’s right for men to be fighting upon a high stage before all the country side.”
“Stuff and nonsense with your fighting!” said Joe; “you know, Sir, very well that they are old English games, and we sets great store by them down here, though some of our folk as ought to know better does set their faces against them now-a-days.”
“Yes, you know, Joe, that three or four clergymen have been preaching against them only last Sunday,” said Miss Lucy.
“Then they ain’t the right sort, or they’d know better what to preach against. I don’t take all for Gospel that the parsons say, mind you,” said Joe.