“Ees. Any news?”
“Ah, news enuff. He as wur Harry's captain and young Mr. Brown be comin' down to-morrow, and hev tuk all the Red Lion to theirselves. And thaay beant content to wait for banns—not thaay—and so ther's to be a license got for Saturday. 'Taint scarce decent, that 'taint.”
“'Tis best to get drough wi't,” said the constable.
“Then nothin'll sarve 'em but the church must be hung wi' flowers, and wher' be thaay to cum from without strippin' and starvin' ov my beds? 'Tis shameful to see how folks acts wi' flowers now-a-days, a cuttin' on 'em and puttin' on 'em about, as prodigal at though thaay growed o' theirselves.”
“So 'tis shameful,” said David, whose sympathies for flowers were all with Simon. “I heers tell as young Squire Wurley hevs 'em on table at dinner-time instead o' the wittels.”
“Do'ee though! I calls it reg'lar Papistry, and so I tells Miss; but her only laughs.”
The constable shook his head solemnly as he replied “Her've been led away wi' such doin's ever sence Mr. Walker cum, and took to organ-playin' and chantin'.”
“And he ain't no such gurt things in the pulpit, neether, ain't Mr. Walker,” chimed in Simon, (the two had not been so in harmony for years). “I reckon as he ain't nothin' to speak ov alongside o' this here new un as hev tuk his place. He've a got a good deal o' move in un' he hev.”
“Ah, so a hev. A wunnerful sight o' things a telled us t'other night, about the Indians and the wars.”
“Ah! talking cums as nat'ral to he as buttermilk to a litterin' sow.”