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Ruby Tresidder, on gaining the porch, saw Young Zeb tumble out of the stairway leading from the gallery and run by, stowing the pieces of his flute in his pocket as he went, without a glance at her. Like all the rest, he had clean forgotten the banns.
The dancers, pale and dusty, leant back in rows against the wall, and with their handkerchiefs went through the motions of fanning or polishing, according to sex. In their midst circulated Farmer Tresidder, with a three-handled mug of shenachrum, hot from the embers, and furred with wood-ash. "Take an' drink, thirsty souls. Niver do I mind the Letterpooch so footed i' my born days."
Probably she would have risked her dignity to retort, had not Parson Babbage advanced down the chancel at this juncture. "Has anyone seen the bridegroom to-day?" he inquired of Tresidder. "Or will you send some one to hurry him?" "Be danged if I know," the farmer began testily, mopping his bald head, and then he broke off, catching sound of a stir among the folk behind.
"He's not as strong as I," muttered the stranger, staring at Parson Babbage in a dazed, uncertain fashion, and uttering the words as if they had no connection with his thoughts. "I'm afraid sir I've broken his heart." And with that he, too, fainted, into the Parson's arms. "Better carry the both up to Sheba," said Farmer Tresidder.
"Terrible! terrible!" he said, very slowly, and passed it on to Farmer Tresidder. "What is it? Where be I to look? Aw, pore chaps pore chaps! Man alive but there's one movin'!" Zeb snatched the glass. "'Pon the riggin', Zeb, just under her lee! I saw en move a black-headed chap, in a red shirt " "Right, Farmer he's clingin', too, not lashed." Zeb gave a long look. "Darned if I won't!" he said.
The rose lay on her plate. "Who has robbed my rose-bush?" she asked. "I am guilty," he answered: "I stole it to give it back; and, not being mine, 'twas the harder to part with." "To my mind," broke in Farmer Tresidder, with his mouth full of ham, "the best part o' the feast be the over-plush. Squab pie, muggetty pie, conger pie, sweet giblet pie such a whack of pies do try a man, to be sure.
But 'twas only to get Jim's cottage for that strong-will'd supplantin' furriner because Ruby said 'twas low manners for bride an' groom to go to church from the same house. So no sooner was the Lewarnes out than he was in, like shufflin' cards, wi' his marriage garment an' his brush an' comb in a hand-bag. Tresidder sent down a mattress for en, an' he slept there last night."
"I heard tell of a man once," said Uncle Issy, "that committed murder upon another for love; but, save my life, I can't think 'pon his name, nor where 't befell." "What an old store-house 'tis!" ejaculated Elias Sweetland, bending a contemplative gaze on Uncle Issy. "Mark her pale face, naybours," put in a woman; "an' Tresidder, he looks like a man that's neither got nor lost." "Trew, trew."
"I've a note to hand to each of 'ee. Better save your breath till you've read 'em." He delivered the two notes, and stood, tapping a toe on the tiles, in the bridegroom's place on the right of the chancel-rails. "Damnation!" "Mr. Tresidder," interrupted the parson, "I like a man to swear off his rage if he's upset, but I can't allow it in the church." "I don't care if you do or you don't."
"Iss, turn it how you will, the words be winnin' enow. But be danged, my dear, if I wudn' as lief you said, 'Go to blazes!" "Fact is, my son," said Farmer Tresidder, candidly, "you'm good but untimely, like kissin' the wrong maid. This here surpassin' young friend o' mine was speech-makin' after a pleasant fashion in our ears when you began to bawl "
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