only 1,000 or 1,200 all told—­and expressing her certainty of the impossibility of rinding mouths enough to consume such a mass of mutton.  As a matter of fact, there were, I suppose, four or five large dealers present, any one of whom would have bought every sheep, could he have seen a fair chance of a possible profit of threepence a head; to say nothing of innumerable smaller dealers and retail butchers, good for a score or two apiece.  What I may call the parochial horizon is well illustrated, too, by the announcement of a domestic economist:  “Farmer Jones lost two calves last week; I reckon we shall have beef a lot dearer.”  And again by the recommendation of a shrewd and ancient husbandman of my acquaintance that it was desirable for any young farmer to get away from home and visit the county town sometimes, at any rate on market days, and attend the “ordinary” dinner, even if it cost him a few shillings—­“for there,” he added, “you med stick and stick and stick at home until you knows nothin’ at all.”  Shakespeare puts the matter more tersely, if less forcibly, “Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.”  I cannot forbear, too, the temptation to recall Punch’s picture at the time of King George’s coronation.  The scene depicted two rustics gossiping at the parish pump, as to the forthcoming village festivities, and the squire’s carriage with the squire and his family, followed by the luggage cart, on their way to the railway station: 

First Rustic.  Where be them folks a-goin’ to; I wonder?

Second Rustic.  Off to Lunnon, I reckon, but they’ll be back for the Cor-o-nation.

Soon after the reopening of the church I overtook Bell as we were returning from Sunday morning service.  It was a dark day, and the pulpit, having been moved from the south to the north side of the nave—­farther from the windows—­the clerk lighted the desk candles before the Vicar began his sermon.  I asked Bell how he liked the service, referring to the new choir and music; he hesitated, not wanting, as I was the Vicar’s churchwarden, to appear critical, but being too conscientious to disguise his feelings.  I could see that he was troubled, and asked what was the matter.  Then it came out; it was “them candles!” which he took to be part of the ritual, and he added, “But you ain’t a-goin’ to make a Papist of me!”

Bell was proof against attempted bribery, and often came chuckling to me over his refusals of dishonest proposals.  A man from whom I used to buy large quantities of hop-poles required some withy “bonds” for tying faggots; they are sold at a price per bundle of 100, and the applicant suggested that 120 should be placed in each bundle.  Bell was to receive a recognition for his complicity in the fraud, and he agreed on condition that in my next deal for hop-poles 100 should be represented by 120 in like manner.  The bargain did not materialize.