“What now?” he demanded, in a hoarse whisper-’"Can’t ye see I’m busy?”

“O’ coorse you’re busy—­I knows you’re busy,”—­returned Bainton, soothingly—­“I ain’t goin’ to keep ye back nohow.  All I wants to know is, ef it’s true?”

“Ef what’s true?”

“This ‘ere, wot the folks are all a’ clicketin’ about,—­that Miss Vancourt ‘as got a party o’ Lunnon fash’nables stayin’ at the Manor, an’ that they’re comin’ to church this marnin’?”

“True enough!” said Frost—­“Don’t ye see me a-settin’ chairs for ’em near the poopit?  There’ll be what’s called a ‘crush’ I can tell ye!- -for there ain’t none too much room in the church at the best o’ times for our own poor folk, but when rich folks comes as well, we’ll be put to it to seat ’em.  Mister Primmins, he comes down to me nigh ‘arf an hour ago, an’ he sez, sez he:  ’Miss Vancourt ’as friends from Lunnon stayin’ with ‘er, an’ they’re comin’ to church this marnin’.  ‘Ope you’ll find room?’ An’ I sez to ’im, ’I’ll do my best, but there ain’t no reserve seats in the ‘ouse o’ God, an’ them as comes fust gits fust served.’  Ay, it’s true enough they’re a-comin’, but ’ow it got round in the village, I don’t know.  I ain’t sed a wurrd.”

“Ill news travels fast,”—­said Bainton, sententiously, “Mister Primmins no doubt called on his young ’ooman at the ‘Mother Huff’ an’ told ’er to put on ’er best ’at.  She’s a reg’ler telephone tube for information—­any bit o’ news runs right through ’er as though she was a wire.  ’Ave ye told Passon Waldon as ‘ow Miss Vancourt an’ visitors is a-comin’ to ’ear ’im preach?”

“No,”—­replied Adam, with some vigour—­“I ain’t told ‘im nothin’.  An’ I ain’t goin’ to neither!”

Bainton looked into the crown of his cap, and finding his handkerchief there wiped the top of his head with it.

“It be powerful warm this marnin’, Adam,”—­he said—­“Powerful warm it be.  So you ain’t goin’ to tell Passon nothin’,—­an’ for why, may I ask, if to be so bold.”

“Look ’ere, Tummas,”—­rejoined the verger, speaking slowly and emphatically—­“Passon, ’e be a rare good man, m’appen no better man anywheres, an’ what he’s goin’ to say to us this blessed Sunday is all settled-like.  He’s been thinkin’ it out all the week.  He knows what’s what.  ‘Tain’t for us,—­’tain’t for you nor me, to go puttin’ ‘im out an’ tellin’ ‘im o’ the world the flesh an’ the devil all a-comin’ to church.  Mebbe he’a been a-prayin’ to the Lord A’mighty to put the ’Oly Spirit into ‘im, an’ mebbe he’s got it—­just there.”  And Adam touched his breast significantly.  “Now if I goes, or you goes and sez to ’im:  ’Passon, there’s fash’nable folks from Lunnon comin’ ‘ere to look at ye an’ listen to ye, an’ for all we kin tell make mock o’ ye as well as o’ the Gospel itself in their ’arts’—­ d’ye think he’d be any the better for it?  No, Tummas, no!  I say leave Passon alone.  Don’t upset ’im.  Let ’im come out of ’is ’ouse wise an’ peaceful like as he allus do, an’ let ’im speak as the fiery tongues from Heaven moves ‘im, an’ as if there worn’t no fashion nor silly nonsense in the world.  He’s best so, Tummas!—­you b’lieve me,—­he’s best so!”