The words were uttered by T. E. Valley in such shaky tones that Wolf was relieved when he saw Darnley take the parson reassuringly by the arm.

“Mistake?” roared the farmer. “I bain’t one for to say what I ain’t got chapter nor text for saying! My friend, Josh Beard here, of Nevilton, County of Somerset, be as good a breeder of shorthorns as any in Darset; and ’a do say ’a have heerd such things tonight such as no man’s lips should utter; and heerd them, too, from one as we all do know.” And he turned round and leered at Jason Otter with the leer of a tipsy hangman.

“Hold thee’s tongue in thee’s bullick’s-head!” cried the indignant monument-maker. “A gent’s a gent, I tell ’ee; and when a quiet gent, like what’s with us tonight, be moderate wambly in’s head, owing to liquor, ’tisn’t for a girt bullfrog like thee to lift up voice.”