through, fat, lean, and streaky. That's what he is, and you
can take my word for it. Know his lady? No?" (I was a new-comer in those
days.) "Well, you _ought_ to: she'd make you laugh till you choked, and
next minute she'd make you cry. Mischievous? Why, if I should tell you
the tricks she's played on people you wouldn't believe 'em. Ever hear
what she did when the Squire's son come of age? Or about her dressing up
at the Queen's Jubilee? No? Well, I'll tell you that another time. Oh,
she's a treat--a real treat!" (Here Farmer Perryman broke forth into
mighty laughter and banged his fist on the table with such vigour that
Tall Hat the Second leaped into the air.)

"Why doesn't Parson keep her under, did you say?" he continued. "Bless
yer heart, he doesn't want to. She never harmed a living soul. Why, the
good she's done to this parish couldn't be told. It'll take the whole of
the Judgment Day to get through it, and then they won't ha' done--that's
what folks says. Popular? I should think she _was_! There isn't a poor
man or woman in the village as doesn't worship the soles of her boots.
And there's not many, rich or poor, as she hasn't made fools of--yes,
and more than once. They ought to write a book about her. It's a shame
they don't. My eye, if she'd been Queen of England she'd ha' made things
jump! As for finding things out, she's got a nose like that little
terrier bitch o' mine. 'Pon my word, it wouldn't surprise me if she
knows that you're sittin' in that chair at this minute. You mayn't
believe me, but I tell you she's capable of more than that.

"Yes, yes, she's gettin' an old woman now. I remember the day as Parson
brought her home--a quiet-looking little thing, with a face like a tame
rabbit--you wouldn't ha' thought she could 'a bitten a hole in the cheek
of a' apple. Some say she was a' actress before he married her; she's
_clever_ enough for twenty actresses, and she's _better_ than twenty
thousand."

"Those are impressive figures," I said, not a little puzzled by the sum
in moral arithmetic which the farmer's enthusiasm had propounded. "Why,
she must be a perfect saint."

The words were scarcely out of my mouth when Mr. Perryman rose from his
chair like a man in wrath. Inadvertently I had used an expression which
acted like a spark upon gunpowder. Intending to praise his idol, I had
for some obscure reason wounded the passionate old man in the most
sensitive nerve of his being. I sat amazed, not under