oadside inn, where he ordered a
glass of ale and a long pipe for himself, and discussed these unwonted
luxuries on the bench outside in the soft autumn evening with mine
host, another old servant of the Browns, and speculated with him on the
likelihood of a good show of old gamesters to contend for the morrow's
prizes, and told tales of the gallant bouts of forty years back, to
which Tom listened with all his ears and eyes.

But who shall tell the joy of the next morning, when the church bells
were ringing a merry peal, and old Benjy appeared in the servants' hall,
resplendent in a long blue coat and brass buttons, and a pair of old
yellow buckskins and top-boots which he had cleaned for and inherited
from Tom's grandfather, a stout thorn stick in his hand, and a nosegay
of pinks and lavender in his buttonhole, and led away Tom in his best
clothes, and two new shillings in his breeches-pockets? Those two, at
any rate, look like enjoying the day's revel.

They quicken their pace when they get into the churchyard, for already
they see the field thronged with country folk; the men in clean, white
smocks or velveteen or fustian coats, with rough plush waistcoats of
many colours, and the women in the beautiful, long scarlet cloak--the
usual out-door dress of west-country women in those days, and which
often descended in families from mother to daughter--or in new-fashioned
stuff shawls, which, if they would but believe it, don't become them
half so well. The air resounds with the pipe and tabor, and the drums
and trumpets of the showmen shouting at the doors of their caravans,
over which tremendous pictures of the wonders to be seen within hang
temptingly; while through all rises the shrill "root-too-too-too" of Mr.
Punch, and the unceasing pan-pipe of his satellite.

"Lawk a' massey, Mr. Benjamin," cries a stout, motherly woman in a red
cloak, as they enter the field, "be that you? Well, I never! You do look
purely. And how's the Squire, and madam, and the family?"

Benjy graciously shakes hands with the speaker, who has left our village
for some years, but has come over for "veast" day on a visit to an old
gossip, and gently indicates the heir-apparent of the Browns.

"Bless his little heart! I must gi' un a kiss.--Here, Susannah,
Susannah!" cries she, raising herself from the embrace, "come and see
Mr. Benjamin and young Master Tom.--You minds our Sukey, Mr. Benjamin;
she be growed a rare slip of a wench since you see