as been often remarked,' said Stephen modestly.

'And he's certainly taller,' said Martin, letting his glance run over
Stephen's form from bottom to top.

'I was thinking 'a was exactly the same height,' Worm replied.

'Bless thy soul, that's because he's bigger round likewise.' And the
united eyes all moved to Stephen's waist.

'I be a poor wambling man, but I can make allowances,' said William
Worm. 'Ah, sure, and how he came as a stranger and pilgrim to Parson
Swancourt's that time, not a soul knowing en after so many years! Ay,
life's a strange picter, Stephen: but I suppose I must say Sir to ye?'

'Oh, it is not necessary at present,' Stephen replied, though mentally
resolving to avoid the vicinity of that familiar friend as soon as he
had made pretensions to the hand of Elfride.

'Ah, well,' said Worm musingly, 'some would have looked for no less than
a Sir. There's a sight of difference in people.'

'And in pigs likewise,' observed John Smith, looking at the halved
carcass of his own.

Robert Lickpan, the pig-killer, here seemed called upon to enter the
lists of conversation.

'Yes, they've got their particular naters good-now,' he remarked
initially. 'Many's the rum-tempered pig I've knowed.'

'I don't doubt it, Master Lickpan,' answered Martin, in a tone
expressing that his convictions, no less than good manners, demanded the
reply.

'Yes,' continued the pig-killer, as one accustomed to be heard. 'One
that I knowed was deaf and dumb, and we couldn't make out what was the
matter wi' the pig. 'A would eat well enough when 'a seed the trough,
but when his back was turned, you might a-rattled the bucket all day,
the poor soul never heard ye. Ye could play tricks upon en behind his
back, and a' wouldn't find it out no quicker than poor deaf Grammer
Cates. But a' fatted well, and I never seed a pig open better when a'
was killed, and 'a was very tender eating, very; as pretty a bit of mate
as ever you see; you could suck that mate through a quill.

'And another I knowed,' resumed the killer, after quietly letting a pint
of ale run down his throat of its own accord, and setting down the
cup with mathematical exactness upon the spot from which he had raised
it--'another went out of his mind.'

'How very mournful!' murmured Mrs. Worm.

'Ay, poor thing, 'a did! As clean out of his mind as the cleverest
Christian could go. In early life 'a was very melancholy, and never
seemed a hopeful pig by no means. '