hty fine fer 'erself, 'er 'ave; Mrs.
Tucker tol' me all 'bout 'un, but 'er be terr'ble young, b'ain't 'er,
for the likes of thikee ol' man?"

The country women patted and pulled at their best clothes, and turned
their sweet, slightly bronzed faces, with skins like satin, up to the
blazing sun.

"Iss, vrai! that 'er be Mrs. Pugsley! But did 'ee iver zee the likes
on they ther zatins an' laces an' juels they vine wimen be wearin'?"

"Iss! an' luk at th' ol' paint an' stuff ther be ol over ther vaces?
Dear, dear now, ther lips be terr'ble raid, b'ain't 'un? Luks lik'
they'd bin stealin' cherries! An' ther eyes be terr'ble black! Luks
lik' the'd bin fightin' with ther 'usbands."

Silence fell, during which sweet music stole through the church windows
to fall like a benison upon the charming simple folk who, by their
courtesy and gentleness, make Devon such a blissful county to dwell in.

"Can't think, now," suddenly remarked Mrs. Ovey, "w'y thikee young lady
'av chose Mortehoe Church fer 'er weddin'!"

"I've year'd tell that 'er vather be related to zum lord 'oo 'elped
kill some ol' parson, yers an' yers gone by! Gracie! now wat be th'
ol' man's name now that taicher tol 'ee 'bout?"

"Tracey!"

"Iss, iss! I've year'd tell 'e be buried zumwher yer 'bouts, an' th'
ol' bridegroom be proper zet to be married down yer!"

"After th' weddin'," continued Mrs. Ovey, supplying information, "all
th' vine volks be goin' on to Lay Hotel vur summat t' ate. Arter that
they tu be goin' vor 'oneymun over ta 'ardland in li'le ol' 'ouze.
Poor li'le lady, an' th' ouze they be goin' to be so small ther b'ain't
no room vur zervants nor nothin'!"

"My now, Mrs. Ovey, but that young feller be proper 'ansom, b'ain't 'e
now? I reckon it be a pity that 'er 'adn't zeen 'im befor 'er vixed up
with old 'un. I remember when Bill was courtin' me, 'ow----"

And so on and so forth, whilst inside the "vine wimen" from London Town
made comments after their own kind.

"Some women have all the luck," remarked an enamelled dame, whose
bridge and dressmakers' debts were on a par with those of her three
daughters who had safely, oh! quite, but most unsuccessfully survived
many seasons, "I wonder how Susie managed it? Gawky young miss, isn't
she? Just out of school. Um--um--um!"

"_Really! is_ she! Strange in her manner--you don't mean it--oh! of
_course_ not, dearest! _Fancy_! hates society, swims at night, walks
ten miles a day--yes,