rily
coexisted with the right to sell you the ground to be buried in and to
take tithe in kind; on which last point, of course, there was a little
grumbling, but not to the extent of irreligion--not of deeper
significance than the grumbling at the rain, which was by no means
accompanied with a spirit of impious defiance, but with a desire that
the prayer for fine weather might be read forthwith.

There was no reason, then, why the rector's dancing should not be
received as part of the fitness of things quite as much as the
Squire's, or why, on the other hand, Mr. Macey's official respect
should restrain him from subjecting the parson's performance to that
criticism with which minds of extraordinary acuteness must necessarily
contemplate the doings of their fallible fellow-men.

"The Squire's pretty springe, considering his weight," said Mr. Macey,
"and he stamps uncommon well. But Mr. Lammeter beats 'em all for
shapes: you see he holds his head like a sodger, and he isn't so
cushiony as most o' the oldish gentlefolks--they run fat in general;
and he's got a fine leg. The parson's nimble enough, but he hasn't got
much of a leg: it's a bit too thick down'ard, and his knees might be a
bit nearer wi'out damage; but he might do worse, he might do worse.
Though he hasn't that grand way o' waving his hand as the Squire has."

"Talk o' nimbleness, look at Mrs. Osgood," said Ben Winthrop, who was
holding his son Aaron between his knees. "She trips along with her
little steps, so as nobody can see how she goes--it's like as if she
had little wheels to her feet. She doesn't look a day older nor last
year: she's the finest-made woman as is, let the next be where she
will."

"I don't heed how the women are made," said Mr. Macey, with some
contempt. "They wear nayther coat nor breeches: you can't make much
out o' their shapes."

"Fayder," said Aaron, whose feet were busy beating out the tune, "how
does that big cock's-feather stick in Mrs. Crackenthorp's yead? Is
there a little hole for it, like in my shuttle-cock?"

"Hush, lad, hush; that's the way the ladies dress theirselves, that
is," said the father, adding, however, in an undertone to Mr. Macey,
"It does make her look funny, though--partly like a short-necked bottle
wi' a long quill in it. Hey, by jingo, there's the young Squire
leading off now, wi' Miss Nancy for partners! There's a lass for
you!--like a pink-and-white posy--there's nobody 'ud think as anybody
c