any miscreant as could be got anywhere, to swear away a man’s liberty,—­or his wife and family, which is a’most worse.  We saw how it was to be when he first looked out of his eye at the two post-office gents, and others who spoke up for the young squoire.  It was to be guilty.  We know’d it.  But it didn’t any way change our minds.  As to Crinkett and Smith and them others, we saw that they were ruffians.  We never doubted that.  But we saw as there was a bad time coming to you, Mr. John.  Then we was unhappy; unhappy along of you, Mr. John,—­but a’most worse as to this dear lady and the boy.’

‘My missus cried that you wouldn’t have believed,’ said Mr. Purvidge.  ’"If that’s true,” said my missus, “she ain’t nobody; and it’s my belief she’s as true a wife as ever stretched herself aside her husband."’ Then Hester bethought herself what present, of all presents, would be most acceptable to Mrs. Purvidge, who was a red-faced, red-armed, hard-working old woman, peculiarly famous for making cheeses.

‘We all knew it,’ said Mr. Holt, slapping his thigh with great energy.  ’And now, in spite of ’em all, judge, jury, and lying witnesses,—­the king has got his own again.’  At this piece of triumphant rhetoric there was a cheer from all the farmers.  ’And so we have come to wish you all joy, and particularly you, ma’am, with your boy.  Things have been said of you, ma’am, hard to bear, no doubt.  But not a word of the kind at Folking, nor yet in Netherden;—­nor yet at Utterden, Mr. Halfacre.  But all this is over, and we do hope that you, ma’am, and the young squoire ’ll live long, and the young ’un of all long after we are gone to our rest,—­and that you’ll be as fond of Folking as Folking is of you.  I can’t say no fairer.’  Then the tray was brought in with wine, and everybody drank everybody’s health, and there was another shaking of hands all round.  Mr. Purvidge, it was observed, drank the health of every separate member of the family in a separate bumper, pressing the edge of the glass securely to his lips, and then sending the whole contents down his throat at one throw with a chuck from his little finger.

The two Caldigates went out to see their friends as far as the gate, and while they were still within the grounds there came a merry peal from the bells of Netherden church-tower.  ‘I knew they’d be at it,’ said Mr. Holt.

‘And quite right too,’ said Mr. Halfacre.  ’We’d rung over at Utterden, only we’ve got nothing but that little tinkling thing as is more fitter to swing round a bullock’s neck than on a church-top.’

’I told ’em as they should have beer,’ said Mr. Brownby, whose house stood on Folking Causeway, ‘and they shall have beer!’ Mr. Brownby was a silent man, and added nothing to this one pertinent remark.

‘As to beer,’ said Mr. Halfacre, ’we’d ’ave found the beer at Utterden.  There wouldn’t have been no grudging the beer, Mr. Brownby, no more than there is in the lower parish; but you can’t get up a peal merely on beer.  You’ve got to have bells.’