Uncle Issy corroborated.  “You was proverbial, crowder, I can duly vow, an’ to that effect, unless my mem’ry misgives me.”

“So, in a mollifyin’ manner, I says, ’What hev the pore chap done, to be treated so bad?’ I says.  Says I, ‘better lave me use logic wi’ en’—­ eh, Uncle Issy?”

“Logic was the word.”

The stranger turned round upon the company, who with one accord began to look extremely foolish as Old Zeb so adroitly turned the tables.

“Is this true?” he asked.

“’Tis the truth, I must admit,” volunteered Uncle Issy, who had not been asked, but was fluttered with delight at having stuck to the right side against appearances.

“I think,” said the stranger, deliberately, “it is as well that you and I, my friends, should understand each other.  The turn of events has made it likely that I shall pass my days in this neighbourhood, and I wish to clear up all possible misconceptions at the start.  In the first place, I am going to marry Miss Ruby Tresidder.  Our banns will be asked in church to-morrow; but let us have a rehearsal.  Can any man here show cause or just impediment why this marriage should not take place?”

“You’d better ask that o’ Young Zeb, mister,” said Prudy.

“Why?”

“You owe your life to’n, I hear.”

“When next you see him you can put two questions.  Ask him in the first place if he saved it at my request.”

“Tut-tut.  A man likes to live, whether he axes for it or no,” grunted Elias Sweetland.  “And what the devil do you know about it?” demanded the stranger.

“I reckon I know what a man’s like.”

“Oh, you do, do you?  Wait a while, my friend.  In the second place,” he went on, returning to Prudy, “ask young Zebedee Minards, if he wants my life back, to come and fetch it.  And now attend all.  Do you see these?”

He threw back his cloak, and, diving a hand into his coat-pocket, produced a couple of pistols.  The butts were rich with brass-work, and the barrels shone as he held them out in the firelight.

“You needn’t dodge your heads about so gingerly.  I’m only about to give you an exhibition.  How many tall candlesticks have you in the house besides the pair here?” he inquired of Prudy.

“Dree pair.”

“Put candles in the other two pairs and set them on the chimney-shelf.”

“Why?”

“Do as I tell you.”

“Now here’s summat like a man!” said Prudy, and went out obediently to fetch them.

Until she returned there was dead silence in the bar-parlour.  The men puffed uneasily at their pipes, not one of which was alight, and avoided the stranger’s eye, which rested on each in turn with a sardonic humour.

Prudy lit the candles, one from the other, and after snuffing them with her fingers that they might burn steadily, arranged them in a row on the mantelshelf.  Now above this shelf the chimney-piece was panelled to the height of some two and a half feet, and along the panel certain ballads that Prudy had purchased of the Sherborne messenger were stuck in a row with pins.