Then Farmer Nicholas Snowe folded his arms across with the bowl of his pipe on the upper one, and gave me a nod, and then one to mother, to testify how he had done his duty, and recked not what might come of it.  However, he got little thanks from us; for the parish was nothing at all to my mother, compared with her children’s interests; and I thought it hard that an uncle of mine, and an old man too, should be called a liar, by a visitor at our fireplace.  For we, in our rude part of the world, counted it one of the worst disgraces that could befall a man, to receive the lie from any one.  But Uncle Ben, as it seems was used to it, in the way of trade, just as people of fashion are, by a style of courtesy.

Therefore the old man only looked with pity at Farmer Nicholas; and with a sort of sorrow too, reflecting how much he might have made in a bargain with such a customer, so ignorant and hot-headed.

“Now let us bandy words no more,” said mother, very sweetly; “nothing is easier than sharp words, except to wish them unspoken; as I do many and many’s the time, when I think of my good husband.  But now let us hear from Uncle Reuben what he would have us do to remove this disgrace from amongst us, and to satisfy him of his goods.”

“I care not for my goods, woman,” Master Huckaback answered grandly; “although they were of large value, about them I say nothing.  But what I demand is this, the punishment of those scoundrels.”

“Zober, man, zober!” cried Farmer Nicholas; “we be too naigh Badgery ’ood, to spake like that of they Dooneses.”

“Pack of cowards!” said Uncle Reuben, looking first at the door, however; “much chance I see of getting redress from the valour of this Exmoor!  And you, Master Snowe, the very man whom I looked to to raise the country, and take the lead as churchwarden—­why, my youngest shopman would match his ell against you.  Pack of cowards,” cried Uncle Ben, rising and shaking his lappets at us; “don’t pretend to answer me.  Shake you all off, that I do—­nothing more to do with you!”

We knew it useless to answer him, and conveyed our knowledge to one another, without anything to vex him.  However, when the mulled wine was come, and a good deal of it gone (the season being Epiphany), Uncle Reuben began to think that he might have been too hard with us.  Moreover, he was beginning now to respect Farmer Nicholas bravely, because of the way he had smoked his pipes, and the little noise made over them.  And Lizzie and Annie were doing their best—­for now we had let the girls out—­to wake more lightsome uproar; also young Faith Snowe was toward to keep the old men’s cups aflow, and hansel them to their liking.

So at the close of our entertainment, when the girls were gone away to fetch and light their lanthorns (over which they made rare noise, blowing each the other’s out for counting of the sparks to come), Master Huckaback stood up, without much aid from the crock-saw, and looked at mother and all of us.