“Yes, yes—­that’s it.  But, Timothy, hearken to me,” said the Grandfer earnestly.  “Though known as such a joker, I be an understanding man if you catch me serious, and I am serious now.  I can tell ’ee lots about the married couple.  Yes, this morning at six o’clock they went up the country to do the job, and neither vell nor mark have been seen of ’em since, though I reckon that this afternoon has brought ’em home again man and woman—­wife, that is.  Isn’t it spoke like a man, Timothy, and wasn’t Mis’ess Yeobright wrong about me?”

“Yes, it will do.  I didn’t know the two had walked together since last fall, when her aunt forbad the banns.  How long has this new set-to been mangling then?  Do you know, Humphrey?”

“Yes, how long?” said Grandfer Cantle smartly, likewise turning to Humphrey.  “I ask that question.”

“Ever since her aunt altered her mind, and said she might have the man after all,” replied Humphrey, without removing his eyes from the fire.  He was a somewhat solemn young fellow, and carried the hook and leather gloves of a furze-cutter, his legs, by reason of that occupation, being sheathed in bulging leggings as stiff as the Philistine’s greaves of brass.  “That’s why they went away to be married, I count.  You see, after kicking up such a nunny-watch and forbidding the banns ’twould have made Mis’ess Yeobright seem foolish-like to have a banging wedding in the same parish all as if she’d never gainsaid it.”

“Exactly—­seem foolish-like; and that’s very bad for the poor things that be so, though I only guess as much, to be sure,” said Grandfer Cantle, still strenuously preserving a sensible bearing and mien.

“Ah, well, I was at church that day,” said Fairway, “which was a very curious thing to happen.”

“If ’twasn’t my name’s Simple,” said the Grandfer emphatically.  “I ha’n’t been there to-year; and now the winter is a-coming on I won’t say I shall.”

“I ha’n’t been these three years,” said Humphrey; “for I’m so dead sleepy of a Sunday; and ’tis so terrible far to get there; and when you do get there ’tis such a mortal poor chance that you’ll be chose for up above, when so many bain’t, that I bide at home and don’t go at all.”

“I not only happened to be there,” said Fairway, with a fresh collection of emphasis, “but I was sitting in the same pew as Mis’ess Yeobright.  And though you may not see it as such, it fairly made my blood run cold to hear her.  Yes, it is a curious thing; but it made my blood run cold, for I was close at her elbow.”  The speaker looked round upon the bystanders, now drawing closer to hear him, with his lips gathered tighter than ever in the rigorousness of his descriptive moderation.

“’Tis a serious job to have things happen to ’ee there,” said a woman behind.

“‘Ye are to declare it,’ was the parson’s words,” Fairway continued.  “And then up stood a woman at my side—­a-touching of me.  ’Well, be damned if there isn’t Mis’ess Yeobright a-standing up,’ I said to myself.  Yes, neighbours, though I was in the temple of prayer that’s what I said.  ’Tis against my conscience to curse and swear in company, and I hope any woman here will overlook it.  Still what I did say I did say, and ’twould be a lie if I didn’t own it.”