“Let be, Addy, let be.  Ben will be joking.  Why, he’s i’ the right to laugh at me—­I canna help laughing at myself.”

“I shan’t loose him till he promises to let the door alone,” said Adam.

“Come, Ben, lad,” said Seth, in a persuasive tone, “don’t let’s have a quarrel about it.  You know Adam will have his way.  You may’s well try to turn a waggon in a narrow lane.  Say you’ll leave the door alone, and make an end on’t.”

“I binna frighted at Adam,” said Ben, “but I donna mind sayin’ as I’ll let ‘t alone at your askin’, Seth.”

“Come, that’s wise of you, Ben,” said Adam, laughing and relaxing his grasp.

They all returned to their work now; but Wiry Ben, having had the worst in the bodily contest, was bent on retrieving that humiliation by a success in sarcasm.

“Which was ye thinkin’ on, Seth,” he began—­“the pretty parson’s face or her sarmunt, when ye forgot the panels?”

“Come and hear her, Ben,” said Seth, good-humouredly; “she’s going to preach on the Green to-night; happen ye’d get something to think on yourself then, instead o’ those wicked songs you’re so fond on.  Ye might get religion, and that ‘ud be the best day’s earnings y’ ever made.”

“All i’ good time for that, Seth; I’ll think about that when I’m a-goin’ to settle i’ life; bachelors doesn’t want such heavy earnin’s.  Happen I shall do the coortin’ an’ the religion both together, as ye do, Seth; but ye wouldna ha’ me get converted an’ chop in atween ye an’ the pretty preacher, an’ carry her aff?”

“No fear o’ that, Ben; she’s neither for you nor for me to win, I doubt.  Only you come and hear her, and you won’t speak lightly on her again.”

“Well, I’m half a mind t’ ha’ a look at her to-night, if there isn’t good company at th’ Holly Bush.  What’ll she take for her text?  Happen ye can tell me, Seth, if so be as I shouldna come up i’ time for’t.  Will’t be—­what come ye out for to see?  A prophetess?  Yea, I say unto you, and more than a prophetess—­a uncommon pretty young woman.”

“Come, Ben,” said Adam, rather sternly, “you let the words o’ the Bible alone; you’re going too far now.”

“What!  Are ye a-turnin’ roun’, Adam?  I thought ye war dead again th’ women preachin’, a while agoo?”

“Nay, I’m not turnin’ noway.  I said nought about the women preachin’.  I said, You let the Bible alone:  you’ve got a jest-book, han’t you, as you’re rare and proud on?  Keep your dirty fingers to that.”

“Why, y’ are gettin’ as big a saint as Seth.  Y’ are goin’ to th’ preachin’ to-night, I should think.  Ye’ll do finely t’ lead the singin’.  But I don’ know what Parson Irwine ‘ull say at his gran’ favright Adam Bede a-turnin’ Methody.”

“Never do you bother yourself about me, Ben.  I’m not a-going to turn Methodist any more nor you are—­though it’s like enough you’ll turn to something worse.  Mester Irwine’s got more sense nor to meddle wi’ people’s doing as they like in religion.  That’s between themselves and God, as he’s said to me many a time.”