“Better not, better not, Joshua.  Let evil words die as soon as they’re spoken.  Will Maskery might be a great deal worse fellow than he is.  He used to be a wild drunken rascal, neglecting his work and beating his wife, they told me; now he’s thrifty and decent, and he and his wife look comfortable together.  If you can bring me any proof that he interferes with his neighbours and creates any disturbance, I shall think it my duty as a clergyman and a magistrate to interfere.  But it wouldn’t become wise people like you and me to be making a fuss about trifles, as if we thought the Church was in danger because Will Maskery lets his tongue wag rather foolishly, or a young woman talks in a serious way to a handful of people on the Green.  We must ’live and let live,’ Joshua, in religion as well as in other things.  You go on doing your duty, as parish clerk and sexton, as well as you’ve always done it, and making those capital thick boots for your neighbours, and things won’t go far wrong in Hayslope, depend upon it.”

“Your Reverence is very good to say so; an’ I’m sensable as, you not livin’ i’ the parish, there’s more upo’ my shoulders.”

“To be sure; and you must mind and not lower the Church in people’s eyes by seeming to be frightened about it for a little thing, Joshua.  I shall trust to your good sense, now to take no notice at all of what Will Maskery says, either about you or me.  You and your neighbours can go on taking your pot of beer soberly, when you’ve done your day’s work, like good churchmen; and if Will Maskery doesn’t like to join you, but to go to a prayer-meeting at Treddleston instead, let him; that’s no business of yours, so long as he doesn’t hinder you from doing what you like.  And as to people saying a few idle words about us, we must not mind that, any more than the old church-steeple minds the rooks cawing about it.  Will Maskery comes to church every Sunday afternoon, and does his wheelwright’s business steadily in the weekdays, and as long as he does that he must be let alone.”

“Ah, sir, but when he comes to church, he sits an’ shakes his head, an’ looks as sour an’ as coxy when we’re a-singin’ as I should like to fetch him a rap across the jowl—­God forgi’e me—­an’ Mrs. Irwine, an’ Your Reverence too, for speakin’ so afore you.  An’ he said as our Christmas singin’ was no better nor the cracklin’ o’ thorns under a pot.”

“Well, he’s got a bad ear for music, Joshua.  When people have wooden heads, you know, it can’t be helped.  He won’t bring the other people in Hayslope round to his opinion, while you go on singing as well as you do.”

“Yes, sir, but it turns a man’s stomach t’ hear the Scripture misused i’ that way.  I know as much o’ the words o’ the Bible as he does, an’ could say the Psalms right through i’ my sleep if you was to pinch me; but I know better nor to take ’em to say my own say wi’.  I might as well take the Sacriment-cup home and use it at meals.”