All this time Mr. Datchery had walked with his hat under his arm, and his white hair streaming.  He had an odd momentary appearance upon him of having forgotten his hat, when Mr. Sapsea now touched it; and he clapped his hand up to his head as if with some vague expectation of finding another hat upon it.

‘Pray be covered, sir,’ entreated Mr. Sapsea; magnificently plying:  ‘I shall not mind it, I assure you.’

‘His Honour is very good, but I do it for coolness,’ said Mr. Datchery.

Then Mr. Datchery admired the Cathedral, and Mr. Sapsea pointed it out as if he himself had invented and built it:  there were a few details indeed of which he did not approve, but those he glossed over, as if the workmen had made mistakes in his absence.  The Cathedral disposed of, he led the way by the churchyard, and stopped to extol the beauty of the evening—­by chance—­in the immediate vicinity of Mrs. Sapsea’s epitaph.

‘And by the by,’ said Mr. Sapsea, appearing to descend from an elevation to remember it all of a sudden; like Apollo shooting down from Olympus to pick up his forgotten lyre; ’that is one of our small lions.  The partiality of our people has made it so, and strangers have been seen taking a copy of it now and then.  I am not a judge of it myself, for it is a little work of my own.  But it was troublesome to turn, sir; I may say, difficult to turn with elegance.’

Mr. Datchery became so ecstatic over Mr. Sapsea’s composition, that, in spite of his intention to end his days in Cloisterham, and therefore his probably having in reserve many opportunities of copying it, he would have transcribed it into his pocket-book on the spot, but for the slouching towards them of its material producer and perpetuator, Durdles, whom Mr. Sapsea hailed, not sorry to show him a bright example of behaviour to superiors.

’Ah, Durdles!  This is the mason, sir; one of our Cloisterham worthies; everybody here knows Durdles.  Mr. Datchery, Durdles a gentleman who is going to settle here.’

‘I wouldn’t do it if I was him,’ growled Durdles.  ’We’re a heavy lot.’

‘You surely don’t speak for yourself, Mr. Durdles,’ returned Mr. Datchery, ‘any more than for His Honour.’

‘Who’s His Honour?’ demanded Durdles.

‘His Honour the Mayor.’

‘I never was brought afore him,’ said Durdles, with anything but the look of a loyal subject of the mayoralty, ’and it’ll be time enough for me to Honour him when I am.  Until which, and when, and where,

“Mister Sapsea is his name,
England is his nation,
Cloisterham’s his dwelling-place,
Aukshneer’s his occupation."’

Here, Deputy (preceded by a flying oyster-shell) appeared upon the scene, and requested to have the sum of threepence instantly ‘chucked’ to him by Mr. Durdles, whom he had been vainly seeking up and down, as lawful wages overdue.  While that gentleman, with his bundle under his arm, slowly found and counted out the money, Mr. Sapsea informed the new settler of Durdles’s habits, pursuits, abode, and reputation.  ’I suppose a curious stranger might come to see you, and your works, Mr. Durdles, at any odd time?’ said Mr. Datchery upon that.