"
"I bet she didn'. Mind you, _I_ don't know, nuther." He up-ended his
besom and plucked a leaf or two from between the twigs before adding,
"And what, makin' so bold, did she tell about the Churchwardens?"
"The Churchwardens?" I echoed.
"Aye, the Churchwardens: Matthey Hancock an' th' old Farmer Truslove.
They was took ill right about the same time. Aw, my dear"--Mr.
Trewoon addresses all mankind impartially as "my dear"--"th' hull
parish knaws about _they_. Though there warn't no concealment, for
that matter."
"What about the Churchwardens?" I asked innocently, and of a sudden
became aware that he was rocking to and fro in short spasms of inward
laughter.
"--It started wi' the Bishop's motor breakin' down; whereby he and
his man spent the better part of two hours in a God-forsaken lane
somewhere t'other side of Hen's Beacon, tryin' to make her go.
He'd timed hisself to reach here punctual for the lunchin' the Missus
always has ready on Confirmation Day: nobody to meet his Lordship but
theirselves and the two Churchwardens; an' you may guess that Hancock
and Truslove had turned up early in their best broadcloth, lookin' to
have the time o' their lives.
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