Service over, the preacher had set out for a stroll across the
hayfields towards Trematon, to calm himself with a look at the
scenery and the war-ships in the Hamoaze and the line of prison-hulks
below, where in those days they kept the French prisoners. He was
strolling back, with his hands clasped behind him under his
coat-tails, when on the knap of the hill, between him and the town,
he caught sight of a bevy of women seated among the hay-pooks--staid
middle-aged women, all in dark shawls and bonnets, chattering there
in the dusk. As he came along they all rose up together and dropped
him a curtsy.
"Good evenin', preacher dear," says Sally, acting spokeswoman; "and a
very fine night for the time of year."
I reckon that for a moment the preacher took a scare. Monstrous fine
women they were to be sure, looming up over him in the dimmety light,
and two or three of them tall as Grenadiers. But hearing himself
forespoken so pleasantly, he came to a stand and peered at them
through his gold-rimmed glasses.
"Ah, good evening, ladies!" says he. "You are, I presoom, members
of the society that I've just had the privilege of addressin'?"
And thereupon they dropped him another curtsy all together.
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