within earshot, broke loose and began to wag with glib rapidity. "Look 'ee 'ere, Tummas," said one short, thick-set man, addressing Bainton; "Look 'ee 'ere--thy measter baint oop to mark this marnin'! Seemed as if he couldn't find the ways nor the meanin's o' the Lord nohow!" Bainton slowly removed his cap from his head and looked thoughtfully into the lining, as though seeking for inspiration there, before replying. The short, thick-set man was an important personage,--no less than the proprietor of the 'Mother Huff' public-house; and not only was he proprietor of the said public-house, but brewer of all the ale he sold there. Roger Buggins was a man to be reckoned with, and he expected to be treated with almost as much consideration as the 'Passon' himself. Buggins wore a very ill-fitting black suit on Sundays, which made him look like a cross between a waiter and an undertaker; and he also supported on his cranium a very tall top-hat with an extra wide brim, suggesting in its antediluvian shape a former close acquaintance with cast-off clothing stores. "He baint himself,"--reiterated Buggins emphatically; "He was fair mazed and dazed with his argifyin'. 'Meek and quiet sperrit'! Who wants the like o' that in this 'ere mortal wurrld, where we all commences to fight from the moment we lays in our cradles till the last kick we gives 'fore we goes to our graves? Meek and quiet goes to prison more often than rough and ready!" "Mebbe Passon Walden was thinkin' of Oliver Leach," suggested Bainton with a slight twinkle in his eye; "And 'ow m'appen we'd best be all of us meek and quiet when he's by. It might be so, Mr. Buggins,--Passon's a rare one to guess as 'ow the wind blows nor'- nor'-east sometimes in the village, for all that it's a warm day and the peas comin' on beautiful. Eh, now, Mr. Buggins?" This with a conciliatory air, for Bainton had a little reckoning at the 'Mother Huff' and desired to be all that was agreeable to its proprietor. Buggins snorted a defiant snort. "Oliver Leach indeed!" he ejaculated. "Meek an' quiet suits him down to the ground, it do! There's a man wot's likely to have a kindly note of warnin' from my best fist, if he comes larrupin' round my place too often. 'Ave ye 'eard as 'ow he's chalked the Five Sisters?" "Now don't go for to say that!" expostulated Bainton gently. "'E runs as near the wind as he can, but 'e'd never be stark starin' mad enough to chalk the Five Sisters!" "Chalk 'em 'e HAS!" returned Buggins, putting quite a strong aspirate where he generally left it out,--"And down they're comin' on Wednesday marnin'. Which I sez yeste'day to Adam Frost 'ere: if the Five Sisters is to lay low, what next?" "Ay! ay!" chorussed several other villagers who had been, listening eagerly to the conversation; "You say true, Mr. Buggins--you say gospel true. If the Five Sisters lay low, what next!" And dismal shakings of the head and rollings of the eyes from all parties followed this proposition.