“Well, rheumatics or no rheumatics, I’m sorry for his wife,” said Durdle, laughing. “She must have needed to be a rare good knitter to keep him in hose! If you must leave the thing for the Vicar, let me give it a good dustin’ out o’ window first. Ah! Zachary, after all, ’tis ill work jesting over bones when England’s strewn with the bones o’ them as has been killed in this weary war.” “You’re right, Mrs. Durdle--you’re right. ’Twill be three years come Lammastide since the King set up his standard at Nottingham, and ever since naught but battles and sieges, plunderings and threatenings. And now there’s this plaguey garrison hard by at Canon Frome, with a Governor that sticks at nothing.” “What! Colonel Norton?” said the housekeeper, raising her eyebrows. “Why, he be always comin’ to see Vicar. But between you and me, Zachary, ’tis Mistress Hilary’s pretty face, I take it, that draws him.” “Then, Mrs. Durdle, for pity’s sake have a care o’ your young lady, for I hear little enough to his credit. But I thought Mistress Hilary had been courted by a young spark at Hereford?” “Eh, to be sure, so she was. She and young Mr. Gabriel Harford were like lovers since they were no higher than this table. But the war put a stop to that, and from being fast friends they became foes, the more’s the pity.” “Well, like master, like man, as the proverb hath it,” said the sexton, stooping to root up a plantain from the turf. “Vicar he says, he’ll have nought to do with wars and fightings, for he be a man o’ peace. And so be I, Mrs. Durdle, so be I. But beware of yon Governor o’ Canon Frome, for there’s many a wench will have cause to rue the day when he came to Herefordshire.” “For my part, I like the gentleman well enough. He’s a fine, handsome officer, and the Vicar always enjoys his visits,” said Durdle, pouncing like a bird of prey on the laboriously-woven spider’s web which she just then saw in a corner of the window. “Ah, you women! you women! ’Tis always the same. A handsome spark will ever find you ready to give him a good word,” said Zachary, shaking his head. “And are you so sure, Zachary, that a pretty wench can’t turn you round her fingers?” retorted the housekeeper, with a smile. “Handsome is as handsome does,” quoted the sexton, shrewdly. “Give me the woman who knows how to brew good cider; grave-diggin’ all among bones and dust is terribly dry work, Mrs. Durdle.” “Well, well, come round to the kitchen, man, though ’tis over early for your noonings,” said Durdle, with a laugh, “but, by-the-bye, what was the tale I heard in the village last night about the doings at Drybrook?” “’Tis o’er true,” said Zachary, “though ’twas not the Canon Frome men that plundered there, but a troop of Colonel Lunsford’s horse that were serving in Prince Rupert’s forces. At Drybrook, when a poor fellow refused to give up a flitch o’ bacon to the foraging party, they struck him down and knocked out his eyes.”