“Come, come,” cried a fat, good-natured man who had drawn near, “don’t be fallin’ out on a Sunday! There must be some way of knowin’ your ages. Let’s see how far back you can remember, and maybe that’ll tell us summat. Can ye mind when Rectory chimbley was blowed down? I were a little chap myself then, but I can remember it.” “Nay, that was afore my day,” said Becky, much crestfallen. “I’ve only been here a matter of twelve or fifteen year.” “I can mind it,” cried Bithey eagerly. “I can mind it so well as if it were yesterday. I had my sampler in my hand, and when my mother did call out I run the needle very nigh an inch into my finger.” “Then you was a little gurl, for sure!” exclaimed Rebecca triumphantly. “Ye must ha’ been quite a young maid, else ye wouldn’t ha’ been workin’ on a sampler. What year was that, Mr. Joyce?” “Let’s see,” said Mr. Joyce meditatively. “’Twas in the year ’48, I think—’ees, I’m very near sure ’twas ’48.” “An’ say you was ten year old then, Bithey,” went on the other claimant, with increasing animation, “say you was ten or twelve—you couldn’t ha’ been much more, else you’d ha’ had more sense nor to be working samplers—well, ’tis but a little over fifty year ago—that ’ud leave ye not much more nor sixty. Ye haven’t wore so very well, I d’ ’low; but there, ’tis plain sixty’s your age.” “I feel sure I’m a deal more nor sixty,” protested Bithey, almost in tears. “Now I think on’t, ’twasn’t when Rectory chimbley was blowed down as I did run needle into my finger; ’twas when Mr. Sharp’s roof took fire. Can you mind when Mr. Sharp’s thatch took fire, Mr. Joyce?” “Nay, nay, ’twas long afore my time.” “An’ _you_ must be comin’ on about sixty, Mr. Joyce?” “Ah, I fancy that’s about my age.” Tabitha cast a look of triumph towards Rebecca, who feigned unconsciousness. “I can mind the time o’ the Crimee War,” she announced deliberately. There was a chorus of derisive comment. “The Crimean War! Why, that’s scarce any time ago,” said Mr. Joyce. “’Twas in the fifties, I think; ’ees, I can remember the time very well myself. That don’t go for to prove nothin’, Rebecca.” “Well, there’s one comfort,” returned she, undaunted, “us’ll be judged by folks as don’t know us one from t’other, and they’ll be like to judge us fair. There be things for and against both on us. Bithey’s hard o’ hearin’ and wonderful stiff in her j’ints, and all that’ll be in her favour; but if they do go for to judge us wold women same way as they do judge harses, I reckon I’ve a-got the best chance.” “How’s that?” cried Charl’. “Why, if they go for to examine our teeth, to be sure; they’d see as I hadn’t got none.” And further demonstrating the fact by a wide smile, Rebecca walked away, followed by a burst of mirthful applause.