"If you mean to be respected, Kucky Sarson," growled old farmer Garbutt, "be advised, and give up all your Jacobin notions. The Squire says it would be ruin for this country to be without a king and an established church. I had a famous talk with him on all these things at the rent-day; and so he said: and if such gentlefolk as Squire Pelham don't know what belongs to good government, I should like to know who does." "Squire Pelham's great-grandfather was of a somewhat different opinion," answered the barber: "Peregrine Pelham was his name; and he signed the death-warrant of Charles Stuart." "The Lord be merciful to us!" exclaimed old Davy, beginning to look really alarmed—"why, that was in the time of the awful troubles that my grandmother used to talk so sorrowfully about!—Surely you don't wish that such grievous days were come again, do you, Kucky Sarson?" "God forbid!" ejaculated farmer Garbutt, solemnly. "You all _know_ I don't, before you ask me," answered the barber, with some show of dignity. "I defy any one of you to say that there is a quieter and more upright citizen in England than I am. Who can say that I ever injured him? who dares say that I ever cheated any man of one farthing—ay, or that I owe him one? And do I ever try to compel any man to think as I think? Speak!—any one of you that can charge me with an act of wrongfulness, or a single speech of intolerance!" "Well, well—excuse us, Kucky! We all regard you as an excellent neighbour. But you seem more short about taking a joke than usual," answered the dapper little master-tailor. The barber merely bowed, and said, "Well, well—never mind, never mind, neighbours! we are none the worse friends for a joke." But he was conscious that he felt short-tempered, and heartily wished his customers would shorten their stay, in order that he might visit the gentleman at his inn. Agreeably to his wish, the farmer, the master-tailor, and the retired man of business each shook hands heartily with Kucky, after a few more sentences of restorative kindness, and bid him "good-day." The barber forthwith doffed his apron and fore-pocket, adjusted his neckerchief, brushed his hat, exchanged his shop jacket for his holiday-coat, and crying "Shop, my dear!" to his wife, hurried away towards the inn, where, according to the strange gentleman's request, Kucky had promised to meet him.