"--Being a few private friends I've asked in to keep up club-walking
at my own expense," the landlady exclaimed at the sound of footsteps,
as glibly as a child repeating the Catechism, while she peered over
the stairs. "Oh, 'tis you, Mrs Durbeyfield--Lard--how you frightened
me!--I thought it might be some gaffer sent by Gover'ment."
Mrs Durbeyfield was welcomed with glances and nods by the remainder
of the conclave, and turned to where her husband sat. He was humming
absently to himself, in a low tone: "I be as good as some folks here
and there! I've got a great family vault at Kingsbere-sub-Greenhill,
and finer skillentons than any man in Wessex!"
"I've something to tell 'ee that's come into my head about that--a
grand projick!" whispered his cheerful wife. "Here, John, don't 'ee
see me?" She nudged him, while he, looking through her as through a
window-pane, went on with his recitative.
"Hush! Don't 'ee sing so loud, my good man," said the landlady; "in
case any member of the Gover'ment should be passing, and take away my
licends."
"He's told 'ee what's happened to us, I suppose?" asked Mrs
Durbeyfield.
"Yes--in a way. D'ye think there's any money hanging by it?"
"Ah, that's the secret," said Joan Durbeyfield sagely.
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