“Two hundred and seventy-two pounds twelve and sixpence, last night when I counted it,” said Silas, seating himself again with a groan.

“Pooh! why, they’d be none so heavy to carry. Some tramp’s been in, that’s all; and as for the no footmarks, and the bricks and the sand being all right, why, your eyes are pretty much like a insect’s, Master Marner; they’re obliged to look so close, you can’t see much at a time. It’s my opinion as, if I’d been you, or you’d been me—for it comes to the same thing—you wouldn’t have thought you’d found everything as you left it. But what I vote is, as two of the sensiblest o’ the company should go with you to Master Kench, the constable’s—he’s ill i’ bed, I know that much—and get him to appoint one of us his deppity; for that’s the law, and I don’t think anybody ’ull take upon him to contradick me there. It isn’t much of a walk to Kench’s; and then, if it’s me as is deppity, I’ll go back with you, Master Marner, and examine your premises; and if anybody’s got any fault to find with that, I’ll thank him to stand up and say it out like a man.”

By this pregnant speech the farrier had re-established his self-complacency, and waited with confidence to hear himself named as one of the superlatively sensible men.

“Let us see how the night is, though,” said the landlord, who also considered himself personally concerned in this proposition. “Why, it rains heavy still,” he said, returning from the door.

“Well, I’m not the man to be afraid o’ the rain,” said the farrier. “For it’ll look bad when Justice Malam hears as respectable men like us had a information laid before ’em and took no steps.”

The landlord agreed with this view, and after taking the sense of the company, and duly rehearsing a small ceremony known in high ecclesiastical life as the nolo episcopari, he consented to take on himself the chill dignity of going to Kench’s. But to the farrier’s strong disgust, Mr. Macey now started an objection to his proposing himself as a deputy-constable; for that oracular old gentleman, claiming to know the law, stated as a fact delivered to him by his father that no doctor could be a constable.

“And you’re a doctor, I reckon, though you’re only a cow-doctor; for a fly’s a fly, though it may be a hossfly,” concluded Mr. Macey, wondering a little at his own “ ’cuteness.”

There was a hot debate upon this, the farrier being of course indisposed to renounce the quality of doctor, but contending that a doctor could be a constable if he liked; the law meant, he needn’t be one if he didn’t like. Mr. Macey thought this was nonsense, since the law was not likely to be fonder of doctors than of other folks. Moreover, if it was in the nature of doctors more than of other men not to like being constables, how came Mr. Dowlas to be so eager to act in that capacity?

“I don’t want to act the constable,” said the farrier, driven into a corner by this merciless reasoning; “and there’s no man can say it of me, if he’d tell the truth. But if there’s to be any jealousy and envying about going to Kench’s in the rain, let them go as like it. You won’t get me to go, I can tell you.”

By the landlord’s intervention, however, the dispute was accommodated. Mr. Dowlas consented to go as a second person disinclined to act officially; and so poor Silas, furnished with some old coverings, turned out with his two companions into the rain again, thinking of the long night hours before him, not as those do who long to rest, but as those who expect to “watch for the morning.”