What had been done at that scriptural banquet, of which Mrs Greenacre so often read the account to her family? Why had not Miss Thorne boldly gone to the intruder and said: ‘Friend, thou hast come up hither to high places not fitted for thee. Go down lower, and thou wilt find thy mates.’ Let the Lookalofts be treated at the present moment with ever so cold a shoulder, they would still be enabled to boast hereafter of their position, their aspirations, and their honour.

‘Well, with all her grandeur, I do wonder that she be so mean, continued Mrs Greenacre, unable to dismiss the subject. ‘Did you hear, goodman?’ she went on, about to repeat the whole story to her husband who then came up. ‘There’s dame Lookaloft and Bab and Gussy and the lot of ’em all sitting as grand as fivepence in madam’s drawing–room, and they not axed no more nor you nor me. Did you ever hear tell the like o’ that?’

‘Well, and what for shouldn’t they?’ said Farmer Greenacre.

‘Likening theyselves to the quality, as though they was estated folk, or the like o’ that!’ said Mrs Guffern.

‘Well, if they likes it and madam likes it, they’s welcome for me,’ said the farmer. ‘Now I likes the place better, cause I be more at home like, and don’t have to pay for them fine clothes for the missus. Every one to his taste, Mrs Guffern, and if neighbour Lookaloft thinks that he has the best of it, he’s welcome.’

Mrs Greenacre sat down by her husband’s side to begin the heavy work of the banquet, and she did so in some measure of restored tranquillity, but nevertheless she shook her head at her gossip to show that in this instance she did not quite approve of her husband’s doctrine.

‘And I’ll tell ’ee what, dames,’ continued he; ‘if so be that we cannot enjoy the dinner that madam gives us because Mother Lookaloft is sitting up there on a grand sofa, I think we ought all to go home. If we greet at that, what’ll we do when true sorrow comes across us? How would you be now, dame, if the boy there had broke his neck when he got the tumble?’

Mrs Greenacre was humbled, and said nothing further on the matter. But let prudent men, such as Mr Greenacre, preach as they will, the family of the Lookalofts certainly does occasion a good deal of heart–burning in the world at large.

It was pleasant to see Mr Plomacy, as leaning on his stout stick he went about among the rural guests, acting as a sort of head constable as well as master of the revels. ‘Now, young ’un, if you can’t manage to get along without that screeching, you’d better go to the other side of the twelve–acre field, and take your dinner with you. Come, girls, what do you stand there for, twirling of your thumbs? come out, and let the lads see you; you’ve no need to be so ashamed of your faces. Hello! there, who are you? how did you make your way in here?’

This last disagreeable question was put to a young man of about twenty–four, who did not, in Mr Plomacy’s eye, bear sufficient vestiges of a rural education and residence.

‘If you please, your worship, Master Barrell the coachman let me in at the church wicket, ‘cause I do be working mostly al’ays for the family.’

‘Then Master Barrell the coachman may let you out again,’ said Mr Plomacy, not even conciliated by the magisterial dignity which had been conceded to him. ‘What’s your name? And what trade are you, and who do you work for?’

‘I’m Stubbs, your worship, Bob Stubbs; and—and—and—’

‘And what’s your trade, Stubbs?’

‘Plaisterer, please your worship.’