"This is impertinence," said Miss Masterman.
"Not at all," answered the clerk's sister. "It's sense. 'Tis a free country, and if you'm going to set a lot of God-fearing, right-minded, sensible people by the ears, the sin be on your shoulders. You'd best to come home, Thomas."
Mr. Masterman looked helplessly at his watch.
"We shall soon arrive at--at--a _modus vivendi_," he said.
"I don't know what that may be, your reverence," she answered; "but if 'tis an empty church, and sour looks, and trouble behind every hedge, then you certainly will arrive at it--and even sooner than you think for."
"He's going to give ear to the Radicals--'tis too clear," moaned Thomas, as he rose and picked up his hat.
"I can only trust that you two good people do not represent the parish," continued the vicar.
"You'll terrible soon find as we do," said Miss Gollop.
"So much the worse. However, it is well that we understand one another. Next Sunday I shall invite my leading parishioners to meet me in the schoolroom on the following evening. I shall then state my intentions, and listen to the opinions and objections of every man among you."
"And only the men will be invited to the meeting," added Miss Masterman.
"'Tis a parlous come-along-of-it," moaned the parish clerk. "I meant well. You can bear me out, Eliza, that I meant well--never man meant better."
"Good evening," said Miss Masterman, and left them.
"Be sure that we shall soon settle down," prophesied the vicar. "I know you mean well, Gollop; and I mean well, too. Where sensible people are concerned, friction is reduced to a minimum. We shall very soon understand one another and respect one another's opinions."
"If you respect people's opinions, you abide by 'em," declared Miss Gollop.
"Us shan't be able to keep the cart on the wheels--not with a night-gowned choir," foretold her brother.
Then Dennis saw them to the door; they took their leave, and as they went down the vicarage drive, their voices bumbled together, like two slow, shard-borne beetles droning on the night.
Both the yeoman and gentle families of Devon have undergone a wide and deep disintegration during the recent past. Many are swept away, and the downfall dates back beyond the eighteenth century, when war, dice, and the bottle laid foundations of subsequent ruin; but the descendants of many an ancient stock are still with us, and noble names shall be found at the plough-handle; historical patronymics, on the land.