said Oak, turning to Joseph Poorgrass with a very grim look.
"No, no—not a word I—'tis a real joyful thing that she's no worse, that's what I say," said Joseph, trembling and blushing with terror. "Matthew just said———"
"Matthew Moon, what have you been saying?" asked Oak.
"I? Why ye know I wouldn't harm a worm—no, not one underground worm!" said Matthew Moon, looking very uneasy.
"Well, somebody has—and look here, neighbours." Gabriel, though one of the quietest and most gentle men on earth, rose to the occasion, with martial promptness and vigour. "That's my fist." Here he placed his fist, rather smaller in size than a common loaf, in the mathematical centre of the maltster's little table, and with it gave a bump or two thereon, as if to ensure that their eyes all thoroughly took in the idea of fistiness before he went further. "Now—the first man in the parish that I hear prophesying bad of our mistress, why"—(here the fist was raised and let fall, as Thor might have done with his hammer in assaying it)—"he'll smell and taste that—or I'm a Dutchman."
All earnestly expressed by their features that their minds did not wander to Holland for a
