"Ye have a right to believe it," said Henery, with dudgeon; "a very true right. But I may see a little distance into things. To be longheaded enough for a baily's place is a poor mere trifle—yet a trifle more than nothing. However, I look round upon life quite promiscuous. Do you conceive me, neighbours? My words, though made as simple as I can, may be rather deep for some heads."
"Oh yes, Henery, we quite conceive ye."
"A strange old piece, goodmen—whirled about from here to yonder, as if I were nothing worth. A little warped, too. But I have my depths; ha, and even my great depths! I might close with a certain shepherd, brain to brain. But no—Oh no!"
"A strange old piece, ye say!" interposed the maltster, in a querulous voice. "At the same time ye be no old man worth naming—no old man at all. Yer teeth baint half gone yet; and what's a old man's standing if so be his teeth baint gone? Weren't I stale in wedlock afore ye were out of arms? 'Tis a poor thing to be sixty, when there's people far past four-score—a boast weak as water."
It was the unvarying custom in Weatherbury to sink minor differences when the maltster had to be pacified.
"Weak as water! yes," said Jan Coggan.
