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CHAPTER I
When Villing opened his shop early in the morning, on the Sunday after the Meeting, he found the usual little group of ragged, miserable creatures, both men and women, at the foot of the steps, waiting impatiently, with empty bottles hidden under their coats and aprons, till the shop opened.
They slunk in past him, one by one, with a silent and timorous salute, and laid their greasy coins on the counter with shaking hands; meanwhile the shop-boy filled the bottles from the brandy cask, and then they crept out again, hurrying off—each taking his own road over the fields. Villing remained standing on the stone step in embroidered slippers, and a grey linen cap pressed down on his fat head. His thumbs, as
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