after seeing the humble deference with which the big saucy fellow
took off his hat and stroked his hair to the farmers; for Chad was accustomed to
say that a working man must hold a candle to -- a personage understood to be as
black as he was himself on week-days; by which evil-sounding rule of conduct he
meant what was, after all, rather virtuous than otherwise, namely, that men who
had horses to be shod must be treated with respect. Chad and the rougher sort of
workmen kept aloof from the grave under the white thorn, where the burial was
going forward; but Sandy Jim, and several of the farm-labourers, made a group
round it, and stood with their hats off, as fellow-mourners with the mother and
sons. Others held a midway position, sometimes watching the group at the grave,
sometimes listening to the conversation of the farmers, who stood in a knot near
the church door, and were now joined by Martin Poyser, while his family passed
into the church. On the outside of this knot stood Mr. Casson, the landlord of
the Donnithorne Arms, in his most striking attitude - that is to say, with the
forefinger of his right hand thrust between the buttons of his waistcoat, his
left hand in his breeches-pocket, and his head very much on one side; looking,
on the whole, like an actor who has only a monosyllabic part intrusted to him,
but feels sure that the audience discern his fitness for the leading business;
curiously in contrast with old Jonathan Burge, who held his hands behind him,
and leaned forward coughing asthmatically, with an inward scorn of all
knowingness that could not be turned into cash. The talk was in rather a lower
tone than usual to-day, hushed a little by the sound of Mr. Irwine's voice
reading the final prayers of the burial-service. They had all had their word of
pity for poor Thias, but now they had got upon the nearer subject of their own
grievances against Satchell, the Squire's bailiff, who played the part of
steward so far as it was not performed by old Mr. Donnithorne himself, for that
gentleman had the meanness to receive his own rents and make bargains about his
own timber. This subject of conversation was an additional reason for not being
loud, since Satchell himself might presently be walking up the paved road to the
church door. And soon they became suddenly silent; for Mr. Irwine's voice had
ceased, and the group round the white thorn was dispersing itself towards the