that was what everybody had been used to - and the charter of
Raveloe seemed to be renewed by the ceremony. It was not thought of as an
unbecoming levity for the old and middle-aged people to dance a little before
sitting down to cards, but rather as part of their social duties. For what were
these if not to be merry at appropriate times, interchanging visits and poultry
with due frequency, paying each other old-established compliments in sound
traditional phrases, passing well-tried personal jokes, urging your guests to
eat and drink too much out of hospitality, and eating and drinking too much in
your neighbour's house to show that you liked your cheer? And the parson
naturally set an example in these social duties. For it would not have been
possible for the Raveloe mind, without a peculiar revelation, to know that a
clergyman should be a pale-faced memento of solemnities, instead of a reasonably
faulty man whose exclusive authority to read prayers and preach, to christen,
marry, and bury you, necessarily co-existed with the right to sell you the
ground to be buried in and to take tithe in kind; on which last point, of
course, there was a little grumbling, but not to the extent of irreligion - not
of deeper significance than the grumbling at the rain, which was by no means
accompanied with a spirit of impious defiance, but with a desire that the prayer
for fine weather might be read forthwith.
    There was no reason, then, why the rector's dancing should not be received
as part of the fitness of things quite as much as the Squire's, or why, on the
other hand, Mr. Macey's official respect should restrain him from subjecting the
parson's performance to that criticism with which minds of extraordinary
acuteness must necessarily contemplate the doings of their fallible fellow-men.
    »The Squire's pretty springe, considering his weight,« said Mr. Macey, »and
he stamps uncommon well. But Mr. Lammeter beats 'em all for shapes: you see he
holds his head like a sodger, and he isn't so cushiony as most o' the oldish
gentlefolks - they run fat in general; and he's got a fine leg. The parson's
nimble enough, but he hasn't got much of a leg: it's a bit too thick down'ard,
and his knees might be a bit nearer wi'out damage; but he might do worse, he
might do worse. Though he hasn't that grand way o