"Would have looked better, Budd, if, out of respect to the church and the new vicar, you had kept it in order."

"Yes, sir; exackly, sir; but I was too busy, sir. Shall I come, sir?"

"Yes, you may come, Budd. By the way, do you always have a gla.s.s before breakfast?"

"Beg pardon, sir--a gla.s.s?"

"Yes, at the Bull?"

"Never, sir," said Budd, with an injured air. "I went in to take Mr Robinson's peck."

"Peck of what? pease?"

"Peck, sir--peck-axe--madd.i.c.k."

"Oh, I see," said the vicar, looking at the man so that he winced.

"Well, Budd, come and see to the garden after breakfast."

"That I will, sir."

"And, by the way, Budd."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't wipe your mouth when you have been to return picks or mattocks.

I'm rather a hard, matter-of-fact person, and it makes me think a man has been drinking."

Jacky Budd touched his hat without a word, stuck one thumb into his arm-hole, and went off to inform the next person he met that "new parson" was a tartar and a teetotaler.

By this time Simeon Slee had gone off in another direction, and as the vicar was busy with his pocket-knife, pruning some trailing branches from the front windows, Mrs Slee came to announce that his breakfast was ready, and soon after relieved him of a difficulty.

"Going, eh, Mrs Slee? When?"

"I thowt we'd flit to-day, sir. We only came in to take charge of the house."

"Have you a place to go to?"

"Yes, sir."

"Humph! Well, it's best, perhaps, Mrs Slee, for I am a frank man, and I don't think your husband and I would agree. You couldn't come and keep me right till I've got a housekeeper, I suppose?"

Mrs Slee could, and said she would; and that morning Jacky Budd helped the poor woman to "flit" her things to a neighbouring cottage, Simeon vowing that he'd "never set foot in the brutal priest's house again."

"You're well shut of a bad lot, sir," said Jacky Budd, turning to Mr Selwood, after the last items of the Slee impedimenta were off the premises, and he had looked round the wilderness of a garden, sighed, and wondered how he should ever get it in order.

"Think so, Budd?" said the vicar, drily.

"Yes, sir, I do," said Jacky, resting on the spade he had not yet begun to use; "he's a Ranter, is Slee, a Primity Methody, sir--a fellow as sets up against our Church--helps keep the opposition shop, and supplies small-beer instead of our sacrymental wine."

Jacky involuntarily smacked his lips as he spoke, and the vicar turned sharply upon him with knit and angry brows.

But Jacky Budd was obtuse, and saw it not, but went on, wiping his forehead the while, as if he were panting and hot with his exertions.

"They had him down on the plan, sir; they did, 'pon my word of honour, sir--him, a regular shack, as never does a day's work if he can help it.

He was a local preacher, and put on a white 'ankercher o' Sundays, and went over to Churley, and Raiby, and Beddlethorpe, and Mardby, and the rest of 'em, he did. It's as good as a play, sir, to hear him 'preach.

But they've 'bout fun' him out now."

"You have been to hear him, then, Budd?" said the vicar, drily.

"Me? Been to hear he? Me, sir--the clerk of the parish? No, sir; I never be-meaned myself by going into one of their chapels, I can a.s.sure you," said Jacky, indignantly; and raising his spade, he chopped down a couple of unorthodox weeds growing up within the sacred borders of the vicarage garden.

"I'm glad to hear it, Budd," said Mr Selwood, looking at him curiously; "and now I think as you've begun, we'll go on with the gardening."

"To be sure, sir--to be sure," said Jacky, looking round and sighing at the broad expanse of work; "but if I might be so bold, sir, I should say, Don't you have nowt to do wi' that chap Slee. He's a regular Shimei, sir--a man as curses and heaves stones at our holy Church, sir-- a man as comes in the night, and sows tares and weeds amongst our wheat."

"Exactly, Budd," said the vicar, looking him full in the face; "but now suppose we sink the metaphorical and take to the literal. There are tares and weeds enough here: so suppose you root them out of the garden."

"Yes, sir, of course, sir; I was just going to," said Jacky. "It's a lovely garden when it's in good order. I suppose you wouldn't like me to get Thad Warmouth and one of the Searbys to come and help me-- labouring chaps, sir, and very strong?"

"No, Budd, I really should not," said the vicar; "and besides, it would be depriving you of a good deal of work. What three men would do in two days will last one man six."

"Exactly, sir--thanky, sir; it's very thowtful of you," said Jacky, sighing, and looking as if he would be willing to be deprived of a good deal of work; and then he began to chop at the ground very softly, as if, knowing that it was his mother earth, he was unwilling to hurt it.

"I'm fond of gardening myself, Budd; it's good, healthy work, and I dare say I shall help you a great deal. Excuse me; lend me that spade a moment. I think it would be as well to drive it right in like this--it will save further trouble; this wild convolvulus takes such a strong hold of the soil."

He took the tool and dug for a few minutes l.u.s.tily, stooping down after each newly-turned spadeful to pick up and remove the long, white trailing roots that matted it together, horrifying Jacky, who took off his hat and wiped his dewy forehead, for it made him perspire freely to see such reckless use of muscular power.

"Thanky, sir; yes, I see," said Jacky, taking the spade again with a sigh, and fervently wishing that he had not undertaken the job. "Hallo!

here's the Missus."

He paused, and rested his foot on the spade, as just then Mrs Glaire, driving a little four-wheel chaise, drawn by an extremely chubby pony, like a heavy cart-horse cut down, drew up by the vicarage gate.

The little lady was greatly agitated, though she strove hard to keep an equable look upon her countenance, returning the vicar's salute quietly, as he walked down to the gate; whilst such an opportunity of a respite from the spade not being one to be neglected, Jacky Budd stuck that implement firmly amongst the weeds, and followed closely.

"Shall I hold Prinkle, mum?" he said, going to the pony's head.

"Yes--no, Jacky, I'm not going to stay," said Mrs Glaire. "Are you at work here, then?"

"Yes, mum."

"Mind he does work, then, Mr Selwood," she continued; "and don't let him have any beer, for he's a terribly lazy fellow."

Jacky looked appealingly at his mistress, then smiled, and looked at the vicar, as much as to say, "You hear her--she will have her joke."

"Is anything the matter?" said the vicar, earnestly.

"Well, yes; not much, Mr Selwood: but I am getting old and nervous, and I thought I would ask you to come up. You seemed to have so much influence with the men."