ittle about
"bus'ness."

Chad Cranage looks like quite a new acquaintance to-day, for he has got
his clean Sunday face, which always makes his little granddaughter cry
at him as a stranger. But an experienced eye would have fixed on him at
once as the village blacksmith, 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 weekdays; 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
mono-syllabic part entrusted 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 lo