Howiver, whether I'm wise or no, that's neither here nor there,
but what I've got to say I say--as the young Methodis woman as is at
Mester Poyser's was a-preachin' an' a-prayin' on the Green last night,
as sure as I'm a-stannin' afore Your Reverence now."
"Preaching on the Green!" said Mr. Irwine, looking surprised but quite
serene. "What, that pale pretty young woman I've seen at Poyser's? I saw
she was a Methodist, or Quaker, or something of that sort, by her dress,
but I didn't know she was a preacher."
"It's a true word as I say, sir," rejoined Mr. Rann, compressing his
mouth into a semicircular form and pausing long enough to indicate three
notes of exclamation. "She preached on the Green last night; an' she's
laid hold of Chad's Bess, as the girl's been i' fits welly iver sin'."
"Well, Bessy Cranage is a hearty-looking lass; I daresay she'll come
round again, Joshua. Did anybody else go into fits?"
"No, sir, I canna say as they did. But there's no knowin' what'll come,
if we're t' have such preachin's as that a-goin' on ivery week--there'll
be no livin' i' th' village. For them Methodisses make folks believe
as if they take a mug o' drink extry, an' make theirselves a bit
comfortable, they'll have to go to hell for't as sure as they're born.
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