Mr. Tasker's Gods by T.F. Powys

Author:T.F. Powys
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: British Literature, Literary, Religion, Fiction
ISBN: 9780571287628
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2012-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XXI

‘OLD LANTERN’

AT the sign of ‘The Puss and Bottle,’ the inn by the road to Maidenbridge, where the labourers of South Egdon used to meet in good fellowship, a discussion was going forward the evening after the inquest. The discussion was commenced by a thoughtful man, a tinker whose beer-can happened to be empty. It was necessary for his pleasure that it should be filled at the expense of some one else, as his pocket was as empty as his can.

This good man, in order to attract attention to his emptiness, declared to the assembled company that Mr. Neville was to be buried at the cross-roads in the true old Christian fashion, with a stake cut out from the squire’s wood rammed through his body and held and hammered there by the king’s hangman.

‘What do they do that for?’ asked a rather nervous ploughman.

‘To stop thik wicked parson from walking the village, sure, carter.’

Some one paid for the tinker’s pint.

In the parlour of that same inn three other persons were consulting. Two were well known in the village, and the third, the estate agent, had been seen there before. His presence now prevented the gentlemen in the bar from using their favourite national word ‘bloody,’ and caused them to say ‘damn’ instead, a word much more genteel and more fit for the polite ears of a land-agent.

This same agent had arrived there with instructions from the Church and from the squire. The sexton was there to give his advice, and the village undertaker, who was rather deaf, was there to take whatever might be said loud enough as his orders.

The sexton had been explaining to the agent the nature of a piece of waste ground close to the blessed field of bones. He advised that this last departure from the right way should be buried in this waste corner.

‘I knowed it would end like this, sir,’ said the sexton. ‘I seed ’e peeping through thik little ’ole that the nippers ’ave knocked out of vestry window the same year the old cow fell into ditch. Parson said ’e liked God’s air to get in—I could tell you some fine tales——’

‘Never mind about that now, sexton. Get your lantern and show us the ground you consider suitable.’ The agent buttoned his coat.

Leaving the friendly glitter and clatter of the inn, the three proceeded to the churchyard, where they were joined by the policeman. Just outside the churchyard there was a narrow strip of ground used by the farm-hands as an allotment, wherein they grew potatoes. The hedge in one corner between the potatoes and the graves had been beaten down by the boys on Sundays. The workers of the potato gardens had left a little corner angle of grass and nettles. Just at that point of the churchyard side there was nothing of any particular importance laid to rest. There were a few shaky wooden crosses marking the spot where infants were planted a few feet below the surface, those

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