What those opinions are, no man who is
skilled in the interpretation of hints and
signs could fail to know, after remaining an
hour among us. Ask old Nelby, the job-
master, and proprietor of the solitary fly
that stands for hire in these parts, and who
has the gouty and lame completely at his
mercy. He is not saucy (nobody in our
village is), but he knows what is usual, and
consequently what is right. Four shillings
has been the fare from the corner of Guttlebury
Lane to the Black Lion in Swillstead,
ever since he can remember; and he has
repeatedly said, in the parlour of the Guy,
and in the presence of a strongly
sympathising audience, that he would not take his
own father for a sixpence less. No more he
would; for I have seen him, even when driving
back empty, and without the hope of
another offer, refuse to take up a dusty
Londoner, who ignorantly tendered him three-
and-six as an ultimatum. A chit! chit! to
his highly respectable old grey horse was the
only answer which he deigned to make to
that ill-advised proposal.

If this does not give you an idea of our
opinions, you can ask Chaffers, who had the
folly and impudence to come over from
Buffborough (a good three miles), on purpose to
set up a branch grocery-store in our village,
where he was neither born nor reared, and
had no influence nor connections whatever.
He tried to wean us from dealing with
Pidden (as kind-hearted a creature as ever
breathed, and worth money), by writing up
Town Prices in his window, and putting up a
sunblind, and having the footway in front of
his door watered every day. He had the
meanness to offer to undersell Pidden in
everything. He put in his window pinker
ham than Pidden's—having found out that
ham was Pidden's weak point—and showed
loaf-sugar at sixpence, of a dazzling purity.
He offered new-laid eggs at a shilling a-dozen
(Pidden, who keeps fowls, has let many a
dozen get musty, rather than do it); and
pretended to grind his coffee fresh every day,
because he had heard that Pidden, who
knew there was a time for all things, always
ground his for the week, on Monday mornings.
He tried to outdo poor Pidden in
everything, and has had as many as four
candles all burning at once in his shop. But
a universal sympathy grew up for Pidden.
We could not tamely see him crushed by a
stranger, who had no business there. It was
cruel, scandalous; it was mean, despicable,
untradesmanlike; it was anything and everything
but staunch and true. We found out
Chaffers' paltry little handbills stuck up on
the sides of barns, and on fences and posts all
along the highway, and we daubed them out,
or wrote offensive remarks beneath them.
We taunted him with wanting to take the
bread out of Pidden's mouth, and would be
glad to know (and we felt it to be our
business to inquire, and Chaffers' to explain) how
Pidden was to keep his two unmarried
daughters in respectability, and pay rent and
taxes upon town prices? Chaffers only came
over from Buffborough three times a-week;
some said he was ashamed to show his face
there. People made observations upon his
personal defects, and said that he looked a
sneak, and that you could generally tell.
We found out that his wife had an income of
her own (Pidden's late wife had not a
farthing, and cost him a fortune in doctors);
so we said it was plain that he did not do it
from necessity, but evidently from downright
greediness. I am sure we were much more
concerned about it than Pidden himself, who
disdained to employ the arts of his opponent,
but left himself confidently in the hands of
his neighbours and customers; and no wonder;
for he flourished under it amazingly.
Everyone grew extravagant in grocery, to
give Pidden a turn. Even old Miss Bunbury,
who had learnt frugality in the days of the
East India Company and convoys, would
shake a third spoonful into the teapot, with a
remark that trade would be the better for it,
meaning, of course, Pidden's trade. Chaffers'
representative was a silly-looking, florid
young man, who wetted his red hair, and
brushed it all off his forehead. Our boys
used to look through the window, and make
faces at him, and he always laughed, in a
weak, sheepish manner, which showed that
he was ashamed of his position there. We
did not dislike the young man at all; but
when we heard he was miserably underpaid
we pitied him, and learned to distinguish
between him and Chaffers. He told us
frankly that he did not like the place, and
Chaffers was no better than a negro-driver;
though he was always so afraid that the
tyrant would drop in upon him from
Buffborough, that it was quite painful to talk to
him. But it did not last long. One day,
Chaffers suddenly discharged the florid young
man; and Pidden, with a calm dignity,
unalloyed with the smallest atom of vindictiveness,
saw, from his shop-window, all the
unsold stock go back to Buffborough, in
a van.

After this, I need scarcely say that we
have the strongest dislike to meanness or
shabby dealings of any kind. Nobody likes
Spokes, the wheelwright, for example, who
employs a number of boys, while men with
families continually ask him for employment;
and who is always taking in people who never
served their time to the trade. And what
do you suppose we thought of Mr. Simmer,
the new curate, who actually (it was when
the bread was so dear) told John Hitchman,
a poor labouring man, down the lane, with
nine children, to let his wife know that stinging
nettles boiled down with a little dripping,
made a very wholesome and palatable dish?
John Hitchman told them all about it at the
beer-shop, and it came to the ears of
everybody, and we said it was infamous. It was