'What do you mean?'
'Are men likely to be healthy when they are worse housed than a pig?'
'No.'
'And worse fed than a hound?'
'Good heavens! No!'
'Or packed together to sleep, like pilchards in a barrel?'
'But, my good fellow, do you mean that the labourers here are in that state?'
'It isn't far to walk, sir. Perhaps, some day, when the may-fly is gone off, and the fish won't rise awhile, you could walk down and see. I beg your pardon, sir, though, for thinking of such a thing. They are not places fit for gentlemen, that's certain.' There was a staid irony in his tone, which Lancelot felt.
'But the clergyman goes?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And Miss Honoria goes?'
'Yes, God Almighty bless her!'
'And do not they see that all goes right?'
The giant twisted his huge limbs, as if trying to avoid an answer, and yet not daring to do so.
'Do clergymen go about among the poor much, sir, at college, before they are ordained?'
Lancelot smiled, and shook his head.
'I thought so, sir. Our good vicar is like the rest hereabouts. God knows, he stints neither time nor money—the souls of the poor are well looked after, and their bodies, too—as far as his purse will go; but that's not far.'
