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III. The Custom of the Country

           Well,andwhatdidthelastonesaytoye?Nothingthatcan’tbegotover,perhaps,afterall?”

           “’Getoutofmysight,youslack-twisted,slim-lookingmaphrotightfool,’wasthewoman’swordstome.”

           “Notencouraging,Iown,”saidFairway.“’Getoutofmysight,youslack-twisted,slim-lookingmaphrotightfool,’isratherahardwayofsayingNo.Buteventhatmightbeovercomebytimeandpatience,soastoletafewgreyhairsshowthemselvesinthehussy’shead.Howoldbeyou,Christian?”

           “Thirty-onelasttatie-digging,MisterFairway.”

           “Notaboy—notaboy.Stillthere’shopeyet.”

           “That’smyagebybaptism,becausethat’sputdowninthegreatbookoftheJudgmentthattheykeepinchurchvestry;butMothertoldmeIwasbornsometimeaforeIwaschristened.”

           “Ah!”

           “Butshecouldn’ttellwhen,tosaveherlife,exceptthattherewasnomoon.”

           “Nomoon—that’sbad.Hey,neighbours,that’sbadforhim!”

           “Yes,’tisbad,”saidGrandferCantle,shakinghishead.

           “Motherknow’d’twasnomoon,forsheaskedanotherwomanthathadanalmanac,asshedidwheneveraboywasborntoher,becauseofthesaying,’Nomoon,noman,’whichmadeherafeardeveryman-childshehad.Doyereallythinkitserious,MisterFairway,thattherewasnomoon?”

           “Yes.’Nomoon,noman.’’Tisoneofthetruestsayingseverspitout.Theboynevercomestoanythingthat’sbornatnewmoon.Abadjobforthee,Christian,thatyoushouldhaveshowedyournosethenofalldaysinthemonth.

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