"Lawk a' massey, Mr. Benjamin," cries a stout, motherly woman in a red
cloak, as they enter the field, "be that you? Well, I never! You do look
purely. And how's the Squire, and madam, and the family?"

Benjy graciously shakes hands with the speaker, who has left our village
for some years, but has come over for "veast" day on a visit to an old
gossip, and gently indicates the heir-apparent of the Browns.

"Bless his little heart! I must gi' un a kiss.--Here, Susannah,
Susannah!" cries she, raising herself from the embrace, "come and see
Mr. Benjamin and young Master Tom.--You minds our Sukey, Mr. Benjamin;
she be growed a rare slip of a wench since you seen her, though her'll
be sixteen come Martinmas. I do aim to take her to see madam to get her
a place."

And Sukey comes bouncing away from a knot of old school-fellows, and
drops a curtsey to Mr. Benjamin. And elders come up from all parts to
salute Benjy, and girls who have been madam's pupils to kiss Master
Tom. And they carry him off to load him with fairings; and he returns
to Benjy, his hat and coat covered with ribbons, and his pockets crammed
with wonderful boxes which open upon ever new boxes, and popguns, and
trumpets, and apples, and gilt gingerbread from the stall of Angel
Heavens, sole vender thereof, whose booth groans with kings and queens,
and elephants and prancing steeds, all gleaming with gold. There
was more gold on Angel's cakes than there is ginger in those of
this degenerate age. Skilled diggers might yet make a fortune in the
churchyards of the Vale, by carefully washing the dust of the consumers
of Angel's gingerbread. Alas! he is with his namesakes, and his receipts
have, I fear, died with him.