"I should think there did--a _very_ partic'lar thing," said
Mr. Macey, nodding sideways. "For Mr. Drumlow--poor old
gentleman, I was fond on him, though he'd got a bit confused in his
head, what wi' age and wi' taking a drop o' summat warm when the
service come of a cold morning. And young Mr. Lammeter, he'd have
no way but he must be married in Janiwary, which, to be sure, 's a
unreasonable time to be married in, for it isn't like a christening
or a burying, as you can't help; and so Mr. Drumlow--poor old
gentleman, I was fond on him--but when he come to put the
questions, he put 'em by the rule o' contrairy, like, and he says,
"Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded wife?" says he, and then he
says, "Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded husband?" says he.
But the partic'larest thing of all is, as nobody took any notice on
it but me, and they answered straight off "yes", like as if it had
been me saying "Amen" i' the right place, without listening to what
went before."

"But _you_ knew what was going on well enough, didn't you,
Mr. Macey? You were live enough, eh?" said the butcher.

"Lor bless you!" said Mr. Macey, pausing, and smiling in pity at
the impotence of his hearer's imagination--"why, I was all of a
tremble: it was as if I'd been a coat pulled by the two tails, like;
for I couldn't stop the parson, I couldn't take upon me to do that;
and yet I said to myself, I says, "Suppose they shouldn't be fast
married, 'cause the words are contrairy?" and my head went working
like a mill, for I was allays uncommon for turning things over and
seeing all round 'em; and I says to myself, "Is't the meanin' or the
words as makes folks fast i' wedlock?" For the parson meant right,