noon
I think the Lisford beadle , who was a sound Tory of the old school , almost wondered that the heavens themselves should be audacious enough to wet the uncovered head of the lord of Jocelyn 's Rock . But it went on raining , nevertheless . `` Times has changed , sir , '' said the beadle , to an idle-looking stranger who was standing near him . `` I have read in a history of Warwickshire , that when Algernon Jocelyn was married to Dame Margery Milward , widow to Sir Stephen Milward , knight , in Charles the First 's time , there was a cloth-of-gold canopy from the gate yonder to this porch here , and two moving turrets of basket-work , each of 'em drawn by four horses , and filled with forty poor children , crowned with roses , lookin ' out of the turret winders , and scatterin ' scented waters on the crowd ; and there was a banquet , sir , served up at noon that day at Jocelyn 's Rock , with six peacocks brought to table with their tails spread ; and a pie , served in a gold dish , with live doves in it , every feather of 'em steeped in the rarest perfume , which they was intended to sprinkle over the company as they flew about here and there . But -- would you believe in such a radical spirit pervadin ' the animal creation ? -- every one of them doves flew straight out of the winder , and went and scattered their perfumes on the poor folks outside . There 's no such weddin 's as that nowadays , sir , '' said the old beadle , with a groan .