"If colour proves health, you have
gained it."
"Maria, I have not been so upset for many years. Unwholesome indignation
dyes my cheeks, and that is almost as bad as indigestion. I have had
quite a turn--as you women always put it. I am never moved by little
things, as you know well, and sometimes to your great disgust; but
to-day my troubles have conspired to devour me. I am not so young as I
was, Maria. And what will the parish come to, if I give in?"
"Exactly, dear; and therefore you must not give in." Mrs. Twemlow
replied with great spirit, but her hands were trembling as she helped
him to pull off his new riding-coat. "Remember your own exhortations,
Joshua--I am sure they were beautiful--last Sunday. But take something,
dear, to restore your circulation. A reaction in the system is so
dangerous."
"Not anything at present," Mr. Twemlow answered, firmly; "these mental
cares are beyond the reach of bodily refreshments. Let me sit down, and
be sure where I am, and then you may give me a glass of treble X. In
the first place, the pony nearly kicked me off, when that idiot of a
Stubbard began firing from his battery. What have I done, or my peaceful
flock, that a noisy set of guns should be set up amidst us? However, I
showed Juniper that he had a master, though I shall find it hard to
come down-stairs tomorrow. Well, the next thing was that I saw James
Cheeseman, Church-warden Cheeseman, Buttery Cheeseman, as the bad boys
call him, in the lane, in front of me not more than thirty yards, as
plainly as I now have the pleasure of seeing you, Maria; and while I
said 'kuck' to the pony, he was gone! I particularly wished to speak to
Cheeseman, to ask him some questions about things I have observed, and
especially his sad neglect of public worship--a most shameful example
on the part of a church-warden--and I was thinking how to put it,
affectionately yet firmly, when, to my great surprise, there was no
Cheeseman to receive it! I called at his house on my return, about three
hours afterwards, having made up my mind to have it out with him, when
they positively told me--or at least Polly Cheeseman did--that I must be
mistaken about her 'dear papa,' because he was gone in the pony-shay all
the way to Uckfield, and would not be back till night.
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