“Is it, sir?” said I.
“Ay! It is so!” He added an affirmatory nod, and continued to gaze upon me with a kind of irate solemnity, holding his substantial stick between his knees, with his hands clasped upon its head.
“I have been busy,” I said, for an apology was evidently demanded.
“Busy!” repeated he, derisively.
“Yes, you know I’ve been getting in my hay; and now the harvest is beginning.”
“Humph!”
Just then my mother came in, and created a diversion in my favour by her loquacious and animated welcome of the reverend guest. She regretted deeply that he had not come a little earlier, in time for tea, but offered to have some immediately prepared, if he would do her the favour to partake of it.
“Not any for me, I thank you,” replied he; “I shall be at home in a few minutes.”
“Oh, but do stay and take a little! it will be ready in five minutes.”
But he rejected the offer with a majestic wave of the hand.