“It’s a very nice Point,” says he musingly, “when we ought to lie by. I believe, had I not left Town when I did, I might have been dead now—and yet, perhaps I was like a Soldier deserting his Post.”
I said, “No, Sir, you were liker to a Soldier carried off the Battlefield to the Hospital.”
“Thank you, Cherry,” says he, taking my Hand and drawing it under his Arm. We had now reached the End of the Bowling-green; but instead of turning into the Garden, we continued walking up and down.
“And what else?” says he. “Come, let me hear all.”
“Well, Sir,” said I, “there’s not much more to tell——”
“Something, though, I can see!” said he. “Come! out with it, Cherry!”
“Sir,” said I, “it’s of no Use for us to trouble and vex ourselves about what wicked People will say of us in mere wantonness.”
“Sometimes, though, we may hear the Truth from an Enemy,” says he. “And what do wicked, wanton People say of me?”
“Why, Sir,—some very evil-minded, malapert Person hath writ on your Church-door, ‘A Pulpit to Let!’”
