The Squire’s Garden
“The Rascal!” said he hastily, and colouring very red. “Why now, did I not keep on, Sabbaths and Week-days, till the Plague-swellings were actually in my Throat, though my Congregation often consisted of only two or three old Women? Is not this enough to provoke a Man, Cherry?”
I said, “Yes, Sir,—only there’s no Use in being provoked.”
“None, none,” says he, much perturbed,—“God forgive me for it!—I can hardly have Patience, though, with them.”
I said, “Dear Sir, you must have Nothing but Patience with them.”
“You are right, you are right,” says he, cooling, but still much moved. “Ill or well, I must go back to them forthwith.... The Fact is, there is a Matter I would gladly have settled here, a little at my Leisure.—But, Duty before all! So, I’ll go back, Cherry, to mine.”
I smiled a little as I said, “Somebody has been doing Duty for you, the last Week or ten Days, Sir.”
“Who?” cried he.
I said, “An Independent Minister.”
A complex Kind of Expression crossed his Face; for a Moment he looked pained and provoked, and then burst out a-laughing.