Chapter Six.
The Neighbourhood.
“Through slush and squad,
When roads was bad,
But hallus stop at the Vine and Hop.”
Tennyson.
Through all Pucklechurch’s objections and evident contempt for his fancies, and those of young madam, Captain Carbonel insisted on the clearance of the yard. He could not agree with the old man, who made free to tell him that, “Such as that there muck-heap was just a bucket to a farmer’s wife, if she was to be called a farmer’s wife—was that it.”
With some reflection, Captain Carbonel decided that a bucket might mean a bouquet, and answered, “Maybe she might have too much of a good thing. When I went down to Farmer Bell’s the other day, they had a famous heap, and I was struck with the sickly look of his wife and daughters.”
“His missus were always a poor, nesh ’ooman,” returned Pucklechurch.
“And I don’t mean mine to be like her if I can help it,” said the captain.
But he did not reckon on the arrival of a prancing pair of horses, with a smart open carriage, containing two ladies and a gentleman, in the most odorous part of the proceedings, when he was obliged to clear the way from a half-loaded waggon to make room for them, and, what was quite as inconvenient, to hurry up the back stairs to his dressing-room to take off his long gaiters, Blucher boots (as half high ones were then called) and old shooting coat, and make himself presentable.
In fact, when he came into the room, Dora was amused at the perceptible look of surprised approval of the fine tall soldierly figure, as he advanced to meet Mr and Mrs Selby and their daughter, the nearest neighbours, who were, of course, in the regular course of instruction of the new-comers in the worthlessness and ingratitude of Uphill and the impossibility of doing anything for the good of the place.