“I'll leave thee to tell her,” said Sennacherib, with a grunt of scorn. “If I'd ha' been the manner o' man you'd ha' liked for a husband, I should ha' been despisable. My missis”—he addressed his wife's visitor again—“ought to ha' married a door-mat, then her could ha' wiped her feet upon him wheniver the fancy took her.”
With this he took his hat from a peg, stuck it at the back of his head, and marched out at the open front door.
“Ah, my dear,” said Mrs. Sennacherib, “you did a wise thing when you made up your mind to be a single woman. The men's little more than a worrit—the best of 'em—and even the childern, as is counted upon for a blessin', brings trouble oftener nor j'y.”
The visitor pinched her lips together and nodded, as if to say there was no disputing this glaring statement. The hostess, stooping over her, untied her bonnet-strings as if she had been a child, helped her to remove her mantle, and then ushered her into a sitting-room which looked upon a well-cultivated garden.
“I wouldn't say,” pursued the hostess, “as I'd got a bad husband—not for the world. But he's that hard and unbendin' both i' little things an' big uns. I've suffered under him now for thirty 'ear, but I niver counted as he'd put the lad to the door and forbid his mother to speak to him. Though as for that, my dear, he may forbid and go on forbiddin' as long as theer's a breath in his body, but a mother's heart is a mother's heart, my dear, though the whole world should stand up again her.”
“Precisely,” said Rachel.
“The lad's just as unbendin' as his father,” pursued Mrs. Sennacherib, “though in a lighter-hearted sort of a way. He's as gay as the lark, our Snac is, even i' the face o' trouble, but there's no more hope o' movin' him than theer'd be o' liftin' the parish church and carryin' it to market. He's gone and married again his father's will, and now his father's gone an' made his last dyin' testyment an' cut him off wi' a shilling. He'll get my money, as is tied on me hard an' fast, and that's my only comfort.”
“They may be reconciled,” said Rachel. “We must try to reconcile them.”
“Reconcile Sennacherib Eld!” cried the wife, dolefully. “Ah, my dear, you don't know the man. Why, who's that? There's somebody a-walkin' in as if the house belonged to 'em.”
A young man in a stand-up collar, and trousers supernaturally tight, appeared at the open door and nodded in a casual manner.