"Must be grizzling—and you only in your full manhood, as we all know."
A mile away walked slowly Barlow Huxam and his wife, while Jeremy, their son, a lad of fifteen, loitered behind them, to play and fling stones; but he kept his parents in sight. Mr. Huxam, a solid fair man of five and forty, mopped his brow and declared that he must rest and grow cooler before proceeding.
"We ought to have hired Mr. Catt's little chaise as I ordained to do," he said. "'Tis drouthy weather and a thunder-storm promising for certain."
His wife, however, did not agree with him.
"You don't take enough foot exercise, Barlow. If you was to walk more, it wouldn't pour out of you same as it does. There's no thunder in the air, else my head would know it. We'll rest by the bridge since we're a thought before time."
Judith Huxam—a daughter of the prosperous race of the Pulleyblanks—-was the same age as her husband. A dark-haired, neat woman was she, who put folk in mind of a bantam hen. Always trim, alert and self-possessed, character marked her face, voice and opinions. She was pious, with the piety of a generation now vanishing away, and also very proud; but she had the instinct to hide much of herself from the world, being seldom in her neighbour's houses and restrained in the matter of criticism. She was stern and never forgot a wrong; but she accepted everything that happened, because she held it her duty to do so. She ruled her husband and her children as a matter of course, and Mr. Huxam pretended greater enthusiasm for her bleak religion and opinions than he felt; but he entertained the keenest admiration for her and, if he ever differed from her conclusions, it was only in his mind. He never crossed Judith, but supported her rule in the home, as he had long since fallen in with her conduct of the shop. Her face was strong and her natural expression attractive, for she had a frank gaze and regular features. But her grey eyes were hard, and while a pleasant, receptive expression marked her features, her lips were set closely together. She never laughed and rarely smiled, save conventionally upon customers. She dressed in puritanical fashion and eschewed finery. Her dark brown hair was parted in the middle and curled up closely behind in a plain roll. She wore a small bonnet and always dressed in grey. Her voice was rather low pitched and of agreeable quality, but she spoke little save to the purpose. Indeed she distrusted volubility.
The drapery establishment reflected Judith, and young people rarely patronised it save for necessities. The maidens of Brent held that if you wanted clothes that wouldn't show, Huxam's might be sought; but for adornments, fripperies and "fal-lals," one must seek elsewhere.
At Shipley Bridge the road crossed the river half a mile below Red House; and here Mr. Huxam stopped, where, shaded by oak trees, there spread inviting herbage.
"We'll sit here on the spine grass for ten minutes while I cool down," he said.
He subsided, opened his waistcoat and dabbed his face, hands and neck with a white handkerchief, while Mrs. Huxam called her son, tidied him, made him dust his boots with a frond of fern and walk beside her for the rest of the way.