“We’re trying to forgive Uncle Edward, Aunt,” said Christie from her couch, in a rather lugubrious tone.
“Pleasant work, isn’t it?” was Aunt Tabitha’s answer. “I haven’t forgiven him, nor tried neither; nor I amn’t going.”
“But Father says we must.”
“Very good; let him set us the ensample.”
Aunt Tabitha made herself comfortable in Mr Hall’s big chair, which he vacated for her convenience. By her side she set down her large market-basket, covered with a clean cloth, from which at one end protruded the legs of two geese, and at the other the handle of a new frying-pan.
“I’ve been up to see him this morrow; I thought he’d best not come short o’ bitters. But he’s off to Cranbrook with his bay horse—at the least so saith Mall—and I shall need to tarry while he comes back. It’ll not hurt: bitters never lose strength by standing. I’ll have it out with him again, come this even.”
“Best not, Tabitha. It should maybe turn to more bitters for poor Alice, if you anger him yet further. And we have no right to interfere.”
“What mean you by that, Roger Hall?” demanded Mistress Tabitha, in warlike tones. “No right, quotha! If that isn’t a man, all o’er! I’ve a right to tell my brother-in-law he’s an infamous rascal, and I’ll do it, whether I have or no! No right, marry come up! Where else is he to hear it, prithee? You talk of forgiving him, forsooth, and Alice never stands up to him an inch, and as for that Tom o’ mine, why, he can scarce look his own cat in the face. Deary weary me! where would you all be, I’d like to know, without I looked after you? You’d let yourselves be trod on and ground down into the dust, afore you’d do so much as squeal. That’s not my way o’ going on, and you’d best know it.”
“Thank you, Sister Tabitha; I think I knew it before,” said Mr Hall quietly.
“Please, Aunt Tabitha—” Christie stopped and flushed.