“He gets up i’ t’ pu’pit, and tells us our dooty, of a Sunda’, but who does hisn of a Monda, think ye?” was old Will’s response.
The footsteps passed on, and I was just going to relieve my feelings by a good laugh, when I was stopped and astonished by Flora’s voice.
“O Cary, how dreadful!”
“Dreadful!” said I, “what is dreadful?”
“That wretched man!” she said in a tone which matched her words.
“He does not think himself a wretched man, by any means,” I said. “His living is worth quite two hundred a year, and he has a little private property beside. They say he does not stand at all a bad chance for a deanery. His wife is not a pleasant woman, I believe; she has a temper: but his son is carrying all before him at college, and his daughters are thought to be among the prettiest girls in the county.”
“Has he children? Poor things!” sighed Flora.
“Why, Flora, I cannot make you out,” said I. “I could understand your being uncomfortable about Angus; but what is Mr Bagnall to you?”
“Cary!” I cannot describe the tone.
“Well?” said I.