“Ay,” half assented Persis, “but it do seem a waste like of them young things’ happiness.”
“Where didst thou ever read in the Word, Persis, as happiness was the first thing for a man to look to? The Lord’s glory comes first, and then usefulness to our fellows, a long way afore happiness. Bless the Lord, He do make it happy work for man to seek His glory—and that’s what Tom doth. I’ll trust the Lord to see to his happiness.”
Just as the green puddings came out of the pan, Tom Fenton turned into the lane leading up to his own home, having been engaged in delivering a work-table that he had made for the Vicar’s wife. It was a beautiful day at the end of October, very warm for the time of year, and the sun was near its setting. As Tom came to a turn in the lane, he saw a short distance before him, up a bye-road which led past Farmer Lavender’s house, a solitary girlish figure, walking slowly, and now and then stopping to gather something from the bank. A slight quickening of his steps, and a turn into the bye-road, soon brought him up with the solitary walker.
“Good even, Jenny!”
“Good even, Tom!”
For some seconds they walked abreast without any further speech. Then Tom said—
“I’ve just been up to parson’s.”
“Oh, have you?” replied Jenny, a little nervously.
“Their Dorcas saith she’s heard as Featherstone’s back.”
“Is he so?” said Jenny, in a still more constrained tone.