“What is that lad thinking of?” anxiously inquired the rector.
“Nothing unworthy of my ward, or your pupil, reverend sir, we may be sure of that!” replied the squire.
“Young blood is hot and hasty!” sighed the good man.
As he spoke, the door opened, and Mrs. Force entered.
“Good-morning, Dr. Peters! I have just met Leonidas Force, who told me of your arrival, as he hurried from the house, but told me no more. I could not restrain my impatience. What answer, if any, is there to the telegram?” she eagerly inquired.
They told her.
“Thank Heaven!” she exclaimed, fervently, clasping her hands and sinking into the chair just vacated by Leonidas.
The serious walks side by side with the farcical.
The door opened unceremoniously, and Mrs. Anglesea entered, shaking her skirts to shake off ends of soft twine and scraps of lint or paper that stuck to her dress, and exclaimed:
“Well, I’ve got through with helping the young uns to tie them parcels, and, Lord! wa‘n’t there a lot of them! And I come downstairs to look for the ole ’oman, and they told me she was in here ’long of the parson, so I knowed you had come about the telegraph message; and how do you do, sir, this morning? And I hope you find yerself very well, and it’s all right about the sitifikit and the parish register, eh?”