“And it does blow so delightfully!” said Wynnie, as she left the room to put on her long cloak and her bonnet.
We called at the sexton’s cottage, and found him sitting gloomily by the low window, looking seaward.
“I hope your wife is not very poorly, Coombes,” I said.
“No, sir. She be very comfortable in bed. Bed’s not a bad place to be in in such weather,” he answered, turning again a dreary look towards the Atlantic. “Poor things!”
“What a passion for comfort you have, Coombes! How does that come about, do you think?”
“I suppose I was made so, sir.”
“To be sure you were. God made you so.”
“Surely, sir. Who else?”
“Then I suppose he likes making people comfortable if he makes people like to be comfortable.”
“It du look likely enough, sir.”