"'Tis like this. Susan be proud because she thinks as she walks wi' God A'mighty. She takes credit for that, pore soul! Now, I be proud and so humble as a bee when the Lard sees fit to walk wi' me. That be my fool-wisdom, Fancy."
"I see."
And she did. Uncle's naïve remarks were illuminating. She could look back, by the light of fool-wisdom, and sort out innumerable, half-forgotten trifles, unconsidered at the time, which corroborated, almost disconcertingly, this—what could she call it? Yes—vaingloriousness on the part of Mrs. Yellam. Another word, in every-day use amongst the "boys," bustled into her mind—"swank." She smiled. It seemed a wicked word to apply to such a majestic woman, and yet it was just right. Mrs. Yellam did "swank" whenever she talked of herself or Alfred. She had won first prize for the best village garden at the annual Flower Show, discontinued since the outbreak of war, because, so she told Fancy, she tended her vegetables herself. Alfred's robust health, his sobriety, his capacity for steady work, his churchgoing, his pleasant manners with neighbours—all these were feathers in Mrs. Yellam's cap, placed there by herself! She was set on guiding herself and others, admittedly a leader. Uncle was right. His dear sister did not walk humbly with the Lord. Hamlin's sermon had not been forgotten by Fancy. His son's death had made it an imperishable memory. And Mrs. Yellam, it will be recalled, had shrewdly suspected that the Parson had aimed a shaft or two at her. Had he? Could it be possible that this wonderful old woman's soul was lean? Naturally Fancy shrank from such a conclusion.
To lighten her mind, and with the intention of extracting more fool-wisdom from Uncle, she said mischievously:
"Uncle——?"
"Yas, my dear——?"
"What takes a man to the ale-house? Fool-wisdom?"
Uncle threw back his handsome head and roared with laughter. But fool-wisdom told him that this was the right way to tackle a backslider. What a pity that Jane disdained indirect methods! He shook a long forefinger in a smiling face.
"You lil' besom——! Now, if Alferd ever takes a notion to drink more ale than be strictly needful to slake a pleasant thirst, you poke just such fun at 'un, and smile at 'un, as you be smilin' at an old sinner this minute. My wife be a good, faithful 'ooman, but vartue wi' her be turned sourish, like that there clarety wine, the only liquor as never did lie easy on my good stomach. Maybe I married her latish in life. And cooks, from stewin' over fire, do seem to overbake their livers and lights. Anyways, hard looks drive a man to ale-house; smiles keep 'un at home. I admits to you, Fancy, but never a word to Jane, mind 'ee, that ale be my weakness. 'Twould be blasphemious to say that the Lard ever walked wi' me to an ale-house, except on one very notable occasion, but 'tis a fact that in His Marcy He have walked wi' me from the Sir John Barleycorn. And now you has it."
"Tell me about the notable exception."