“Here then is a piece of paper, which, from its texture, appears to be well adapted to your purpose. Let me see, what is it? I declare it is the titlepage of an Essay on Matrimony.”
“Capital!” cried her husband; “a strange coincidence, truly; you have, indeed, furnished me with a knot that cannot be easily untied, however stiff may be the breeze; hand it over to me, for it will afford a very legitimate finish, and is generally the conclusion of every tale: but where is the vicar? What, ho! Mr. Twaddleton.”
The reverend gentleman had so contrived to conceal his person in the corner of the room, behind a large folio which he had placed on a desk before him, that several moments elapsed before he was discovered; at length, however, a long-drawn sigh betrayed him in his retreat.
“Upon my word,” exclaimed he, as he pushed aside the huge folio, “your volatility, Mr. Seymour, is wholly inconsistent with the gravity of a scientific instructor.”
“But, at present,” replied Mr. Seymour, “I am the manufacturer of a kite’s tail; and, surely, upon such an occasion, flightiness ought not to be urged to my disparagement.”
The party, shortly after this discussion, separated: Mr. Seymour retired to his own room; the vicar proceeded to the church to bury a patient of Doseall’s; and the children ran into the garden to enjoy their rural sports.
On the following day, before the wings of the lark had brushed away the morning dew, Tom and his sisters, buoyant with expectation, had descended into the garden, in order to ascertain the state of the weather and the direction of the wind; but the sky was sullen and calm, not a breath disturbed the susceptible leaves of the aspen; all was repose--“a dread repose.”
“No kite-day this,” sighed Tom, with a countenance as lowering as the morning clouds.
“Have patience,” said Louisa; “the wind may yet rise, it is only just six o’clock.”
Thus did the minds of the children continue to hover between hope and despair, until after breakfast, when they determined to seek the gardener, and hold a grave consultation with that acknowledged judge of the elements; he told them that showers might be expected, but he thought it probable that the wind might rise after mid-day. “I will, however,” said he, “consult my oracles;[(33)] after which, I shall be able to give you a satisfactory opinion.” So saying, he left them; and, on his return, observed that “as the Siberian sow-thistle had closed itself the preceding evening, and the African marigold continued shut after seven o’clock in the morning, he had thought there would be rain; but,” he added, “that upon inspecting the poor-man’s weatherglass, the Anagallis arvensis, or red pimpernel, two hours ago, he had found it open, from which he concluded that the day would have been fine.”