* * * * *
"As for that there doctor," said Mrs. Moulder to a bosom friend, "'e's the most commandingest gent I ever see. But 'e do get 'is own way. 'E and that curie between them come over Matthew something wonderful; they flaunted their brandy in 'is very face, and 'e never said nothink. They giv' 'er champang one night, as she was so low, an' 'e hopened the bottle 'imself. But I will say this for 'em, they always says to Keturah, when they giv' 'er them liquors, 'Now, remember, you're never to tech this when you be got well. You're to be a tea-totaller like your dada.' An' Matthew, 'e took 'er to Weston 'is own self. 'E do seem more set up about Keturah than 'e was. But, mark my words, if you wants to call your 'ouse your own, don't you let that there doctor inside of it, that's all."
Curiously enough, it was Matthew Moulder who was grateful to the doctor.
VI
MRS. CUSHION'S CHILDREN
She was rather like her name, for she seemed specially created to make life easier for other people.
A short, comfortably stout, elderly woman, with a round, rosy face and kind blue eyes beaming behind steel-rimmed spectacles. On Sundays the spectacles had gold rims and were never seen on any other day.
To be taken as a lodger by Mrs. Cushion implied introductions and references—from the lodger—and Mrs. Cushion was by no means too easily pleased. If neither the vicar, the doctor, nor the squire could guarantee your integrity and personal pleasantness, there was no hope of obtaining Mrs. Cushion's rooms. Moreover, she preferred gentlemen. She was frankly emphatic about that.
To be sure, in wet weather "they did make a goodish mess," what with tackle and muddy boots and the many garments that got soaking wet and had to be dried. But then, they did go out for most of the day, and that gave a body time to clear up after them. And when they'd had their dinners they put their feet on the mantelpiece—"I always clears all my own things off of it except the clock"—and they smoked peaceably till they went to bed. "Now, ladies"—it was clear that Mrs. Cushion was not partial to ladies—"they did stay indoors if there cum so much as a spot of rain." And they rang their bells at all sorts of awkward times. "You couldn't be sure of 'em like you was of gentlemen. When a gentleman settles down, he settles down, and you knows where you are, and what's more, you knows where 'e is. Now, ladies, as often as not, 'ud be upon you in your kitching before you so much as knew they was in the passage—an' it were onsettlin'."
No lady was ever allowed to set foot in Mrs. Cushion's hospitable house in May or June or the first part of July. Those months were sacred to the fishers; but as a favour to one of the references she would sometimes consent to take a lady in August.