"What! spoil my garnishing!" exclaimed [Grundy,] "look at the frosting of that horn, and the device, the two doves—see'st thou not the doves?"
"Yea; but methinks thou mightest take away a portion, without injury to the goodly fabric.—Behold!" and the Reverend Jonas lifted, with the cook's long knife (which he snatched in unbecoming haste from the girdle), the paste of the edge of the gigantic pie, and stole a weighty slice of the venison from beneath.
"Ah, ah!" grinned Solomon, evidently pleased at the distinction bestowed upon his compost. "Is it not passing good? But you taste not of the gravy—the gravy!"
"It is unseemly to dispose one's heart towards such luxuries; though the saints stand in need of food no less than the young ravens—only it should be in moderation."
The preacher gulped down a ladleful of the pottage, and gasped for another, unmindful of his own precept, while the gravy lingered on his lips.
"Such as that would soon make you another man," said Solomon, glancing at Fleetword's slender and spindle shanks; "there's nourishment in it."
"We all stand in need of regeneration, Solomon, and should desire improvement, even as the hart panteth for the water-brooks; be it improvement of body, or improvement of mind. There was a wise King of Israel of thy name."
"What! Grundy, sir? the Grundys were of Lancashire," said the gratified compounder of kitchen-stuff.
"Not Grundy; heard ye ever in Scripture of a name like that?" retorted the preacher. "It was Solomon the wise."
"I remember him now; he had a many wives. But you can call to mind, sir, when I only wanted to put away old Joan, and marry Phœbe Graceful, you, sir, wouldn't let me. But them old Christians had a deal more liberty."