"But off they go betimes in the morning, with flytraps and tins, which carry lunch first and no end of green rubbish after. They come home as the birds do—towards night, and they have dinner and supper in one. Then they are busy arranging what I call 'regular trash,' and looking as pleased as if a bluebottle was a diamond, or the green stuff good to eat. They make a lot of litter, but it's clean dirt, as one may say, and they never torment the live things, but have a way of putting a quick end to them. I couldn't abide to have even a fly tormented here. They are quiet, regular, and pay well for what trouble they give, so what could I want more? They will never annoy you, Miss Anstey."
What could I say to this? I paid little; I had come in ignorance; I had nowhere else to go! Was I to be driven away on account of these neighbours? Not I! Mr. Winn might hunt beetles, and Mr. Marsden gloat over his "green trash," while I would do my best to forget the existence of the pair, and enjoy my holiday.
I did not quite succeed in keeping this resolution. I was a daughter of Mother Eve, and, therefore, curious. My landlady was equally her daughter, and inclined to talk; so from her I learnt that her lodgers were both "born gentlemen," though Mr. Winn had parents living and several sisters, whilst Mr. Marsden had only a mother, who doted on him.
"By all accounts she wants him to marry, and she doesn't. She would like him to have wife and children; but thinks she could pick a mate for him best, and all the while does not believe there is a lady in the world good enough for this precious son of hers. No matter what she might be, I suppose the old lady would be jealous of her. Eh, dear! It isn't the best thing to be over-much thought of, is it, Miss Anstey?"
I told Mrs. Jennings I was no judge, for I had no one left to trouble me with too much love. And then conscience reproached me as I thought of the dear family at Hillstowe, who had given me so much cause for thankfulness and made me one amongst them.
"I don't think Mr. Marsden lets his mother's fidgety ways trouble him," replied Mrs. Jennings. "When he does marry, he will choose for himself, and the right of it, too. Meanwhile, he seems as happy as a bird, and makes the old lady happy, too, for he is a dutiful son, if ever there was one."
While professing to care nothing about my neighbours, and to feel no interest in their movements, I did think I should like to see them without their seeing me. When Sunday approached, I wanted to ask if they went beetle and fern-hunting on the Sunday, but I was too great a coward to show even this much interest, and tried to persuade myself that it was a matter of no consequence to me. Still, I did wonder whether they and I would occupy opposite corners in that relic of barbarism, a high, square pew, for the church at Hailsby-le-Beck had not yet been restored, and was a marvel of internal ugliness.
But Mrs. Jennings did not leave me to wonder long.
"The gentlemen," she said, "have friends in this county, and either spend their Sundays with them, or go home. They leave on Saturday afternoons and return on Mondays."
So my devotions were undisturbed by any occupants of the square pew, except the farmer and his wife.