"This constant desire of innovation," said Miss Jemima, suddenly mounting the more funereal of her two favourite hobbies, "is one of the great symptoms of the approaching crash. We are altering, and mending, and reforming, when in twenty years at the utmost the world itself may be destroyed!" The fair speaker paused, and—
Captain Barnabas said, thoughtfully—"Twenty years!—the insurance offices rarely compute the best life at more than fourteen." He struck his hand on the stocks as he spoke, and added with his usual consolatory conclusion:—"The odds are, that it will last our time, Squire."
But whether Captain Barnabas meant the stocks or the world, he did not clearly explain, and no one took the trouble to inquire.
"Sir," said Master Frank, to his father, with that furtive spirit of quizzing, which he had acquired amongst other polite accomplishments at Eton.—"Sir, it is no use now considering whether the stocks should or should not have been repaired. The only question is, whom you will get to put into them."
"True," said the Squire, with much gravity.
"Yes, there it is!" said the Parson, mournfully. "If you would but learn 'non quieta movere!'"
"Don't spout your Latin at me, Parson!" cried the Squire, angrily; "I can give you as good as you bring any day.
"'Propria quæ maribus tri buuntur mascula dicas.—
As in præsenti, perfectum format in avi.'"
"There," added the Squire, turning triumphantly towards his Harry, who looked with great admiration at this unprecedented burst of learning on the part of Mr Hazeldean—"There, two can play at that game! And now that we have all seen the stocks, we may as well go home, and drink tea. Will you come up and play a rubber, Dale? No!—hang it, man, I've not offended you—you know my ways."
"That I do, and they are among the things I would not have altered," cried the Parson—holding out his hand cheerfully. The Squire gave it a hearty shake, and Mrs Hazeldean hastened to do the same. "Do come; I am afraid we've been very rude; we are sad blunt folks. Do come; that's a dear good man; and of course poor Mrs Dale too." Mrs Hazeldean's favourite epithet for Mrs Dale was poor, and that for reasons to be explained hereafter.