This was an abstract inquiry beyond Mrs. Zachariah’s scope. “It is some people’s nature to like to be tidy,” she contented herself with observing; “and others do not care for it.”
“Oh, perhaps it is because I am a soldier, and accustomed to order, that I care for it above everything.”
Mrs. Zachariah started for a moment. She reflected. She had forgotten it—that she was talking to an officer in His Majesty’s service.
“Have you seen much fighting, sir?”
“Oh, well, for the matter of that, have had my share. I was at Talavera, and suffer a good deal now in damp weather, from having slept so much in the open air.”
“Dear me, that is very hard! My husband is rheumatic, and finds Tarver’s embrocation do him more good than anything. Will you try it if I give you some?”
“With profound gratitude.” Mrs. Coleman filled an empty bottle, took a piece of folded brown paper out of the fireplace cupboard, untied a coil of twine, made up a compact little parcel, and gave it to the Major.
“A thousand thanks. If faith now can really cure, I shall be well in a week.”
Mrs. Zachariah smiled again.
“Are you Dissenters?” he asked abruptly.