But knowing him for a monkey-spirited little man, and spiteful as
well as funny, you could never be sure when he wouldn't break out.
To-night he no sooner gets inside his own door than says he with a
dry sort of a chuckle:
"Powerful fine sermon, this evenin'. A man like that makes you
_think_."
"Ch't!" says Sally, tossing her bonnet on to the easy chair and
groping about for the tinder-box.
"Sort of doctrine that's badly needed in Saltash," says he. "But I'd
ha' bet 'twould be wasted on you. Well, well, if you can't
understand logic, fit and fetch supper, that's a good soul!"
"Ch't!" said Sally again, paying no particular attention, but
wondering what the dickens had become of the tinder-box.
She couldn't find it on the chimney-piece, so went off to fetch the
kitchen one.
When she came back, there was my lord seated in the easy chair--that
was hers by custom--and puffing away at his pipe--a thing not allowed
until after supper. You see, he had collared the tinder-box when he
first came in, and had hidden it from her.
Sal lit the lamp, quiet-like. "I s'pose you know you're sittin' 'pon
my best bonnet?" said she.
Pages:
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210