This was Bligh,
of course. His friend, Mr. Sharl, sat alongside, talking low and
trying to coax him back to a good temper: but Mrs. Polwhele missed
taking notice of this. She hadn't seen the gentlemen arrive, by
reason that, being timid of thunder, at the very first peal she'd run
upstair, and crawled under one of the bed-ties: and there she bided
until the chambermaid brought word that the sky was clear and the
coach waiting.
If ever you've had to do with timmersome folks I dare say you've
noted how talkative they get as soon as danger's over. Mrs. Polwhele
took a glance at the inside of the coach to make sure that her
belongings were safe, and then, turning to the ladder that the Boots
was holding for her to mount, up she trips to her outside place
behind the box-seat, all in a fluff and commotion, and chattering
so fast that the words hitched in each other like beer in a
narrow-necked bottle.
"Give you good morning, gentlemen!" said Mrs. Polwhele, "and I do
hope and trust I haven't kept you waiting; but thunder makes me
_that_ nervous! 'Twas always the same with me from a girl; and la!
what a storm while it lasted! I declare the first drops looked to me
a'most so big as crown-pieces.
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