s
and knees, entered the kitchen, and stood with his back to the fire,
panting from his exertions in pedestrianism.

The kitchen was by far the pleasantest apartment in Knapwater House
on such a morning as this. The vast fire was the centre of the whole
system, like a sun, and threw its warm rays upon the figures of the
domestics, wheeling about it in true planetary style. A nervously-feeble
imitation of its flicker was continually attempted by a family of
polished metallic utensils standing in rows and groups against the walls
opposite, the whole collection of shines nearly annihilating the weak
daylight from outside. A step further in, and the nostrils were greeted
by the scent of green herbs just gathered, and the eye by the plump form
of the cook, wholesome, white-aproned, and floury--looking as edible as
the food she manipulated--her movements being supported and assisted by
her satellites, the kitchen and scullery maids. Minute recurrent sounds
prevailed--the click of the smoke-jack, the flap of the flames, and the
light touches of the women's slippers upon the stone floor.

The coachman hemmed, spread his feet more firmly upon the hearthstone,
and looked hard at a small plate in the extreme corner of the dresser.

'No wedden this mornen--that's my opinion. In fact, there can't be,' he
said abruptly, as if the words were the mere torso of a many-membered
thought that had existed complete in his head.

The kitchen-maid was toasting a slice of bread at the end of a very long
toasting-fork, which she held at arm's length towards the unapproachable
fire, travestying the Flanconnade in fencing.

'Bad out of doors, isn't it?' she said, with a look of commiseration for
things in general.

'Bad? Not even a liven soul, gentle or simple, can stand on level
ground. As to getten up hill to the church, 'tis perfect lunacy. And
I speak of foot-passengers. As to horses and carriage, 'tis murder
to think of 'em. I am going to send straight as a line into the
breakfast-room, and say 'tis a closer.... Hullo--here's Clerk Crickett
and John Day a-comen! Now just look at 'em and picture a wedden if you
can.'

All eyes were turned to the window, from which the clerk and gardener
were seen crossing the court, bowed and stooping like Bel and Nebo.

'You'll have to go if it breaks all the horses' legs in the county,'
said the cook, turning from the spectacle, knocking open the oven-door
with the tongs, glancing critically in, and