slamming it together with a
clang.

'O, O; why shall I?' asked the coachman, including in his auditory by a
glance the clerk and gardener who had just entered.

'Because Mr. Manston is in the business. Did you ever know him to give
up for weather of any kind, or for any other mortal thing in heaven or
earth?'

'----Mornen so's--such as it is!' interrupted Mr. Crickett cheerily,
coming forward to the blaze and warming one hand without looking at the
fire. 'Mr. Manston gie up for anything in heaven or earth, did you say?
You might ha' cut it short by sayen "to Miss Aldclyffe," and leaven out
heaven and earth as trifles. But it might be put off; putten off a thing
isn't getten rid of a thing, if that thing is a woman. O no, no!'

The coachman and gardener now naturally subsided into secondaries. The
cook went on rather sharply, as she dribbled milk into the exact centre
of a little crater of flour in a platter--

'It might be in this case; she's so indifferent.'

'Dang my old sides! and so it might be. I have a bit of news--I thought
there was something upon my tongue; but 'tis a secret; not a word, mind,
not a word. Why, Miss Hinton took a holiday yesterday.'

'Yes?' inquired the cook, looking up with perplexed curiosity.

'D'ye think that's all?'

'Don't be so three-cunning--if it is all, deliver you from the evil of
raising a woman's expectations wrongfully; I'll skimmer your pate as
sure as you cry Amen!'

'Well, it isn't all. When I got home last night my wife said, "Miss
Adelaide took a holiday this mornen," says she (my wife, that is);
"walked over to Nether Mynton, met the comen man, and got married!" says
she.'

'Got married! what, Lord-a-mercy, did Springrove come?'

'Springrove, no--no--Springrove's nothen to do wi' it--'twas Farmer
Bollens. They've been playing bo-peep for these two or three months
seemingly. Whilst Master Teddy Springrove has been daddlen, and hawken,
and spetten about having her, she's quietly left him all forsook. Serve
him right. I don't blame the little woman a bit.'

'Farmer Bollens is old enough to be her father!'

'Ay, quite; and rich enough to be ten fathers. They say he's so rich
that he has business in every bank, and measures his money in half-pint
cups.'

'Lord, I wish it was me, don't I wish 'twas me!' said the scullery-maid.

'Yes, 'twas as neat a bit of stitching as ever I heard of,' continued
the clerk, with a fixed eye, as if he were watching the process f