titution, and Royal Exchange, as well as central embassy
of Fashion, had lately become most uncertain in its dates, which for
years had announced to loose-reckoning housewives the day of the week
and the hour to buy candles. Instead of coming home on a Saturday eve,
in the van of all the fishing fleet, returning their cheers and those of
customers on the beach, the London Trader arrived anywhen, as often in
the dark as daylight, never took the ground at all, and gave a very wide
berth to Captain Zeb Tugwell, his craft, and his crews. At times she
landed packages big and bulky, which would have been searched (in spite
of London bills of lading) if there had been any Custom-house here,
or any keen Officer of Customs. But these were delivered by daylight
always, and carted by Mr. Cheeseman's horse direct to his master's
cellars; and Cheeseman had told everybody that his wife, having come
into a little legacy, was resolved in spite of his advice to try a bit
of speculation in hardware, through her sister miles away at Uckfield.
Most of the neighbours liked Mrs. Cheeseman, because she gave good
weight (scarcely half an ounce short, with her conscience to her family
thrown in against it), as well as the soundest piece of gossip to be had
for the money in Springhaven. And therefore they wished her well, and
boxed their children's ears if they found them poking nose into her
packages. Mrs. Cheeseman shook her head when enquired of on the subject,
and said with grave truth that the Lord alone can tell how any of poor
people's doings may turn out.

Some other things puzzled the village, and would in more sensible times
have produced a sensation. Why did Mr. Cheeseman now think nothing of as
much as three spots on his white linen apron, even in the first half of
the week? Why was he seldom at John Prater's now, and silent in a corner
even when he did appear? What was become of the ruddy polish, like that
of a Winter Redstrake, on his cheeks, which made a man long for a slice
of his ham? Why, the only joke he had made for the last three months was
a terrible one at his own expense. He had rushed down the street about
ten o'clock one morning, at a pace quite insane for a middle-aged man,
with no hat on his head and no coat on his back, but the strings of
his apron dashed wild on the breeze, and his biggest ham-carver making
flashes in his hand. It was thought that some boy must have run off with
a penny, or some visitor changed a bad