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Bagnet, observing his companion to be thoughtful, considers it a friendly part to refer to Mrs. Bagnet's late sally. "George, you know the old girl she's as sweet and as mild as milk. But touch her on the children or myself and she's off like gunpowder." "It does her credit, Mat!" "George," says Mr. Bagnet, looking straight before him, "the old girl can't do anything that don't do her credit.
Proceeding to converse on indifferent matters, they walk up and down the little street, keeping step and time, until summoned by Quebec and Malta to do justice to the pork and greens, over which Mrs. Bagnet, like a military chaplain, says a short grace. In the distribution of these comestibles, as in every other household duty, Mrs.
So he does it, though still with an indignant gravity that impresses the young Bagnets, and even causes Mr. Bagnet to defer the ceremony of drinking Mrs. Bagnet's health, always given by himself on these occasions in a speech of exemplary terseness. But the young ladies having composed what Mr. Bagnet is in the habit of calling "the mixtur," and George's pipe being now in a glow, Mr.
"When she took me and accepted of the ring she 'listed under me and the children heart and head, for life. She's that earnest," says Mr. Bagnet, "and true to her colours that, touch us with a finger and she turns out and stands to her arms. If the old girl fires wide once in a way at the call of duty look over it, George. For she's loyal!"
"And that was like me!" observes the penitent trooper, shaking his head. "Like me, I know." "Silence! The old girl," says Mr. Bagnet, "is correct in her way of giving my opinions hear me out!" "That was when you never ought to have asked for the security, George, and when you never ought to have got it, all things considered. But what's done can't be undone.
I don't say but what he's as free as ever. Of course he must be free or he wouldn't be George, but he smarts and seems put out." "He's extra-drilled," says Mr. Bagnet. "By a lawyer. Who would put the devil out." "There's something in that," his wife assents; "but so it is, Lignum." Further conversation is prevented, for the time, by the necessity under which Mr.
Trilling it out like a kind of bird, with a pretty high note, that it may be audible to the old lady above the hum of the wheels. "Bless you, and thank you," says Mrs. Rouncewell. "Bless you, and thank you, my worthy soul!" "Dear heart!" cries Mrs. Bagnet in the most natural manner. "No thanks to me, I am sure. Thanks to yourself, ma'am, for being so ready to pay 'em!
Bagnet, not to embarrass the domestic preparations, go forth to take a turn up and down the little street, which they promenade with measured tread and folded arms, as if it were a rampart. "George," says Mr. Bagnet. "You know me. It's my old girl that advises. She has the head. But I never own to it before her. Discipline must be maintained. Wait till the greens is off her mind.
You won't be got off this way, and you won't be got off that way what do you mean by such picking and choosing? It's stuff and nonsense, George." "Don't be severe upon me in my misfortunes, Mrs. Bagnet," said the trooper lightly. "Oh! Bother your misfortunes," cried Mrs. Bagnet, "if they don't make you more reasonable than that comes to.
Tulkinghorn, putting on his spectacles, sits down and writes the undertaking, which he slowly reads and explains to Bagnet, who has all this time been staring at the ceiling and who puts his hand on his bald head again, under this new verbal shower-bath, and seems exceedingly in need of the old girl through whom to express his sentiments.
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