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"Chalk 'em 'e HAS!" returned Buggins, putting quite a strong aspirate where he generally left it out, "And down they're comin' on Wednesday marnin'. Which I sez yeste'day to Adam Frost 'ere: if the Five Sisters is to lay low, what next?" "Ay! ay!" chorussed several other villagers who had been, listening eagerly to the conversation; "You say true, Mr. Buggins you say gospel true.
We cannot name it after any flower that blows, because they are all taken. Have all the trees been used?" "Thank you, miss, yes, miss, all but h'ash-tree, and we 'ave no h'ash." "Very good, we must follow another plan. Family names seem to be chosen, such as Gower House, Marston Villa, and the like. 'Bobby Cottage' is not pretty. What was your maiden name, Mrs. Bobby?" "Buggins, thank you, miss.
Margaret wrote back to say that she would be at home at ten minutes past two on the day named. Her aunt was old, and she again borrowed the parlour, though she was not now well inclined to ask favours from Mrs Buggins. Mrs Buggins had taken to heart the slight put upon her husband, and sometimes made nasty little speeches.
Perhaps it would be wisest to undertake the job, there was the 'Mother Huff' at the end of the journey, and Roger Buggins was a friend of his.
The man whom she had learned to love had left her. There was no place in the world on which her feet might rest till she had made one for herself by the work of her hands. And as for friends was there a single being in the world whom she could now call her friend? The Lodgings of Mrs Buggins, Née Protheroe
Buggins wore a very ill-fitting black suit on Sundays, which made him look like a cross between a waiter and an undertaker; and he also supported on his cranium a very tall top-hat with an extra wide brim, suggesting in its antediluvian shape a former close acquaintance with cast-off clothing stores.
"Well, well!" said Buggins, tolerantly, with the dignified air of one closing the discussion; "Devil or no devil, you tell 'im as 'ow the Five Sisters be chalked for layin' low on Wednesday marnin'. Good day t'ye!"
"To the memory of Mr. Buggins of this parish, who died on February 27th, 1801, aged 67." And then, to save trouble and expense, a verse from a hymn, or the simple statement that he is asleep in Jesus, or is awaiting the resurrection.
So murmuring, the old man and young child went on together, and the group of villagers dispersed. Roger Buggins, however, paused a moment before turning up the lane which led to the 'Mother Huff. "You tell Passon," he said addressing Bainton, "You tell him as 'ow the Five Sisters be chalked for layin' low on Wednesday marnin'!" "Never fear!" responded Bainton; "I'll tell 'im.
"Mebbe so," returned Buggins laconically, and closing his door he barred it across for the night, while Dan Ridley, full of the half- poetic, half philosophic thoughts which the subjects of religion and religious worship frequently excite in a more or less untutored rustic mind, trudged slowly homeward.
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