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Next morning Mr Kenrick turned the sexton out of his place, and received a most wrathful visit from Mr Hugginson, who, after pouring on him a torrent of the most disgusting abuse, got scarlet in the forehead, shook his stick in Mr Kenrick's face, flung his poverty in his teeth, and left the cottage, vowing eternal vengeance. With him went all the Fuzby population.
The sale, however, of the house at Fuzby, and the scholarship which he had just won, would serve to maintain him for a few years, and meanwhile his guardian would endeavour to secure for him a place in some merchant's office, where gradually he would be able to earn a livelihood.
If Dante had known Fuzby-le-Mud, he could have found for a really generous and noble spirit no more detestable or unendurable inferno than this muddy English village. The chief characteristic of Fuzby was a pestilential spirit of gossip.
Yet no mother could have brought up her child more wisely, more tenderly, with more undivided and devoted care. Harry's heart was true could she have looked into it; but at Fuzby a cold, repellent manner fell on him like a mildew. And Mrs Kenrick wept in silence, as she thought though it was not true that even her own son did not love her, or at least did not love her as she had hoped he would.
But at Fuzby, from the dominant faction of Hugginson, and the small vulgar-minded sets who always tried to brow-beat those who were poor, particularly if their birth and breeding were gentle, she found nothing but insulting coldness, or still more insulting patronage.
Harry Kenrick did indeed love his mother; he would have borne anything rather than see her suffer any great pain; but his manners were too often cold, his conduct wilful or thoughtless. He did not love her perhaps no child can love his parents with all the abandon and intensity wherewith she loved him. The fact is, a blight lay upon Kenrick whenever he was at home the Fuzby blight he called it.
"I, sir?" he said, as though awaked from a reverie; "Oh, I live at Fuzby, a village on the border of the fens, and in the very middle of the heavy clays." And Kenrick turned away his head. "Don't abuse the clay," said Walter to cheer him up; "I'm very fond of the clay; it produces good roses and good strawberries and those are the two best things going, in any soil."
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