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Updated: May 16, 2025
Hatchard's great annoyance, clapped his open hand over his mouth and rocked with merriment. "Sh sh she she " he spluttered. "That'll do," said Mr. Hatchard, hastily, with a warning frown. "Kow-towed to me," gurgled Mr. Sadler. "You ought to have seen it, Alf. I shall never get over it never. It's no no good win-winking at me; I can't help myself."
There's no need for you to call about them." Hardly realizing the seriousness of the step, Mr. Hatchard closed the front door behind him with a bang, and then discovered that it was raining. Too proud to return for his umbrella, he turned up his coat-collar and, thrusting his hands in his pockets, walked slowly down the desolate little street.
"Don't you 'Emily' me!" said Mrs. Hatchard, quickly. "The idea! A lodger, too! You know the arrangement. You'd better go, I think, if you can't behave yourself." "I won't go till my three weeks are up," said Mr. Hatchard, doggedly, "so you may as well behave yourself." "I can't pamper you for a pound a week," said Mrs. Hatchard, walking to the door. "If you want pampering, you had better go."
The little June wind, frisking down the street, shook the doleful fringes of the Hatchard spruces, caught the straw hat of a young man just passing under them, and spun it clean across the road into the duck-pond.
"The end of it was," ses Alf, "that you and Mrs. Pearce was both very much upset, as o' course you couldn't marry while 'er fust was alive, and the last thing I see afore I woke up was her boxes standing at the front door waiting for a cab." George Hatchard was going to ask 'im more about it, but just then Mrs.
Example is contagious, and two seconds later he was in his chair again, softly feeling a rapidly growing bump on his head, and gazing goggle-eyed at his wife. "And I'd do it again," said that lady, breathlessly, "if there was another vase." Mr. Hatchard opened his mouth, but speech failed him.
"I daresay it is," answered Miss Grey; "we'll ask Mrs Hatchard about it presently." The other children had gathered round, all more or less interested in the invalid pig; but presently, Pennie having suggested that they should go and see the new little calf, they ran out of the kitchen in search of fresh excitement.
Half way down the street she stopped at a weak-hinged gate. Passing through it, she walked down a brick path to a queer little brick temple with white wooden columns supporting a pediment on which was inscribed in tarnished gold letters: "The Honorius Hatchard Memorial Library, 1832."
He got up and left the room without a word, and, making his way to the scullery, turned on the tap and held his head beneath it. A sharp intake of the breath announced that a tributary stream was looking for the bump down the neck of his shirt. He was away a long time so long that the half-penitent Mrs. Hatchard was beginning to think of giving first aid to the wounded.
The evidence stared at him from the mantelpiece in the shape of a pair of huge pink vases, which had certainly not been there when he left in the morning. He looked at them and breathed heavily. "Pretty, ain't they?" said his wife, nodding at them. "Who gave 'em to you?" inquired Mr. Hatchard, sternly. His wife shook her head. "You don't get vases like that given to you," she said, slowly.
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