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Updated: May 15, 2025
Satchell entered, full of pomp and apple-red with pleasure, followed by Shard bearing a tray of glasses, and by pretty, dimpling Tiffany bearing a goodly flagon of wine and observing with demure approbation the covey of King's gentlemen. Mistress Satchell swam like a gall on towards the Cavaliers, her great, red, spoon-shaped face damp with satisfaction.
One piece of work that Adam was superintending was some slight repairs at the Chase Farm, which had been hitherto occupied by Satchell, as bailiff, but which it was now rumoured that the old squire was going to let to a smart man in top-boots, who had been seen to ride over it one day.
He shall manage my woods for me, for he seems to have a better notion of those things than any man I ever met with; and I know he would make twice the money of them that my grandfather does, with that miserable old Satchell to manage, who understands no more about timber than an old carp.
"If you love me, leave him to me." And, indeed, her angry eyes shone warranty that the offender would fare badly at her hands. Halfman waved her aside with a gesture of impatience. "Mistress Satchell," he protested, "you are a valiant woman, but a rampant amazon." Dame Satchell's cheeks glowed a deeper crimson, and her variable anger raged from Clupp to Halfman.
This was published in 1883 by Mr. Thomas Satchell under the title An Older Form of the Treatyse of Fysshynge wyth an Angle. But it is also possible that a still older work was the parent of both books, for it has been held that the manuscript is an independent version. However this may be, it is certain that the treatise itself has been the parent of many other works.
One was stout and red faced and inclined to breathe hard after the fatigues of the chase. The other was slim and smooth, with ripe cheeks and bright eyes, lodgings for the insolence of youth. In a word, the hunters were Mistress Satchell and pretty Tiffany, who had found their Puritan prisoner and visitor a being of considerable interest.
"Call me no names," she squalled, "though you do call yourself captain, or I'll call you the son of a " However Mistress Satchell intended to finish her objurgation it was not given to the company to learn, for Halfman tripped up her speech with a nimble interruption. "The son of a pike, so please you," he suggested, with a smile that softened the virago's heart.
This was not at all true, but she was not going to admit as much to Mistress Satchell, or, for that matter, to herself. Mistress Satchell snorted fiercely, like an offended war-horse. "Because he has not clipped you round the waist, pinched you in the cheek, kissed you on the lips such liberties as our rufflers use. But he is a man for my money." She spoke with vehemence.
"There, we have toiled enough to-day and it tests our tempers. Dismiss." This command he addressed to the whole of his amazing company; to Dame Satchell he gave a congee with a more than Spanish flourish: "To your pots and pans, valorous." Dame Satchell, mollified by his compliment, shrugged her fat shoulders. "'Tis little enough I have to put in them," she grumbled.
He turned with something of a yawn to Thoroughgood. "Why a devil did you press gossip cook into the service?" Thoroughgood shook his head protestingly. "Nay, the virago volunteered," he explained, with a look that seemed to supplement speech in the suggestion that it were best to let Mistress Satchell have her own way. This was evidently Mistress Satchell's own view of the matter.
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