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"The labourer is worthy of his hire! Now you can never go about like some clergymen, grumbling and saying you work for no pay!" Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "What shall we do next? Oh, I know! Let's buy some acid drops!" Mrs. Tapple stared and smiled.
Walden glanced over the scrap of paper on which she had scrawled her rough figures. "Fivepence out, I declare, Mrs. Tapple!" he said, merrily. "Dear, dear! Whatever is going to become of you, eh? To cheat yourself wouldn't matter nobody minds THAT but to do the British Government out of fivepence would be a dreadful thing!
He noted the quaint self-importance of Mrs. Tapple with a kindly amusement, not altogether unmixed with pain, he watched regretfully the attempts made by the young girls of his little parish to trick themselves out with cheap finery imported from the town of Riversford, in order to imitate in some fashion, no matter how far distant, the attire of Lady Beaulyon, whose dresses were a wonder, and whose creditors were legion, and he was sincerely sorry to see that even gentle and pretty Susie Prescott had taken to a new mode of doing her hair, which, though elaborate, did not suit her at all, and gave an almost bold look to an otherwise sweet and maidenly countenance.
Tapple, chatted with the sexton, Adam Frost, and scattered 'sweeties' galore among all his children, and she furthermore startled the village choir at practice by suddenly flitting into the church and asking Miss Eden, the schoolmistress, to allow her to play the organ accompaniment, and on Miss Eden's consenting to this proposition, she played in such a fashion that the church seemed filled with musical thunder and the songs of angels, and the village choristers, both girls and boys, became awestruck and nervous, and huddled themselves together in a silent group, afraid to open their mouths lest a false note should escape, and spoil the splendour of the wonderful harmony that so mysteriously charmed their souls.
A compliment which Mrs. Tapple accepted without demur, feeling it to be no more than her just due. She was, however, in spite of her 'ezack' methods, always a little worried when anything out of the ordinary occurred, and she began to feel slightly flustered directly she saw Maryllia swing open her garden gate.
"Which I gets the rheumatiz so bad in my joints," she was wont to say "that I often wonders 'ow I knows postage-stamps from telegram- forms an' register papers from money-orders, an' if you doos them things wrong Gove'nment never forgives you!" "Ah, you'll never get into no trouble with Gove'nment, Missis Tapple!" her gossips were wont to assure her, "For you be as ezack as ezack!"
"Certainly, if you wish it," he answered with a slight touch of embarrassment; "I thought perhaps " "You thought perhaps, what?" laughed Maryllia, glancing up at him archly "That I was going to make you eat pear-drops against your will? Not I! I wouldn't be so rude. But I really thought I ought to buy something from Mrs. Tapple, she was so worried, poor old dear! -till you came in.
An' I was fair mazed over that 'oley bit, but I found out all about it! hor-hor-hor!" and Bainton began to laugh with exceeding delight at his own perspicuity "A few minutes' gossip with old Missis Tapple at the post-office did it! hor-hor-hor! for she told me, bless 'er heart! as 'ow Miss Vancourt 'ad given it t'ye for fun, as a sort o' reward like for sendin' off some telegrams for 'er!
"It IS 'pigs and poultry, ain't it?" she had asked anxiously of Primmins, after studying the message for a considerable time through, her spectacles. And Primmins, gravely studying it, too, had replied: "It is undoubtedly 'pigs and poultry." "And it IS 'in love' you think?" pursued Mrs. Tapple, with perplexity furrowing her brow.
"'No, no!" said Maryllia, with a little laugh "Not Conservatory Conservatoire TOIRE, t.o.i.r.e., the place where they study music." "Oh, yes I see!" and Mrs. Tapple tried to smile knowingly, as she fixed her spectacles more firmly on her nose, and began to murmur slowly "Je desire, d.e.sire oh, yes desire! que q.u.e.
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