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Updated: May 28, 2025
Lancelot sat and tried to catch perch, but Tregarva's words haunted him. He lighted his cigar, and tried to think earnestly over the matter, but he had got into the wrong place for thinking. All his thoughts, all his sympathies, were drowned in the rush and whirl of the water. He forgot everything else in the mere animal enjoyment of sight and sound.
But bygones are bygones, and there he is, and the moors, thanks to the rights of property in this case the rights of the dog in the manger belong to poor old Lavington that is, the game and timber on them; and neither Crawy nor any one else can touch them. What can I do for him? Convert him? to what? For the next life, even Tregarva's talisman seems to fail.
What would have been Tregarva's answer, I cannot tell; but Lancelot, who had unintentionally overheard the greater part of the conversation, disliked being any longer a listener, and came close to them. 'Here's your gudgeons and minnows, sir, as you bespoke, quoth Harry; 'and here's that paternoster as you gave me to rig up. Beautiful minnows, sir, white as a silver spoon.
I don't see, sir, what Christian people want with such vanities. Lancelot did not argue the point, for he knew the prejudices of Dissenters on the subject; but it did strike him that if Tregarva's brain had been a little less preponderant, he, too, might have found the need of some recreation besides books and thought. By this time they were at Lancelot's door.
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