“Oh! I am glad,” said Mary, eager to break the chilly silence that prevailed.
“I meant by descent,” said the doctor merrily. “I don’t know how she behaves.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Mary, in a disappointed tone, while Leo looked on scornfully.
“But she seems quiet?” said the curate anxiously.
“Ye-es,” replied the doctor dubiously, as he continued his examination. “Rather a wicked look about one eye.”
“Don’t, pray, Dr North,” said Leo petulantly. “My brother is quite fidgety enough about the mare. She is of course a little more mettlesome than our poor old plodding horse; but a child might drive her.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” said the doctor, in a tone which seemed to say, “But I would not answer for the consequences.” Then aloud: “Bit swollen about that hock. May mean nothing. Nice-looking little thing, Salis.”
“I’m glad you like her,” said the curate eagerly.
“I did not say I liked her, old fellow,” replied North. “I said she was well bred.”
“But you don’t think she is dangerous for ladies?”
“Oh, Hartley! How absurd!” cried Leo.
“Dangerous? surely not,” said the doctor. “Have tried her yourself, of course?”
“Well, no,” replied the curate. “I have been so busy: but the man has driven her several times.”
“And says she goes very quietly,” said Leo pettishly. “Hartley never has any confidence in my driving.”
“Indeed, yes,” said the curate, smiling at his sister affectionately. “I know that you drive well, and are a clever horsewoman. I am only anxious about your driving a strange horse.”
“But Leo will be very careful,” said Mary, interposing to end a scene which was agony to her. “I am quite ready, Leo.”
“Yes, let’s go,” said the latter. “Hartley wants to sell you the horse at a profit, Dr North,” she added banteringly. “Good morning all.”
The curate said no more, but handed his sisters into the light low phaeton, Leo taking the reins in the most business-like manner before mounting, and then sitting upright on the raised seat in a way that would have satisfied the most exacting whip.
The mare started off at a touch, with her neck arched and her head well down, the wheels spinning merrily in unison with the sharp trot of the well-shaped hoofs.
“An uncommonly pretty little turn-out, old fellow,” said the doctor, as he sat in the saddle watching critically till the chaise turned the corner; “and your sister drives admirably.”
“Yes,” said the curate rather dolefully; “she drives like she rides.”
“And that’s better than any lady who follows our pack of hounds,” cried the doctor. “Now, if I had been anything of a fellow, I should have cantered along by their side, and shown myself off.”
“You would,” assented the curate; and his countenance seemed to say, “I wish you had.”
“But, there, I am not anything of a fellow, and I have patients waiting, so here goes.”
He pressed his horse’s flanks, and went off in the other direction at a trot, while the curate, with his troubled look increasing, walked into the house.
“I suppose the mare’s quite safe,” he said; “and it pleases her. May take her attention off him. Poor Leo! It is very sad.”
Meanwhile the doctor continued his way till he reached the stocks – a dilapidated set, as ancient-looking as the whipping-post which kept them company, and both dying their worm-eaten death, as the custom of using them had died generations before.
But they had their use still, the doctor’s horse stopping short by them, as if he knew his goal, and his master dismounting, and throwing his rein over the post before entering a low cottage, with red tile sides and thick thatch roof. The door was so low that he had to stoop his head to enter a scrupulously clean cottage room, with uneven red brick floor, brightly-polished stove, with a home-made shred hearthrug in front, and for furniture a well-scrubbed deal table, a high Windsor chair, a beautifully – carved old oaken chest or coffer, and a great, old-fashioned, eight-day clock, whose heavy pendulum, visible through a glazed hole in its door, swung ponderously to right and said chick! and then to left and said chack!
Empty as the old room was in one respect it was full in another, and that was of a faint ancient smell of an indescribable nature. It was not very unpleasant; it was not the reverse; but it had one great peculiarity – to wit, that of exciting a desire on the part of a visitor to know what it was, till his or her eye rested upon the occupant of the tall armed Windsor chair, in which sat Jonadab Moredock, clerk and sexton of Duke’s Hampton, when the idea came that the strange ancient odour must be that of decay.
“Well, old chap, how are we this morning?” said the doctor cheerily.
The red-eyed, yellow-skinned, withered old man placed his hands on the arms of his chair, raised himself an inch or two, gave his head a bob, and subsided again, as he shook his head.
“Bad, doctor – mortal bad; and if you goes away again like that you’ll find me dead and buried when back you comes.”
“Nonsense, Moredock; there are years upon years of good life in you yet.”
“Nay, doctor, nay,” moaned the old fellow.
“But I say yes. Why, you’re only ninety.”
“Ninety-three, doctor – ninety-three, and ’most worn out.”
“Nonsense; there’s a deal of work to be got out of you yet. Had your pipe?”
“Pipe? No. How can a man have a pipe who has no tobacco?”
“Ah well, never mind,” said the doctor, “I’ve brought you some physic.”
“Then I won’t take it,” cried the old man angrily. “I won’t take it, and I won’t pay for it, not a penny.”
“Wait till you’re asked,” said the doctor drily, as he threw a packet of tobacco in the old fellow’s lap. “There’s your medicine. Now say you will not take it if you dare.”
The old man’s red-rimmed eyes twinkled at the sight of the shredded-up weed, around which his hand closed like the claws of a hawk. Then rising slowly, he took down from the chimneypiece a curious-looking old tobacco-box, which seemed as if it had been hammered out of a piece of sheet lead, and began to stuff the tobacco in.
“Where did you get that leaden box? Moredock?” said the visitor.
“I – I made it,” said the old man, with a furtive look.
“Made it! I thought as much. Coffin lead, eh?”
“Never you mind about that, doctor. I found the lead when I was digging.”
“And did you find that oak chest when you were digging, you old rascal?”
“Nay, nay, nay, that’s nowt to do wi’ you, doctor. Physic’s your business, and not bits o’ furnitur’ in people’s houses.”
“Ah, well, we won’t quarrel about that, Moredock; only I’ve taken a fancy to that old chest. I’ll buy it of you.”
“Nay, you won’t, doctor; it isn’t for sale.”
“Then leave it to me in your will.”
“Nay, and I shan’t do that. It’s for my grandchild, Dalily, who’s up yonder at the Rectory, you know – her as had the measles when she was seventeen.”
“Ah, yes, I know – the dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked hussy. Lucky girl to inherit that chest.”
“Ay, but I don’t know as she’ll