Penelope

With this ungainly establishment, the Reverend Charles Pringle took it into his head to give a dinner to as many as he could collect, in order to pay a compliment to Mr Primrose, and to pay court to Miss Primrose. Unfortunately for Mr Pringle it did not answer.

It would be wearying to our readers to have the particulars and the failures of a clumsy mockery of an elegant dinner set forth at full length. Let it be supposed that there was expense, inelegance, constraint, anxiety, mortification. As we are not writing for cooks, we pass over the minutenesses of a spoiled dinner; the greatest evil of which was, that the party was in some degree silent during the progress of dinner, for they had not much opportunity of talking gastronomically.

The English people can talk, but they must have something to begin with. If they meet out of doors, they must begin talking about the weather, and within doors, especially at dinner time, they must begin talking about eatables and drinkables. From such beginnings they can go on to any subject; but they must of necessity have a common-place beginning.

After the cloth was removed, and the spoiled or ill-arranged dishes were forgotten, the party felt themselves more at liberty. We have not yet named the persons who composed the party; and when we say that Mr Kipperson, Mr Zephaniah Pringle, and five or six of lesser note were present, our readers may well suppose that there was no lack of inclination to discourse, especially on the part of those two gentlemen whom we have named.

Now it has been stated, that Zephaniah the critic had carried down to Smatterton an awkward rumour concerning Penelope Primrose. The source from whence the said critic had gathered the information has been also stated. But as soon as the intelligence of Mr Primrose’s intention to reside with his daughter at Smatterton reached the new rector, and was by him communicated to his brother and to Mr Kipperson, a virtual contradiction was given to the ill report; and then all three of the gentlemen found out that they had never believed it.

To render themselves as agreeable as possible to Mr Primrose, the three whom we have named talked great abundance of nonsense and magnificence. Their first concern immediately after dinner was to consult on the best means of saving the nation. Mr Kipperson was well satisfied that nothing would or could do the nation the slightest service, so long as the agricultural interest was neglected. There were two serious evils which were growing worse and worse, the increase of the population, and the importation of foreign grain. The ingenious agriculturist proved that the farmer was eaten up by the increasing population, and that the quantity of grain in the country was so large that it could not find consumers.

Zephaniah Pringle agreed with Mr Kipperson in the grand principle that there were too many consumers for the corn, and too much corn for the consumers. There was the great evil, he thought, in these two troubles existing at once; were they in existence separately they might soon be got rid of. The consumers might consume an extra quantity, and soon settle matters in that way, or the want of corn might thin the consumers, and soon settle matters that way. But, while the two evils operated together, they were dreadful calamities.

Those of our readers who are not agriculturists, or political economists, cannot understand this reasoning, or, more properly speaking, they will not; they are blinded by their own interested feelings; they have prejudices which agriculturists have not.

But though Zephaniah Pringle agreed with Mr Kipperson, that the people were starving because there was too much corn, and that the corn could not find consumers because there were so many people to eat it, yet he thought that there were more serious evils in the country yet. He thought that those obscure seditious newspapers and vile trumpery publications, which nobody reads and which everybody despises, which are published by a set of needy miscreants, who spare no expense in circulating them all over the kingdom, had corrupted the minds of all the people in this once happy land. He thought that the nation was in a most prosperous condition, and that nothing was wanting to render it more prosperous, than an additional number of bishops, and an increase in the numbers of the yeomanry cavalry.

Mr Primrose listened with polite and pleased attention to these dextrous and acute politicians, and he thought that his Majesty need never be at a loss for a prime minister, or for two, if he wanted them, while Zephaniah Pringle and Mr Kipperson should live. But, as Mr Primrose was neither an agriculturist, nor a political economist, he felt himself a little puzzled to reconcile the apparent contradiction which was contained in Mr Kipperson’s statement of the agricultural grievances. Mr Kipperson was very properly angry with Mr Primrose for expressing a doubt on the subject; and the scientific agriculturist immediately and satisfactorily explained that all the superfluous population was pennyless, and could not pay for the corn which they would like to consume. Whereupon Mr Primrose understood that in the good old times people were born with money in their pockets.

Zephaniah Pringle almost feared that Mr Primrose was a radical, at least he thought he was in the high road to become so, unless he should resist that foolish propensity of wishing to understand what he talked about.

There might have been at the table of Mr Pringle, rector of Smatterton, some diversity of political opinion, as there certainly was, seeing that Mr Kipperson was a Whig, and Zephaniah Pringle a Tory; but the corn question most cordially united them. How far these gentlemen differed in some other points, we have seen already in the matter of mechanics’ institutes. On this subject Mr Kipperson’s hopes were rather too sanguine; and perhaps Zephaniah the critic was too nervously susceptible, on the other hand, of apprehensions of danger to the Protestant succession; for, to his mind, the mechanics’ institutes had no other ultimate object in view than transubstantiation and republicanism.

Concerning gymnastics, the gentlemen also differed. Zephaniah condemned them in toto, and so did the rector of Smatterton, in spite of his whiggism. Mr Kipperson spoke very learnedly about muscles and tension, and proved that bodily exercise was essential to intellectual vigour; but he had the candour to acknowledge that he could never persuade his men to take gymnastic exercises when their day’s work was over; and he attributed their ignorance of science to their neglect of gymnastics.

The whole of the conversation, to which we have above alluded, did not take place in the hearing of Miss Primrose, nor indeed did one tenth part of it; for the fatigue of the journey, together with the agitation of her spirits, led her to make an early retreat from the dining-room. And the old female servant, who had known Penelope from childhood, was delighted in the opportunity of again attending upon her. Fluent was the old gentlewoman’s speech, and mightily communicative was she touching the various changes which had taken place in Smatterton and Neverden since the decease of the good Dr Greendale. The kind-hearted woman also expressed herself delighted at the return of Miss Primrose to Smatterton, inasmuch as there was one person who would be so happy to see her again, and that person was Mr Robert Darnley. Penelope begged that his name might never be mentioned again in her hearing, and thereupon the poor old domestic began to fear that there was some truth in the stories that had been talked about in the village concerning Miss Primrose and Lord Spoonbill. And when the old servant found that she could not talk to her late young mistress concerning love-matters, she hastily finished her discourse and left the young lady to retire quietly to rest.

CHAPTER XIV.

The elder Mr Darnley was mightily displeased to hear of the purpose which Mr Primrose had in view in coming to Smatterton. To the fastidious mind of the rector of Neverden it appeared very indelicate for Miss Primrose, after what had taken place, to throw herself in the way of Mr Robert Darnley: for in no other light could the rector of Neverden regard the meditated settlement of Mr Primrose at Smatterton.

It is a great pity that such a man as Mr Darnley, who had for the most part a good understanding and good feelings, should be so obstinate in his prejudices and so immoveable in his fancies. He had, for some reason or other, taken it into his head that Miss Primrose was proud and fantastical and unfeeling; and nothing could bring him to think favourably of her. He saw everything that she did or said through the deceptive medium of his erroneous apprehension of her character. It was a vain attempt to turn him from his humour. He had thoroughly believed at the first the calumnious report brought from London by Zephaniah Pringle. He had also believed that it was Penelope’s own wish, purpose, and desire, to adopt the musical profession; and though he had felt satisfied that the cessation of the correspondence between his son and the young lady had sprung altogether from the caprice of the latter, yet he considered that this meditated residence in Smatterton was, on the part of Penelope, with a desire of meeting again with Robert Darnley.

We have already acknowledged, nor do we wish to retract the acknowledgment, that the rector of Neverden was a very conscientious, attentive, and upright parish priest; we will give him credit for great zeal and activity in the discharge of his pastoral duties; but, notwithstanding all this, he was grievously deficient in one part of the Christian character, seeing that he had very little of that “charity which thinketh no evil.” We have seen other good people, besides the rector of Neverden, who, fancying themselves models of all that is right, and patterns for the rest of the world, have exercised a perverse ingenuity in discovering, and an unholy pleasure in displaying and condemning, their neighbours’ faults, real or imaginary. These people imagine that they cannot show a dislike of what is wrong without exhibiting a degree of malignity against such as transgress. Now the late Dr Greendale, though a man of great purity and integrity, had no such feeling as this. He was as candid as he was pure, and his gentleness was equal to his integrity. And the people of his parish liked him very much for his goodness and gentleness, and so his character had a very powerful influence upon them. But Mr Darnley was a different kind of man.

When Zephaniah Pringle therefore made his appearance at Neverden, and repeated the information which had already been conveyed to the rectory, as touching the arrival of Mr and Miss Primrose at Smatterton, the Rev. Mr Darnley expressed himself astonished at the indecorum and want of feeling which Miss Primrose manifested.

“Mr Pringle, I am quite surprized at this intelligence. Your relative at Smatterton has certainly a right to let the parsonage-house if he pleases; but I must say that I could wish, for the sake of public morals, that it had a more respectable tenant.”

Now as Penelope had appeared most truly respectable, and not a little fascinating in the eyes of Zephaniah the critic, and as he was not quite certain that the rumour which he had been the means of circulating was quite founded on fact, and as his doubts were stronger after he had seen Penelope and her father, he wished to unsay or to soften down what he had said. He therefore replied to the above exclamation:

“Why really, sir, I must say that I think Miss Primrose a respectable young lady, and it is probable that the report which I heard in town may not be perfectly correct. And indeed, as the lady is about to reside with her father, it is certainly not true to its full extent.”

Mr Darnley was not much in the habit of changing his opinion on matters of fact any more than on matters of speculation; and having once felt himself persuaded that Miss Primrose had acted improperly, it was no easy matter for Mr Pringle to bring him to change the view which he had entertained of the young lady’s character. Reasoning may be a very fine thing, and logic may be a very fine thing, and facts may be very stubborn things; but neither reasoning nor logic can make a man change his opinion, if he does not like to do so; and there are no facts in the world so stubborn as a conceited man’s own stubborn will. Mr Darnley took it for granted that whatever he took for granted must be most incontestably true; and Mr Darnley had taken it for granted that Miss Primrose had not demeaned herself aright, and nothing could convince him to the contrary. He adhered to the general thought, though beaten out of all its particulars. We would not recommend any one who has exalted notions of the power of reasoning and the force of evidence, to endeavour to convince another of any fact or speculation, till that other has shewn symptoms of an inclination to believe such fact or to adopt such theory.

It was all in vain that Zephaniah Pringle contended that Miss Primrose could not possibly be living dishonorably with Lord Spoonbill in London, while she was living quietly and reputably with her father at Smatterton. Mr Darnley had made up his mind, and nothing could shake his conclusions. Of some heads it is observed, that you can get nothing into them; of others it may with as much truth be said, that you can get nothing out of them. In this latter predicament was placed the head of the rector of Neverden.

When therefore Zephaniah found that no impression was to be made on Mr Darnley, he gave up the discussion, not a little regretting that he himself had, for the sake of gratifying a little vanity in talking about his own intimacy with Lord Spoonbill, done an injury which he could not undo. He began also to fear lest he should be detected and exposed; and under that apprehension he found himself uneasy at Smatterton, and wished that his visit was finished. This served him perfectly right. He had made public talk of what had been told to him in confidence, and as a secret, and he had circulated a calumnious report, careless whether it were true or false, and heedless what injury it might inflict upon innocence, or what misery it might occasion to those concerned.

Yet this prodigiously conceited puppy could and did in his critical lucubrations write himself down as being most zealously devoted to the service of religion, and he would make a mighty noise about those most execrable and abominable caitiffs, who presume to question one iota of the faith according to Queen Elizabeth.

It is hard, very hard, that religion should have to bear the reproach of the whims, vagaries, bigotry, and fanaticism of many, who are sincere in their profession and honest in their intemperate zeal; but it is doubly hard that a set of coxcomical greenhorns, who scarcely know the difference between the Bible and the Koran, who cannot tell why they believe, and who do not care what they believe, who never enter a church, and who never doubt because they never think, it is doubly hard that all their impertinent arrogance should be laid to the charge of a religion which has never influenced one action of their lives, or one thought of their hearts.

Finding that Mr Darnley the elder would not listen to or be influenced by any recantation of his calumny, the critic next sought for the young gentleman to whom he made known the fact of the arrival of Mr Primrose at Smatterton.

During the visit, which the loyal and religious Zephaniah Pringle paid at Smatterton, there had been comparatively little intercourse between him and Robert Darnley. This was owing to two causes: in the first place, Robert Darnley was in low spirits, and had not much intercourse with any one; and, in the second place, he had a contempt for puppyism, and Zephaniah had wit enough to see that he had.

In the present instance it was an object with Mr Pringle to correct any erroneous notion which he might have conveyed to the mind of Mr Robert Darnley; he therefore began the conversation.

“I think I must have been in an error when I informed you, as you may remember, that Miss Primrose was living with Lord Spoonbill.”

“Very likely you were, sir,” replied Mr Robert Darnley, somewhat abruptly; “but did you not insinuate to me that you had the information from Lord Spoonbill himself?”

This question was perplexing to the critic. He had insinuated as much, but he had not absolutely said so. Therefore he could not promptly reply in the negative, but was forced to make use of a little circumlocution, saying:

“Why not exactly so; I did not say that Lord Spoonbill himself told me in so many words: I merely—I said—-that is—a very intimate friend of Spoonbill said, that he thought—that is, he understood that—I believe he said that he had reason to suspect that some arrangement was likely to be made—”

Thereupon the explanation tapered off into an indistinct muttering that was sufficient, if for no other purpose, at least to show that Mr Zephaniah Pringle was a sneaking, shuffling, contemptible fellow. Robert Darnley was not in the habit of flying into a violent passion when he felt contempt for any meanness of character or conduct; if such had been his temperament, the present was an occasion, all circumstances being considered, strong enough to tempt him to knock a fool’s head and the wall together. He contented himself with coolly saying:

“It is a great pity, sir, that you should have circulated a report of that nature before you were quite certain that it was true.”

“I am very sorry indeed,” replied Zephaniah, “that I was led into such an error.”

“Well, well,” said Robert Darnley, “I dare say it will not be productive of any very serious consequence. Nobody who was at all acquainted with Miss Primrose could possibly believe the report.”

Zephaniah Pringle thought it but poor consolation to be told that he was not likely to be believed. He felt himself indeed so thoroughly humbled, that he was heartily glad to bring his conference with Robert Darnley to a close. The critic very soon said, “Good morning,” and Robert Darnley returned his “Good morning” in such a tone, and with such an air, as to make Zephaniah experience the sensation of being looked down upon.

It was a great refreshment and relief to the mind of the younger Darnley, to hear that Penelope and her father had arrived at Smatterton. He had never believed the calumnious tale of the loyal and religious critic, but he certainly did entertain some apprehension that assiduous attentions from a person of high rank and large estate might produce in time an effect even upon the mind of Penelope. As now Mr Primrose had come down expressly to take up his residence at Smatterton, and as this was not a time of year for such families as that of the Earl of Smatterton to take up their abode in the country, there was some ground to hope that, if the young nobleman had even made endeavours to gain the affection of Penelope, he had not succeeded.

It was the blessing of Robert Darnley’s mind that he had a disposition to look on the most favorable aspect of events, and it was not in his nature to yield himself up to a slight misunderstanding or misapprehension. Many miseries might be avoided if mankind possessed in general a little more of that kind of considerateness; but the evil is, that they too often take up with any idle tale, and are led by the merest and slightest apprehensions into quarrels, coldnesses, and loss of friendships: inasmuch, that a quarrel is courteously called a misunderstanding, much to the reproach indeed of the misunderstanders; for it is thereby intimated that the parties quarrel merely for the want of taking the pains to understand one another, or sometimes perhaps to understand themselves.

Under the circumstances which belong to this narration, it would have been very possible for two simpletons to have made themselves completely wretched. And as some people are very glad to be miserable for the sake of the pathos and sentimentality thereof, we will tell these people, though perhaps they could find it out without our assistance, how they might make themselves truly wretched under similar circumstances.

To gain this desirable end, the gentleman and the lady should have despaired of meeting each other again, and should have carefully avoided everything that might lead to an explanation, and they should, while very much in love with each other, have made all possible haste to give their hands to another. They ought to have married, as it were, out of spite, and then after marriage they ought to have met by accident, and to have explained; and then they ought to have compared notes, and to have made it out that one had the worst husband, and the other the worst wife, in the world; and then they would have had nothing more to do than to have made a very pretty tragical conclusion of the business, either giving employment to, what the newspapers call, the gentlemen of the long robe, or, more seriously still, causing the calling together of a coroner’s jury.

It was well for Robert Darnley that such was not his disposition. He thought it much the best to ascertain, if he possibly could, what were Penelope’s real sentiments; and for that purpose he had already spoken to her father, and, as no result had come from speaking, he had written; and if his letter had not been soon answered, or if Mr Primrose had not arrived at Smatterton, he would have visited the party in London.

CHAPTER XV.

The elder Mr Darnley was troubled, as we have already intimated, lest this arrival should again unsettle the mind of his son. Mrs Darnley also thought it was a pity, now Robert had so nearly recovered his spirits, that there should be any probability of his being again disturbed. Miss Mary Darnley, who, by frequent literary and scientific discussions with the learned and scientific Mr Kipperson, had become a great admirer of the gentleman, was jealous of the presence of Miss Primrose again in the country. The two other young ladies, who did not like to hear their father preach, except in the pulpit, were troubled with the apprehension of long lectures on the impropriety of being improperly in love.

Mr Kipperson also had his troubles; for though it would have given him great pleasure to have gained the heart of Miss Primrose, he thought he saw several formidable rivals among gentlemen of more suitable age. But Mr Kipperson had too much self-love to suffer much from love of any other description. Robert Darnley was troubled and perplexed, though very much pleased. He now saw that he should have an opportunity of ascertaining the truth: but in either case there was an evil. For if Penelope still retained a regard for him, there was yet to be dreaded the opposition of his father; and if she did not, the change would be painful to him.

But the greatest trouble was at Neverden Hall. There was residing under the roof of Sir George Aimwell a young lady, who had been consigned to the care of the worthy baronet. The name of this lady was Arabella Glossop. She had very recently been sent to Neverden by her careful father, in order that time, absence, and change of scene, might eradicate from her mind an unfortunate attachment which she had formed for a pennyless lieutenant.

Here we cannot but suggest to our legislators an improvement, which might and ought to be made in our military code. It is melancholy to think how many instances have occurred of men of low family and no fortune winning the hearts of young ladies of high birth, of respectable connexions, and of good fortune. This might be prevented by a law, making it felony for a military officer without fortune to fall in love with a lady of good family.

Miss Glossop was not indeed of high family; but she was the daughter of a gentleman whose family had with great diligence been pushing itself up into consideration and importance. The mortification of anything like a humiliating connexion was so much the greater. Mr Glossop, the young lady’s father, was an eminent solicitor in a small but genteel town, and had married a distant relation of Sir George Aimwell. Of this connexion Mr Glossop was naturally proud; and he made the most of it.

In the town where he lived was a theatre; and the company which performed there was pronounced by such London performers as occasionally lent their mighty selves for provincial exhibition, to be one of the best provincial companies they had ever performed with. When an actor from London made his appearance on the stage, Miss Glossop honored the theatre with her presence. Greatly did the young lady surprize the natives by her studied inattention to what was passing on the stage. It was to her a mighty amusement to laugh and talk aloud, especially during those passages of the performance which were most interesting to the rest of the audience. By such means did Miss Glossop manifest her own importance and superiority. This kind of public rudeness passed with the ignorant people in the country for elegance and fashion.

The young lady was in error in this respect. But not only was she wrong in her calculations in this point. Many other blunders did she make. For being very pretty, she thought herself handsome; and being tall, she thought herself elegant; and being acquainted with many books, she thought herself learned; and having a full, clear, comprehensive voice, she thought herself a beautiful singer; and being able to perform at sight very complicated pieces of music, she apprehended that she was an excellent musician; and being rude and blunt in her manner of speaking, she thought herself a person of great intellectual superiority; and from being very much stared at, she took it for granted that she was very much admired.

Now this lady did not apprehend that there was any individual in the compass of her provincial acquaintance worthy to aspire to the honor of her hand; and she was in the habit of giving herself such arrogant and domineering airs at the country balls, that a facetiously inclined young gentleman once actually contrived in the advertisement announcing these balls, to have the name of Arabella Glossop, Esq., printed as one of the stewards. The circumstance caused a great deal of talk at the time; but it is now totally forgotten, or at least very seldom alluded to. The printer of the paper was forced to tell a great many lies to save himself from serious inconvenience.

At one of these country balls there happened to be a lieutenant who was quartered in that neighbourhood, and was a person of exceedingly good address, and also of good understanding, except that he was so very desirous of obtaining a fortune, that, for the sake of money, he would willingly have married Miss Glossop. He had heard reports of the lady’s fortune, and these reports were of course exaggerated. He paid the usual attentions, and was so far successful that, had it not been for some untoward accident, Mr Glossop’s ambition of matching his daughter with some gentleman of fortune and consideration in the county, would have been frustrated by a poor lieutenant.

As soon as the unfortunate attachment was made known to the father, he put himself with all suitable speed into a most towering passion; he banged all the doors, thumped all the tables, kicked all the chairs, and, but for the interference of Mrs Glossop, would have broken all the crockery in the house, because his daughter would not listen to reason. The young lady was locked up; but the young lady grew sulky, and thought that her dear lieutenant was the most charming creature in the world, because her father was in a violent passion. And the more angry was Mr Glossop, the more deeply in love was Miss Glossop.

We have said that the young lady was locked up. Now Arabella did not like this discipline, and she seriously threatened her inexorable paa, that if she was not suffered to have her own way, she would either starve herself to death, or go mad. This last idea was no doubt suggested by a pathetic passage in one of Oliver Goldsmith’s poems, wherein he says:

“The dog to gain his private ends
Went mad.”——

Whatever apprehensions Mr Glossop might entertain concerning his daughter’s madness, he certainly had some slight idea that he himself might be driven mad by the young lady’s perverseness and obstinacy. Therefore he adopted the very wise and prudent precaution, in such cases made and provided, of sending the lovely and loving Arabella to his worthy friend and relative, Sir George Aimwell, Bart.

Mr Glossop wisely thought that absence and change of scene might produce a beneficial change in his daughter’s mind. The worthy baronet was pleased with the charge; for as the shooting season was nearly over, and as he had suffered very bitterly from the encroachments of the poachers, and as the transgressing ones had made their escape, he was glad of anything that promised him a little amusement. Arabella had always been a favorite with the baronet on account of her high spirit, and when he heard of the nature of the complaint which rendered change of air desirable, he very readily undertook the charge, thinking that a better remedy was within reach, and that Robert Darnley might very probably banish from the mind of his young kinswoman all thoughts of the poor lieutenant.

Nor did the baronet judge unwisely. For, as soon as the lady had taken up her abode at Neverden Hall, her spirits revived, and her wit and humour were all alive again, and her love of admiration was as strong as ever, and she very soon pronounced Robert Darnley to be a charming young fellow. The worthy baronet was pleased with such good symptoms, and had written word to her father accordingly. To a match of this nature Mr Glossop had no very great objection. The Darnleys were of good family, and the young man was likely to have a good property. Perhaps, Mr Glossop would have preferred an union with the family of the Earl of Smatterton; but at all events the Darnleys were better than poor lieutenants.

The circumstance of Arabella Glossop being placed under the care of Sir George Aimwell, had rendered the intercourse between the hall and the rectory rather more frequent than usual; and the baronet had of course been made acquainted with the fact of Robert Darnley’s former engagement to Miss Primrose. When, therefore, Penelope and her father made their appearance at Smatterton again, and thus gave a virtual contradiction to the calumnious report which Mr Zephaniah Pringle had circulated, Sir George began to be apprehensive that his schemes with regard to the son of the rector of Neverden were very likely to fail.

We have now explained according to the best of our ability, and in as few words as distinctness would permit us to use, the varied perplexities occasioned by the apparently simple fact of Mr Primrose and his daughter taking up their abode at Smatterton rectory. Oh! how complicated are the interests of humanity, and what mighty changes are made in the history of the world and the destiny of nations by movements apparently trifling and of no moment. Common people do not observe these things; it is only such wise people, gentle reader, as you and I and Tacitus, that can take a philosophical and comprehensive view of the history of man. But we must economise our wisdom, or it will not hold out. Therefore let us proceed with our history.

The letter which Robert Darnley had written to Mr Primrose, and which the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill had fruitlessly fumbled and tumbled to ascertain the contents thereof, found its way at last into the hands for which it was by its writer originally destined. It was brought to Smatterton, as usual, by Nick Muggins.

Nick was a poor lad and a somewhat simple one, though not altogether lacking craftiness. He was not so rich as an archdeacon, but he had not quite determined that he was too poor to keep a conscience; therefore he had not entirely given it up for a bad job. He kept a pony—he was almost forced to do so—but he kept his pony very scantily and worked it hardly, and the beast was at best but a queer kind of animal. It would have been a riddle to Buffon, and a treasure to Sir Joseph Banks. Nick’s conscience was kept about as scurvily as his pony, and was much such another nondescript; but, like his pony, it answered his purpose as well as a better; it was kicked, cuffed, and buffeted about, but still it was a conscience.

Now this conscience, such as it was, smote poor Muggins right heartily when he delivered into the fair hands of Penelope Primrose a letter for her father. The poor lad recollected that he had, at Lord Spoonbill’s expense, drunk several more quarts of strong beer and glasses of gin than would otherwise have fallen to his lot, and that he had obtained these extra luxuries by putting into the hands of his lordship those letters which he ought to have delivered to Penelope Primrose.

When Penelope left Smatterton, and was residing in London, Nick thought little or nothing concerning his treachery. But now she had returned to the country again, and he had seen her, and she had spoken to him kindly and civilly, and had condescended to make enquiries after his poor old mother, his heart melted within him, and he could hardly speak to her. It was very kind of her to come out and speak to him, there was not one young lady in a hundred who would have condescended so much. Poor Muggins could not think what had bewitched him to play the traitor to so beautiful, so elegant, and so sweet-tempered a young lady as Miss Primrose; for Nick had a notion of elegance and beauty, though, to look at himself and his pony, one would hardly have imagined it.

That was a curious refinement in Nick’s conscience, that he should reproach himself so much the more bitterly for his transgression, because the person whom he had injured was beautiful and sweet-tempered. Perhaps he would have thought less of the matter had Miss Primrose been a little, under-sized, snub-nosed, cross-grained old maid. But that is a very dangerous and wicked mode of reasoning, and wiser people than Nick Muggins are guilty of it; let such persons be told that under-sized, snub-nosed, cross-grained old maids have as much feeling as the rest of the world, and are as much entitled to the advantages and protection of the laws of humanity as the young, and the lovely, and the amiable.

Be this as it may, still the ungainly post-boy felt rather awkwardly and looked foolishly when he thus encountered the unexpected appearance and condescension of Penelope Primrose. And when he returned home to his mother’s cottage, he could not help acknowledging to her his transgressions, and speaking of the remorse that he felt.

The old woman however thought and said, that what was done could not be undone, and that he had better be more cautious another time, and that mayhap it might not be a matter of much consequence; just a love affair like, or some sich stuff; and she concluded by telling him never to take money out of letters for fear of being hanged.

“But I am so sorry, mother,” said Nick, “you can’t think what a nice, kind young lady Miss Primrose is.”

“Ay, ay,” said Mrs Muggins, in reply, “and so is my Lord Spoonbill a very nice young gentleman. Never mind now, only don’t do so again. And what’s the use of your telling Miss Primrose anything about it?”

“Oh why, because somehow I think it was such a pity like. She is so pretty.”

“Nonsense, boy; Lord Spoonbill is a person of much greater consequence than a dozen pretty Miss Primroses. I am sure he is as nice a man as ever lived.”

Nick muttered something about Lord Spoonbill’s large whiskers, and the colloquy ceased; but Nick was fidgetty still.

The Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill suffered much uneasiness, and would, had he known what was passing in the mind of Nick Muggins, have suffered much more. But our business is now with the good people at Smatterton and Neverden, and we must therefore leave his lordship to bear his troubles by himself as well as he can.

CHAPTER XVI.

When the service was over, Penelope took her father to look at the monument which had been raised in the churchyard to the memory of Dr Greendale. It was a very handsome monument, and had been put up at the expense of the Earl of Smatterton. There was a very long and elaborate eulogium on the deceased, which had been drawn up, it is supposed, by Mr Darnley, but subsequently corrected and altered by the Earl of Smatterton in the first instance, and in the next by the stone-mason.

Mr Primrose had been so long out of England that, for aught he knew to the contrary, it might be the fashion now to write nonsense on grave stones. There was however a kind intention, and Mr Primrose was pleased with it. While the father and daughter were thus mournfully enjoying the contemplation of this memorial of their deceased relative’s virtues, the great boys and girls of the village who had been in the habit of bowing and curtseying to Penelope, and who remembered that their homage had been graciously received while she lived there under her uncle’s roof, now thronged almost rudely round them, as if with a view of attracting the lady’s notice.

For a little while Penelope was too much taken up to notice them; but when her curiosity had been gratified, and her feelings had been indulged by a few gentle and stainless tears shed to the memory of her departed benefactor, she turned round and took particular notice of such as she remembered. She asked them such questions as occurred to her concerning their respective families and occupations, and she heard many an old story repeated concerning the aged and infirm. Enquiries were made by Penelope after grandfathers and grandmothers, and in one or two instances of great grandmothers. These enquiries were copiously or sheepishly answered, according to the several tastes and habits of the persons answering them.

There was one little girl in the group whose face Penelope did not recollect. The child looked very earnestly at her, and seemed several times as if about to make an effort to speak, but awe held her back. With her, and as if urging her on to speak, was another and greater girl. And the greater girl moved the little one towards Miss Primrose, and the poor little girl coloured up to the eyes; but she had gone too far to retract, and she was emboldened at last by Penelope’s kind looks to make a very pretty curtsey and say, “Please Miss—”

The poor thing could get no farther, till Penelope relieved her embarrassment by taking hold of her hand and saying, “Well, my dear, what have you to say to me? I have no recollection that I have ever seen you before. How long have you lived at Smatterton?”

Then the little one was emboldened to speak, and she told Penelope that she had but recently come there, and that she had taken the liberty to speak, because she had some few weeks ago picked up a letter directed to Miss Primrose.

Hereupon the girl drew from her pocket a handkerchief which was carefully folded up, and when with great ceremony the handkerchief was unfolded, a letter made its appearance, which did not seem to have required much careful enveloping to keep it clean. It was miserably dirty, and the direction was barely visible. Penelope wondered indeed that the child had been able to make out the inscription, so far as to ascertain to whom it was addressed; but the hand-writing was so manifestly Robert Darnley’s, that the young lady felt too much emotion and too eager a curiosity to wait to ask any farther particulars of the mode, place and time in which the letter was found. Only waiting to ask the child her name and place of abode, and to make such acknowledgment as is expected in such cases, Penelope hastened home full of contending and harassing thoughts, unable to form the slightest conjecture of a satisfactory nature concerning this strange occurrence.

Now this letter, together with that which Robert Darnley had written to Mr Primrose, and which Mr Primrose gave to his daughter for her perusal, set the question completely at rest in the mind of Penelope, and assured her that the young gentleman had not by any neglect designed to break off the correspondence.

But when one difficulty was removed, another started up in its place. There was something very remarkable in a letter being dropped out of the bag; but though it was barely possible that such mishap might have befallen one letter, it was by no means a supposable case that several letters in succession passing between the same persons should all have met with the same accident. In the interruption of these letters there was clearly design and intention; but what was the design, or who was the designer, Penelope could not conjecture. Her suspicions could not find an object to rest upon; she was not aware of having any enemies, and of course she could not imagine that any one but an enemy could have behaved so cruelly. She concluded, therefore, as far as in such a case any conclusion could be made, that the interruption of the correspondence must have been effected by some enemy of Robert Darnley.

It was not very pleasant to have the idea of some concealed and unascertained enemy, but there was something gratifying to Penelope in having discovered that verily the cessation of the correspondence had not been voluntary on the part of her lover. Therefore, as it appeared from the letter which had been picked up that the young gentleman had not ceased to write, even after he had some ground to fear that the correspondence was discontinued by the young lady, and as it was also manifest from the letter addressed to Mr Primrose, that Robert Darnley was still desirous of an explanation of the young lady’s silence, Penelope could not any longer resist her father’s proposal that he should write to the young gentleman.

The answer was accordingly sent to Robert Darnley, and the explanation which he sought was amply and fully given. He was also as much puzzled as the young lady was at the circumstance of the letter being picked up, and his conjectures found no resting place. His immediate impulse was to make direct enquiry of the post-boy, and to extort from him, if possible, some account of the very remarkable fact of a correspondence actually suppressed by the failure of three letters in succession.

But there was a more interesting matter yet to attend to, and that was the meeting with Penelope after a long absence and an interrupted correspondence. Robert Darnley knew his father’s temperament, and felt a difficulty in mentioning the subject to him, but still he could not think of renewing the acquaintance with a view to marriage, without explicitly informing his father of the intention.

Mr Primrose and his daughter had now been at Smatterton a few days, and as the two villages were so remarkably intimate with each other, it was impossible for anything to take place in the one without its being known in the other. The arrival of the parties had been made known, as we have seen, at the rectory of Neverden, and apprehensions were entertained by the daughters of Mr Darnley that their father would be grievously liberal of his wise exhortations to his yet enamoured son. And when two or three days had passed away, and not a word of public notice had been taken of the fact in the family of the rector, the young ladies began to please themselves with the hope that no notice would be taken of the matter, and they trusted that some circumstance or other might remove Penelope again, and finally, from Smatterton; or, as they thought it not unlikely, their brother might soon fix his affections elsewhere.

It was very clear to the young ladies that Miss Glossop, notwithstanding her recent disappointment, was something of an admirer of their brother; and it was obvious that Sir George Aimwell was desirous of cultivating an acquaintance between the parties. The worthy baronet was unusually eloquent in praising Miss Glossop, and mightily ingenious in discovering innumerable, and to other eyes undiscernible, good qualities in his fair kinswoman. But though Sir George was a magistrate and a game preserver, he was no conjurer. He was not aware that there could exist any diversities of taste; but he seemed to imagine that those qualities which were agreeable to himself must be agreeable to everybody else; and when he was descanting on the multitudinous excellences of Miss Glossop, and describing her to Robert Darnley as possessing every possible and impossible virtue, he did not see that the young man’s mind was of a complexion widely different from his own. It was not therefore to this young lady that the daughters of the rector of Neverden looked forward as the person likely to liberate them from Miss Primrose.

Their hope was altogether of an undefined nature. They merely hoped and trusted that something would occur to relieve them from their present uncomfortable condition. This undefined hope is, perhaps, after all the best that we can entertain. It may appear not very rational, but we have a notion that in serious truth it is a great deal more rational than that hope which seems to have a foundation in something probable: for it is in the very nature and condition of earthly events, that they almost invariably disappoint expectation and miserably mock our sagacity. If therefore our hopes be of something definite, they will be almost assuredly disappointed; but if we only hope generally and indefinitely that something, we know not what, may occur to remove the cause of our troubles, we may have a much better chance that we shall not be disappointed. The chances in our favor are thus indefinitely multiplied.

The hope of the young ladies, that nothing would be said about Miss Primrose because nothing had been said about her for several days, was disappointed on the very morning that Mr Primrose sent his answer to Robert Darnley, explaining the cause of the suspension of the correspondence. The note from Mr Primrose was brought to Neverden by the trusty servant and universal genius who performed at Smatterton rectory the various duties of footman, groom, gardener, butler, stable-boy, and porter.

Mr Darnley, whose eyes were ever vigilant, no sooner saw the messenger than he conjectured what was the object of his coming; that is, he so far conjectured as to form an idea that the note was with reference to Miss Primrose. When therefore the reverend gentleman heard that a note was actually brought from Smatterton rectory, and addressed to Mr Robert Darnley, the feeling of curiosity was strongly excited to know what was the object of the said note. But, to say nothing of curiosity, the elder Mr Darnley felt that it was his duty to be acquainted with all correspondence carried on with persons under his roof, especially with members of his own family.

Impelled then by a double motive—the power of curiosity and a sense of duty—the rector of Neverden very peremptorily commanded the attendance of his son in the study. The command was as promptly obeyed as it had been authoritatively given.

“You have had a note from Smatterton this morning?” said the father.

“I have, sir,” replied the son steadily, but respectfully.

“And may I be permitted to know the contents of that communication?”

“Most assuredly, sir,” replied the young gentleman: “I intended to acquaint you with its contents as soon as I had read it.”

Robert Darnley then handed the paper to his father, who perused it with eager haste and anxious excitement. Rapidly however as the rector read the communication, he discerned two facts which made him angry, and, as he said, astonished. We have observed that the astonishment rests upon the testimony only of Mr Darnley’s own saying; and we have made that observation, because we think that Mr Darnley was not strictly correct in his assertion: we do not believe that Mr Darnley was at all astonished at those facts. He was no doubt angry when he discovered that his son had written to Mr Primrose; and there is nothing incredible in the idea that he was angry at the anticipation of a renewal of the acquaintance between his son and Miss Primrose. But he was not astonished at these things, and he ought not to have said that he was. It is however a very common practice, for the sake of giving pathos and effect to moral exhortation or expostulation, to express an astonishment which is not felt. This is a species of lying, and Mrs Opie would certainly set it down as such.

Mr Darnley not only said that he was astonished, but absolutely affected to look astonished. But that dramatic species of visual rebuke was by no means adapted to produce an impression on Mr Darnley the younger; and had the trick been played off by any one else than a parent, the young gentleman would certainly have laughed. It has been often observed, that children are much more knowing than is generally supposed, and the same observation may be applied to children of a larger growth. But parents cannot well help considering their children as always children.

“And so,” said the rector of Neverden, “you have actually had the folly to write to Mr Primrose, and to endeavour to renew an acquaintance which was clearly and positively broken off by Miss Primrose herself?”

“I think, sir,” responded with much gentleness the rector’s son, “that, if you read this note attentively, you will see that Miss Primrose did not positively break the acquaintance, but that by some means, as yet unknown, the letters which should have passed between us were intercepted. Proof of that is given in the singular circumstance, that the last letter which I wrote to Smatterton from India was the other day picked up by a child.”

Mr Darnley smiled a smile of incredulity and compassionate condescension.

“Foolish boy,” said he, “and can you suffer yourself to be so easily deceived as to believe this story?”

“Surely you will not go so far as to say that Miss Primrose would descend to the meanness of asserting an untruth.”

“I am asserting nothing concerning Miss Primrose. This note is not her’s, it is her father’s; and I do know that Mr Primrose can use profane language; I have heard him. And would such a man hesitate at untruth for the sake of an establishment for his daughter? Besides what can be more clear than that, now the negotiation with Lord Spoonbill is broken off, they are very willing to apply to you again.”

There is great power in imagination. Mr Darnley had taken it into his head that Penelope had really been simple enough to admire Lord Spoonbill, and vain enough to aspire to title on the strength of personal beauty. She was what is commonly called a fine young woman, and there was in her deportment, especially in the season of health and spirits, while her uncle lived, a certain constitutional magnificence of manner which might easily bear the name of pride and haughtiness. Now as Mr Darnley was himself a proud man, he did not like pride; and there is nothing at all paradoxical or inconsistent in this. It is perfectly natural that those who feel a pleasure in looking down on others and being looked up to, should not be pleased with such as indulge them not in their favourite occupation.

There had not indeed ever been in the behaviour of Penelope towards Mr Darnley anything actually disrespectful; but Mr Darnley could see that her spirit was high and essentially unsubmissive. He had therefore always called her proud; and as soon as any suspicion arose of the withdrawing of her affections from Robert Darnley, immediately the father concluded that this change was owing to the young lady’s pride aspiring to the hand of Lord Spoonbill; and when she went to London to the Countess, then his suspicion seemed corroborated; and when she returned to Smatterton, and when Mr Primrose sent the note in question to Neverden, then did Mr Darnley feel himself assured that the young lady had been disappointed in her calculations concerning Lord Spoonbill, and that now she repented her folly in renouncing the hand of Robert Darnley, and wished to recall the affection which she had spurned.

Under such persuasion, from which not all the logic in the world could move him, he smiled at the credulity and the weakness of the young man, while the young man was equally astonished and grieved at the immovable obstinacy of his father. Such cases sometimes occur, and perplexing are they when they do occur, in which a son bearing all possible respect towards a father feels himself yet justified in the court of his own conscience in acting contrary to his father’s will. Thus situated was the son of the rector of Neverden. He found that it would be in vain to use any arguments, and he was firm in his intention of taking the earliest opportunity of acknowledging the receipt of Mr Primrose’s letter, and of expressing his full determination to renew the acquaintance with Penelope. So far was the young man from participating in his father’s suspicions, that the very arguments which the father had used, and the particulars which he had stated, did but strengthen his own opinion of the purity and correctness of the young lady’s conduct; and when he considered the circumstances under which she had been placed, he felt a degree of pity for her, and he pitied her also that she laboured under those untoward and unfounded suspicions which had been excited by the idle tongue of Zephaniah Pringle.

It became in fact to Robert Darnley a matter of conscience to rectify all misunderstandings as early as possible. Without therefore affecting to enter into any elaborate discussion with his father, he merely replied to what had been said: “I cannot say that I view this affair in the same light that you do, sir; and I am satisfied that if you had a knowledge of all the facts, you would not have reason to blame Miss Primrose. I will not pretend to argue with you, or to presume to put my knowledge of the world in competition with yours. But I must take the liberty to say firmly, though respectfully, that it is my intention to see Mr and Miss Primrose, and if I find that Penelope is still the same amiable and pure-minded young woman as she was when I first made her an offer of my hand, I will repeat that offer; and I am convinced your prejudice will wear off, if not by my arguments, at least they will give way to the young lady’s real excellence of character.”

Mr Darnley was not accustomed to be contradicted. Neither his wife nor his daughters ever disputed his will, or affected to oppose their logic to his determinations. Of his son’s obedience and gentleness of disposition he had always entertained the highest opinion, and with reason: but he forgot that everything has its limits, and there is a point beyond which compliance and obedience cannot go. If Mr Darnley had said at the close of his son’s last speech, “I am astonished,” he would have spoken truly. He was indeed astonished, but he was not frightened out of his propriety; he was rather frightened into propriety.

For a few seconds he was absolutely speechless and almost breathless. But soon respiration returned, and the power of speech returned with it; and his momentary gasp of astonishment gave him time for consideration. He considered in that brief interval that he had no more power over his son than his son chose to give him, and he thought it a pity to endanger his influence by attempting to retain his authority. Subduing himself, he replied:

“If you will be obstinate there is no help for it. But I could wish that you would listen to reason.”

Thus speaking, Mr Darnley left the apartment, angry but endeavouring to keep himself calm.

CHAPTER XVII.

At the study window Robert Darnley took his station, looking listlessly towards the road that passed the end of the avenue and led towards the village of Smatterton. Turning a little towards the left hand he could see at a very short distance the magnificent towers of Smatterton castle and the smart gilt weathercock of Smatterton church. The young man was beginning to grow sentimental and melancholy; but soon his thoughts were diverted from sentimentality by the appearance of Nick Muggins and his pony fumbling their clumsy entrance at the great white gate that opened into the road. Better riders than Nick are sometimes puzzled at opening a heavy swing gate on horseback; but Nick would always manage it without dismounting, if he had to make twenty efforts for it.

Nick was certainly a picturesque, though by no means a poetical object; and his appearance dispersed the gathering cloud of lackadaisicalness which was just threatening Robert Darnley with a fit of melancholy. Other thoughts, though bearing on the same object, now took possession of him; and as he was very straitforward and prompt in whatever occurred to him, he immediately resolved to question the boy concerning the lost letters.

For this purpose, without waiting for the arrival of the letter-carrier at the house-door, Robert Darnley went partly down the avenue to meet him. Nick made one of his best bows, and grinned his compliments to the young gentleman on his arrival in England; for this was the first meeting of the parties since the rector’s son arrived at home. Robert Darnley was not a man of compliments; he proceeded directly to business. Producing from his pocket the letter which had been picked up by the little girl, he held it out to the lad, saying:

“Muggins, can you give any account of this letter; it was picked up in the road the other day; do you ever drop the letters out of the bag?”

Muggins, who was as cunning a rogue as many of his betters, concealed his conviction and shame as well as might be, and took the letter into his hand with much simplicity of look, and gazed upon it for a while with “lack-lustre eye;” not that he had any great need to examine the letter in order to answer the question, but thereby he gained time to meditate a lie of some kind or other. After looking at it for a few moments he handed it back to Robert Darnley, and said:

“Please, sir, I can’t make out the ’rection of it.”

That might be true, but it was not much of an answer to the question which was proposed to him.

“The direction of the letter,” answered Darnley, “is to Miss Primrose at Smatterton. Now do you remember ever losing a letter that should have been delivered at the rectory at Smatterton?”

Nick Muggins, we have related, was so melted by the condescending kindness of Penelope Primrose, that his heart smote him sorely for his unfaithfulness to his trust, and he was on the very verge of a confession of his iniquity; but then Penelope was not likely to horsewhip him, whereas there did appear to the sagacious mind of the treacherous letter-carrier some possibility of such operation being performed by the more vigorous arm of Robert Darnley; and as such a catastrophe must be exceedingly unpleasant to a man of any feeling, Nick resolved to use his utmost sagacity to avoid it. The question therefore, which was last proposed, he answered thus:

“I’ve took a great many letters to Smatterton parsonage, sir, and I don’t never remember losen none as I took there.”

Here again was an equivocation worthy of the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill himself. Robert Darnley thought that Nick Muggins was a fool, but Nick was not such a fool as he looked. He had prodigiously fine diplomatic talents, but ‘Full many a flower, &c.’ as the poet says.

All the questions and cross-questionings of the son of the rector of Neverden could not extort from the carrier of the Smatterton and Neverden letter-bags any information leading to the discovery of the circumstances to which the interruption of the correspondence might be attributed. In despair of ascertaining anything, Robert Darnley ceased his interrogations, and the uncouth rider of the indescribable beast then handed to his interrogator his share of the contents of the letter-bag. It was only one letter, and the superscription was in an unknown hand.

The young gentleman opened the letter with great eagerness of curiosity, and looking to the end of it he found that it was anonymous. He endeavoured to read and comprehend the whole by one glance, but it did not betray its meaning so obviously; he was therefore under the necessity of reading it regularly line by line. We are not much in the habit of printing letters—we think it a breach of confidence; but, as the present is anonymous, we venture to give it:

“A sincere well-wisher to Mr Robert Darnley, though a total stranger, or nearly so, wishes to caution an unsuspicious and generous mind against a deep-laid plot, which has for its object to entrap Mr D. into a marriage, which will bring with it poverty and disgrace. It may not be altogether unknown to Mr D. that a certain gentleman, who shall be nameless, once ruined a handsome fortune by gaming. This gentleman now professes to have repaired his shattered fortunes, and to have forsaken entirely his vicious habit. But this is mere pretence. Nearly the whole of that which he acquired abroad, he has in a short time lost by gambling at home; and now he gives out that his loss arises from the stoppage of a banking-house in town. Concerning the character of a young lady nearly related to the gentleman above alluded to, Mr D. would do well to make the strictest inquiry before he ventures on the irretrievable step of marriage. Mr D. ought to ascertain why Smatterton is chosen for her residence. The —— family is not residing at the castle, but it is possible that an individual of that family may find a pretence for an incognito visit there. A word to the wise is enough.”

A letter such as this was almost too much for Robert Darnley. He was honest, candid, and unsuspicious; but even in such minds as his jealousy may be excited, and the above letter very nearly answered the purpose.

Instead of going directly to Smatterton, according to his first intention, he returned to the house, and read over and over again this mysterious and anonymous epistle. But there was nothing in it which could afford him the slightest information as to the source from whence it came, or the motive with which it could have been written.

It was peculiarly mortifying, after the magnanimous, prompt, and decided avowal which he had made to his father, of his intention of renewing his acquaintance with Miss Primrose, that he should meet with this painful and perplexing interruption. He began to wish that he had not been quite so positive. He supposed that of course his father took it for granted that the threatened visit to Smatterton would be paid that very morning. And he had dreaded meeting the family at dinner, should the visit have been paid; but still greater would be his mortification to meet his father again and be forced to acknowledge that he had not been to Smatterton. It would be but natural to ask if he had been there, and quite as natural to ask why he had not.

The answer to these enquiries would involve the young gentleman in a dilemma, to extricate himself from which would require the talents of a Muggins, or a Spoonbill. But Robert Darnley was not cut out for shuffling and equivocating. His only consideration was, how far it might be prudent to inform his father of the receipt of the anonymous letter.

For the purpose of giving himself time for uninterrupted meditation, he sauntered out from the house, and, as it were unconsciously, turned his steps towards the village of Smatterton. And he thought, as he walked along, that it would take several days at least, if not some weeks, to ascertain the truth or falsehood of the insinuations. He knew not where to seek for information, or how to gain evidence either on one side or the other. If he should not very soon make a visit to Mr Primrose, it would seem manifest that his intention was not to renew the acquaintance with Penelope; and very mortifying indeed would it be to him, if, after making enquiries and finding that the insinuations of the anonymous letter were unfounded, malicious and mischievous, he should, by his tardiness or mean suspicions, have forfeited the good will of the young lady.

Fortunate for him was it, that while he was thinking on the subject of this anonymous communication, and putting the case that it might be the work of some malicious and ill-designing one, there occurred also to his recollection the lost letter which had been picked up by a stranger. With the recollection of that came also again to his mind the image and tone and look of the crafty letter-carrier, and the shuffling evasive answers which the cunning dog had given to his interrogatories.