the man who opened the gate.
He could hardly hear himself speak, for the bell had not yet done
tolling.

'Here I am,' shouted a voice on the lawn,--and there was Mr. Gabriel
Parsons in a flannel jacket, running backwards and forwards, from a
wicket to two hats piled on each other, and from the two hats to the
wicket, in the most violent manner, while another gentleman with his coat
off was getting down the area of the house, after a ball. When the
gentleman without the coat had found it--which he did in less than ten
minutes--he ran back to the hats, and Gabriel Parsons pulled up. Then,
the gentleman without the coat called out 'play,' very loudly, and
bowled. Then Mr. Gabriel Parsons knocked the ball several yards, and
took another run. Then, the other gentleman aimed at the wicket, and
didn't hit it; and Mr. Gabriel Parsons, having finished running on his
own account, laid down the bat and ran after the ball, which went into a
neighbouring field. They called this cricket.

'Tottle, will you "go in?"' inquired Mr. Gabriel Parsons, as he
approached him, wiping the perspiration off his face.

Mr. Watkins Tottle declined the offer, the bare idea of accepting which
made him even warmer than his friend.

'Then we'll go into the house, as it's past four, and I shall have to
wash my hands before dinner,' said Mr. Gabriel Parsons. 'Here, I hate
ceremony, you know! Timson, that's Tottle--Tottle, that's Timson; bred
for the church, which I fear will never be bread for him;' and he
chuckled at the old joke. Mr. Timson bowed carelessly. Mr. Watkins
Tottle bowed stiffly. Mr. Gabriel Parsons led the way to the house. He
was a rich sugar-baker, who mistook rudeness for honesty, and abrupt
bluntness for an open and candid manner; many besides Gabriel mistake
bluntness for sincerity.

Mrs. Gabriel Parsons received the visitors most graciously on the steps,
and preceded them to the drawing-room. On the sofa, was seated a lady of
very prim appearance, and remarkably inanimate. She was one of those
persons at whose age it is impossible to make any reasonable guess; her
features might have been remarkably pretty when she was younger, and they
might always have presented the same appearance. Her complexion--with a
slight trace of powder here and there--was as clear as that of a
well-made wax doll, and her face as expressive. She was handsomely
dressed, and was winding up a gold watch.

'Miss Lillerton, my dear, this i