d in catching her prey.

On the following morning he consented to get into farmer Mangle's
cart, and was driven as far as Framley Mill. "I wouldn't think
nowt, your reverence, of running you over into Barchester,--that I
wouldn't. The powny is so mortial good," said farmer Mangle in his
foolish good-nature.

[Illustration: Farmer Mangle and Mr. Crawley.]

"And how about your business here?" said Mr. Crawley. The farmer
scratched his head, remembering all Mrs. Crawley's injunctions, and
awkwardly acknowledged that to be sure his own business with the
miller was very pressing. Then Mr. Crawley descended, terribly
suspicious, and went on his journey.

"Anyways, your reverence will call for me coming back?" said farmer
Mangle. But Mr. Crawley would make no promise. He bade the farmer not
wait for him. If they chanced to meet together on the road he might
get up again. If the man really had business at Framley, how could
he have offered to go on to Barchester? Were they deceiving him? The
wife of his bosom had deceived him in such matters before now. But
his trouble in this respect was soon dissipated by the pride of his
anticipated triumph over the bishop. He took great glory from the
thought that he would go before the bishop with dirty boots,--with
boots necessarily dirty,--with rusty pantaloons, that he would be hot
and mud-stained with his walk, hungry, and an object to be wondered
at by all who should see him, because of the misfortunes which had
been unworthily heaped upon his head; whereas the bishop would be
sleek and clean and well-fed,--pretty with all the prettinesses that
are becoming to a bishop's outward man. And he, Mr. Crawley, would be
humble, whereas the bishop would be very proud. And the bishop would
be in his own arm-chair,--the cock in his own farmyard, while he, Mr
Crawley, would be seated afar off, in the cold extremity of the room,
with nothing of outward circumstances to assist him,--a man called
thither to undergo censure. And yet he would take the bishop in his
grasp and crush him,--crush him,--crush him! As he thought of this
he walked quickly through the mud, and put out his long arm and his
great hand, far before him out into the air, and, there and then, he
crushed the bishop in his imagination. Yes, indeed! He thought it
very doubtful whether the bishop would ever send for him a second
time. As all this passed through his mind, he forgot his wife's
cunning, and farmer Mangle's sin, and