e, miss, werry thankful to un--ugh, ugh;--and if it please
the Lord to spare my life till to-morrow mornin',--ugh,
ugh,--we'll smoke them cussed insects."

This last retort of the incorrigible Simon on her cousin's
attempt, as the rector's daughter, to improve the occasion, was
too much for Miss Mary, and she slipped out of the room, lest she
should bring disgrace on herself by an explosion of laughter. She
was joined by her cousin in another minute, and the two walked
together toward the Rectory.

"I hope you were not faint, dear, with that close room, smelling
of smoke?"

"Oh, dear, no; to tell you the truth, I was only afraid of
laughing at your quaint old patient. What a rugged old dear he
is. I hope he isn't much hurt."

"I hope not, indeed; for he is the most honest, faithful old
servant in the world, but so obstinate. He never will go to
church on Sunday mornings; and, when I speak to him about it, he
says papa doesn't go, which is very wrong and impertinent of
him."

CHAPTER XIX

A PROMISE OF FAIRER WEATHER

All dwellers in and about London are, alas! too well acquainted
with the never-to-be-enough-hated change which we have to undergo
once, at least, in every spring. As each succeeding winter wears
away, the same thing happens to us.

For some time we do not trust the fair lengthening days, and
cannot believe that the dirty pair of sparrows who live opposite
our window are really making love and going to build,
notwithstanding all their twittering. But morning after morning
rises fresh and gentle; there is no longer any voice in the air;
we drop our over-coats; we rejoice in the green shoots which the
privet hedge is making in the square garden, and hail the
returning tender-pointed leaves of the plane-trees as friends; we
go out of our way to walk through Covent Garden Market to see the
ever-brightening show of flowers from the happy country.

This state of things goes on sometimes for a few days only,
sometimes for weeks, till we make sure that we are safe for this
spring at any rate. Don't we wish we may get it! Sooner or later,
but sure--sure as Christmas bills or the income-tax, or anything,
if there be anything, surer than these--comes the morning when we
are suddenly conscious as soon as we rise that there is something
the matter. We do not feel comfortable in our clothes; nothing
tastes quite as it should at breakfast; though the day looks
bright enough, there is a fierce dusty taste