he Lord was pleased to dissolve matrimony--'Polly,' I
said, when I took home my supper, 'you may take my word for it there is
something queer.' Not another word did I mean to tell her, as behooved
my dooty. Howsoever, no peace was my lot till I made a clean bosom of
it, only putting her first on the Testament, and even that not safe with
most of them. And from that night not a soul has heard a word till it
comes to you, miss. He come striding along, with his face muffled up,
for all the world like a bugglar, and no more heed did he pay to me than
if I was one of the pedestals. But I were in front of him at the door,
and to slip out so was against all orders. So in front of him I stands,
with my hand upon the handles, and meaning to have a word with him, to
know who he was, and such like, and how he comes there, and what he had
been seeking, with the spoons and the forks and the gravies on my mind.
And right I would have been in a court of law (if the lawyers was put
out of it) for my hefforts in that situation. And then, what do you
think he done, miss? So far from entering into any conversation with me,
or hitting at me, like a man--which would have done good to think of--he
send out one hand to the bottom of my vest--as they call it now in all
the best livery tailors--and afore I could reason on it, there I was
a-lying on a star in six colors of marble. When I come to think on it,
it was but a push directed to a part of my system, and not a hit
under the belt, the like of which no Briton would think of delivering.
Nevertheless, there was no differ in what came to me, miss, and my
spirit was roused, as if I had been hit foul by one of the prizemen.
No time to get up, but I let out one foot at his long legs as a' was
slipping through the door, and so nearly did I fetch him over that he
let go his muffle to balance himself with the jamb, and same moment a
strong rush of wind laid bare the whole of his wicked face to me. For a
bad wicked face it was, as ever I did see; whether by reason of the kick
I gave, and a splinter in the shin, or by habit of the mind, a proud and
'aughty and owdacious face, and, as I said to my poor wife, reminded me
a little of our Master George; not in his ordinary aspect, to be sure,
but as Master George might look if he was going to the devil. Pray
excoose me, miss, for bad words, but no good ones will do justice.
And so off he goes, after one look at me on the ground, not worth
considering, with