CHAPTER XI

Some women, I grant, would not appear to advantage seated on a
pillion, and attired in a drab joseph and a drab beaver-bonnet, with
a crown resembling a small stew-pan; for a garment suggesting a
coachman's greatcoat, cut out under an exiguity of cloth that would
only allow of miniature capes, is not well adapted to conceal
deficiencies of contour, nor is drab a colour that will throw sallow
cheeks into lively contrast. It was all the greater triumph to Miss
Nancy Lammeter's beauty that she looked thoroughly bewitching in
that costume, as, seated on the pillion behind her tall, erect
father, she held one arm round him, and looked down, with open-eyed
anxiety, at the treacherous snow-covered pools and puddles, which
sent up formidable splashings of mud under the stamp of Dobbin's
foot. A painter would, perhaps, have preferred her in those moments
when she was free from self-consciousness; but certainly the bloom
on her cheeks was at its highest point of contrast with the
surrounding drab when she arrived at the door of the Red House, and
saw Mr. Godfrey Cass ready to lift her from the pillion. She wished
her sister Priscilla had come up at the same time behind the
servant, for then she would have contrived that Mr. Godfrey should
have lifted off Priscilla first, and, in the meantime, she would
have persuaded her father to go round to the horse-block instead of
alighting at the door-steps. It was very painful, when you had made
it quite clear to a young man that you were determined not to marry
him, however much he might wish it, that he would still continue to
pay you marked attentions; besides, why didn't he always show the
same attentions, if he meant them sincerely, instead of being so
strange as Mr. Godfrey Cass was, sometimes behaving as if he didn't
want to speak to her, and taking no notice of her for weeks and
weeks, and then, all on a sudden, almost making love again?
Moreover, it was quite plain he had no real love for her, else he
would not let people have _that_ to say of him which they did say.
Did he suppose that Miss Nancy Lammeter was to be won by any man,
squire or no squire, who led a bad life? That was not what she had
been used to see in her own father, who was the soberest and best
man in that country-side, only a little hot and hasty now and then,
if things were not done to the minute.

All these thoughts rushed through Miss Nancy's mind, in their
habitual succession, in the moments between her first sight of
Mr. Godfrey Cass standing at the door and her own arrival there.
Happily, the Squire came out too and gave a loud greeting to her
father, so that, somehow, under cover of this noise she seemed to
find concealment for her confusion and neglect of any suitably
formal behaviour, while she was being lifted from the pillion by
strong arms which seemed to find her ridiculously small and light.
And there was the best reason for hastening into the house at once,
since the snow was beginning to fall again, threatening an
unpleasant journey for such guests as were still on the road. These
were a small minority; for already the afternoon was beginning to
decline, and there would not be too much time for the ladies who
came from a distance to attire themselves in readiness for the early
tea which was to inspirit them for the dance.

There was a buzz of voices through the house, as Miss Nancy entered,
mingled with the scrape of a fiddle preluding in the kitchen; but
the Lammeters were guests whose arrival had evidently been thought
of so much that it had been watched for from the windows, for
Mrs. Kimble, who did the honours at the Red House on these great
occasions, came forward to meet Miss Nancy in the hall, and conduct
her up-stairs. Mrs. Kimble was the Squire's sister, as well as the
doctor's wife--a double dignity, with which her diameter was in
direct proportion; so that, a journey up-stairs being rather
fatiguing to her, she did not oppose Miss Nancy's request to be
allowed to find her way alone to the Blue Room, where the Miss
Lammeters' bandboxes had been deposited on their arrival in the
morning.

There was hardly a bedroom in the house where feminine compliments
were not passing and feminine toilettes going forward, in various
stages, in space made scanty by extra beds spread upon the floor;
and Miss Nancy, as she entered the Blue Room, had to make her little
formal curtsy to a group of six. On the one hand, there were ladies
no less important than the two Miss Gunns, the wine merchant's
daughters from Lytherly, dressed in the height of fashion, with the
tightest skirts and the shortest waists, and gazed at by Miss
Ladbrook (of the Old Pastures) with a shyness not unsustained by
inward criticism. Partly, Miss Ladbrook felt that her own skirt
must be regarded as unduly lax by the Miss Gunns, and partly, that
it was a pity the Miss Gunns did not show that judgment which she
herself would show if she were in their place, by stopping a little
on this side of the fashion. On the other hand, Mrs. Ladbrook was
standing in skull-cap and front, with her turban in her hand,
curtsying and smiling blandly and saying, "After you, ma'am," to
another lady in similar circumstances, who had politely offered the
precedence at the looking-glass.

But Miss Nancy had no sooner made her curtsy than an elderly lady
came forward, whose full white muslin kerchief, and mob-cap round
her curls of smooth grey hair, were in daring contrast with the
puffed yellow satins and top-knotted caps of her neighbours. She
approached Miss Nancy with much primness, and said, with a slow,
treble suavity--

"Niece, I hope I see you well in health." Miss Nancy kissed her
aunt's cheek dutifully, and answered, with the same sort of amiable
primness, "Quite well, I thank you, aunt; and I hope I see you the
same."

"Thank you, niece; I keep my health for the present. And how is my
brother-in-law?"

These dutiful questions and answers were continued until it was
ascertained in detail that the Lammeters were all as well as usual,
and the Osgoods likewise, also that niece Priscilla must certainly
arrive shortly, and that travelling on pillions in snowy weather was
unpleasant, though a joseph was a great protection. Then Nancy was
formally introduced to her aunt's visitors, the Miss Gunns, as being
the daughters of a mother known to _their_ mother, though now for
the first time induced to make a journey into these parts; and these
ladies were so taken by surprise at finding such a lovely face and
figure in an out-of-the-way country place, that they began to feel
some curiosity about the dress she would put on when she took off
her joseph. Miss Nancy, whose thoughts were always conducted with
the propriety and moderation conspicuous in her manners, remarked to
herself that the Miss Gunns were rather hard-featured than
otherwise, and that such very low dresses as they wore might have
been attributed to vanity if their shoulders had been pretty, but
that, being as they were, it was not reasonable to suppose that they
showed their necks from a love of display, but rather from some
obligation not inconsistent with sense and modesty. She felt
convinced, as she opened her box, that this must be her aunt
Osgood's opinion, for Miss Nancy's mind resembled her aunt's to a
degree that everybody said was surprising, considering the kinship
was on Mr. Osgood's side; and though you might not have supposed it
from the formality of their greeting, there was a devoted attachment
and mutual admiration between aunt and niece. Even Miss Nancy's
refusal of her cousin Gilbert Osgood (on the ground solely that he
was her cousin), though it had grieved her aunt greatly, had not in
the least cooled the preference which had determined her to leave
Nancy several of her hereditary ornaments, let Gilbert's future wife
be whom she might.

Three of the ladies quickly retired, but the Miss Gunns were quite
content that Mrs. Osgood's inclination to remain with her niece gave
them also a reason for staying to see the rustic beauty's toilette.
And it was really a pleasure--from the first opening of the
bandbox, where everything smelt of lavender and rose-leaves, to the
clasping of the small coral necklace that fitted closely round her
little white neck. Everything belonging to Miss Nancy was of
delicate purity and nattiness: not a crease was where it had no
business to be, not a bit of her linen professed whiteness without
fulfilling its profession; the very pins on her pincushion were
stuck in after a pattern from which she was careful to allow no
aberration; and as for her own person, it gave the same idea of
perfect unvarying neatness as the body of a little bird. It is true
that her light-brown hair was cropped behind like a boy's, and was
dressed in front in a number of flat rings, that lay quite away from
her face; but there was no sort of coiffure that could make Miss
Nancy's cheek and neck look otherwise than pretty; and when at last
she stood complete in her silvery twilled silk, her lace tucker, her
coral necklace, and coral ear-drops, the Miss Gunns could see
nothing to criticise except her hands, which bore the traces of
butter-making, cheese-crushing, and even still coarser work. But
Miss Nancy was not ashamed of that, for even while she was dressing
she narrated to her aunt how she and Priscilla had packed their
boxes yesterday, because this morning was baking morning, and since
they were leaving home, it was desirable to make a good supply of
meat-pies for the kitchen; and as she concluded this judicious
remark, she turned to the Miss Gunns that she might not commit the
rudeness of not including them in the conversation. The Miss Gunns
smiled stiffly, and thought what a pity it was that these rich
country people, who could afford to buy such good clothes (really
Miss Nancy's lace and silk were very costly), should be brought up
in utter ignorance and vulgarity. She actually said "mate" for
"meat", "'appen" for "perhaps", and "oss" for "horse",
which, to young ladies living in good Lytherly society, who
habitually said 'orse, even in domestic privacy, and only said
'appen on the right occasions, was necessarily shocking. Miss
Nancy, indeed, had never been to any school higher than Dame
Tedman's: her acquaintance with profane literature hardly went
beyond the rhymes she had worked in her large sampler under the lamb
and the shepherdess; and in order to balance an account, she was
obliged to effect her subtraction by removing visible metallic
shillings and sixpences from a visible metallic total. There is
hardly a servant-maid in these days who is not better informed than
Miss Nancy; yet she had the essential attributes of a lady--high
veracity, delicate honour in her dealings, deference to others, and
refined personal habits,--and lest these should not suffice to
convince grammatical fair ones that her feelings can at all resemble
theirs, I will add that she was slightly proud and exacting, and as
constant in her affection towards a baseless opinion as towards an
erring lover.

The anxiety about sister Priscilla, which had grown rather active by
the time the coral necklace was clasped, was happily ended by the
entrance of that cheerful-looking lady herself, with a face made
blowsy by cold and damp. After the first questions and greetings,
she turned to Nancy, and surveyed her from head to foot--then
wheeled her round, to ascertain that the back view was equally
faultless.

"What do you think o' _these_ gowns, aunt Osgood?" said
Priscilla, while Nancy helped her to unrobe.

"Very handsome indeed, niece," said Mrs. Osgood, with a slight
increase of formality. She always thought niece Priscilla too
rough.

"I'm obliged to have the same as Nancy, you know, for all I'm five
years older, and it makes me look yallow; for she never _will_ have
anything without I have mine just like it, because she wants us to
look like sisters. And I tell her, folks 'ull think it's my
weakness makes me fancy as I shall look pretty in what she looks
pretty in. For I _am_ ugly--there's no denying that: I feature my
father's family. But, law! I don't mind, do you?" Priscilla here
turned to the Miss Gunns, rattling on in too much preoccupation with
the delight of talking, to notice that her candour was not
appreciated. "The pretty uns do for fly-catchers--they keep the
men off us. I've no opinion o' the men, Miss Gunn--I don't know
what _you_ have. And as for fretting and stewing about what
_they_'ll think of you from morning till night, and making your life
uneasy about what they're doing when they're out o' your sight--as
I tell Nancy, it's a folly no woman need be guilty of, if she's got
a good father and a good home: let her leave it to them as have got
no fortin, and can't help themselves. As I say,
Mr. Have-your-own-way is the best husband, and the only one I'd ever
promise to obey. I know it isn't pleasant, when you've been used to
living in a big way, and managing hogsheads and all that, to go and
put your nose in by somebody else's fireside, or to sit down by
yourself to a scrag or a knuckle; but, thank God! my father's a
sober man and likely to live; and if you've got a man by the
chimney-corner, it doesn't matter if he's childish--the business
needn't be broke up."

The delicate process of getting her narrow gown over her head
without injury to her smooth curls, obliged Miss Priscilla to pause
in this rapid survey of life, and Mrs. Osgood seized the opportunity
of rising and saying--

"Well, niece, you'll follow us. The Miss Gunns will like to go
down."

"Sister," said Nancy, when they were alone, "you've offended the
Miss Gunns, I'm sure."

"What have I done, child?" said Priscilla, in some alarm.

"Why, you asked them if they minded about being ugly--you're so
very blunt."

"Law, did I? Well, it popped out: it's a mercy I said no more, for
I'm a bad un to live with folks when they don't like the truth. But
as for being ugly, look at me, child, in this silver-coloured silk--
I told you how it 'ud be--I look as yallow as a daffadil.
Anybody 'ud say you wanted to make a mawkin of me."

"No, Priscy, don't say so. I begged and prayed of you not to let
us have this silk if you'd like another better. I was willing to
have _your_ choice, you know I was," said Nancy, in anxious
self-vindication.

"Nonsense, child! you know you'd set your heart on this; and
reason good, for you're the colour o' cream. It 'ud be fine doings
for you to dress yourself to suit _my_ skin. What I find fault
with, is that notion o' yours as I must dress myself just like you.
But you do as you like with me--you always did, from when first
you begun to walk. If you wanted to go the field's length, the
field's length you'd go; and there was no whipping you, for you
looked as prim and innicent as a daisy all the while."

"Priscy," said Nancy, gently, as she fastened a coral necklace,
exactly like her own, round Priscilla's neck, which was very far
from being like her own, "I'm sure I'm willing to give way as far
as is right, but who shouldn't dress alike if it isn't sisters?
Would you have us go about looking as if we were no kin to one
another--us that have got no mother and not another sister in the
world? I'd do what was right, if I dressed in a gown dyed with
cheese-colouring; and I'd rather you'd choose, and let me wear what
pleases you."

"There you go again! You'd come round to the same thing if one
talked to you from Saturday night till Saturday morning. It'll be
fine fun to see how you'll master your husband and never raise your
voice above the singing o' the kettle all the while. I like to see
the men mastered!"

"Don't talk _so_, Priscy," said Nancy, blushing. "You know I
don't mean ever to be married."

"Oh, you never mean a fiddlestick's end!" said Priscilla, as she
arranged her discarded dress, and closed her bandbox. "Who shall
_I_ have to work for when father's gone, if you are to go and take
notions in your head and be an old maid, because some folks are no
better than they should be? I haven't a bit o' patience with you--
sitting on an addled egg for ever, as if there was never a fresh un
in the world. One old maid's enough out o' two sisters; and I shall
do credit to a single life, for God A'mighty meant me for it. Come,
we can go down now. I'm as ready as a mawkin _can_ be--there's
nothing awanting to frighten the crows, now I've got my ear-droppers
in."

As the two Miss Lammeters walked into the large parlour together,
any one who did not know the character of both might certainly have
supposed that the reason why the square-shouldered, clumsy,
high-featured Priscilla wore a dress the facsimile of her pretty
sister's, was either the mistaken vanity of the one, or the
malicious contrivance of the other in order to set off her own rare
beauty. But the good-natured self-forgetful cheeriness and
common-sense of Priscilla would soon have dissipated the one
suspicion; and the modest calm of Nancy's speech and manners told
clearly of a mind free from all disavowed devices.

Places of honour had been kept for the Miss Lammeters near the head
of the principal tea-table in the wainscoted parlour, now looking
fresh and pleasant with handsome branches of holly, yew, and laurel,
from the abundant growths of the old garden; and Nancy felt an
inward flutter, that no firmness of purpose could prevent, when she
saw Mr. Godfrey Cass advancing to lead her to a seat between himself
and Mr. Crackenthorp, while Priscilla was called to the opposite
side between her father and the Squire. It certainly did make some
difference to Nancy that the lover she had given up was the young
man of quite the highest consequence in the parish--at home in a
venerable and unique parlour, which was the extremity of grandeur in
her experience, a parlour where _she_ might one day have been
mistress, with the consciousness that she was spoken of as "Madam
Cass", the Squire's wife. These circumstances exalted her inward
drama in her own eyes, and deepened the emphasis with which she
declared to herself that not the most dazzling rank should induce
her to marry a man whose conduct showed him careless of his
character, but that, "love once, love always", was the motto of a
true and pure woman, and no man should ever have any right over her
which would be a call on her to destroy the dried flowers that she
treasured, and always would treasure, for Godfrey Cass's sake. And
Nancy was capable of keeping her word to herself under very trying
conditions. Nothing but a becoming blush betrayed the moving
thoughts that urged themselves upon her as she accepted the seat
next to Mr. Crackenthorp; for she was so instinctively neat and
adroit in all her actions, and her pretty lips met each other with
such quiet firmness, that it would have been difficult for her to
appear agitated.

It was not the rector's practice to let a charming blush pass
without an appropriate compliment. He was not in the least lofty or
aristocratic, but simply a merry-eyed, small-featured, grey-haired
man, with his chin propped by an ample, many-creased white neckcloth
which seemed to predominate over every other point in his person,
and somehow to impress its peculiar character on his remarks; so
that to have considered his amenities apart from his cravat would
have been a severe, and perhaps a dangerous, effort of abstraction.

"Ha, Miss Nancy," he said, turning his head within his cravat and
smiling down pleasantly upon her, "when anybody pretends this has
been a severe winter, I shall tell them I saw the roses blooming on
New Year's Eve--eh, Godfrey, what do _you_ say?"

Godfrey made no reply, and avoided looking at Nancy very markedly;
for though these complimentary personalities were held to be in
excellent taste in old-fashioned Raveloe society, reverent love has
a politeness of its own which it teaches to men otherwise of small
schooling. But the Squire was rather impatient at Godfrey's showing
himself a dull spark in this way. By this advanced hour of the day,
the Squire was always in higher spirits than we have seen him in at
the breakfast-table, and felt it quite pleasant to fulfil the
hereditary duty of being noisily jovial and patronizing: the large
silver snuff-box was in active service and was offered without fail
to all neighbours from time to time, however often they might have
declined the favour. At present, the Squire had only given an
express welcome to the heads of families as they appeared; but
always as the evening deepened, his hospitality rayed out more
widely, till he had tapped the youngest guests on the back and shown
a peculiar fondness for their presence, in the full belief that they
must feel their lives made happy by their belonging to a parish
where there was such a hearty man as Squire Cass to invite them and
wish them well. Even in this early stage of the jovial mood, it was
natural that he should wish to supply his son's deficiencies by
looking and speaking for him.

"Aye, aye," he began, offering his snuff-box to Mr. Lammeter, who
for the second time bowed his head and waved his hand in stiff
rejection of the offer, "us old fellows may wish ourselves young
to-night, when we see the mistletoe-bough in the White Parlour.
It's true, most things are gone back'ard in these last thirty years--
the country's going down since the old king fell ill. But when I
look at Miss Nancy here, I begin to think the lasses keep up their
quality;--ding me if I remember a sample to match her, not when I
was a fine young fellow, and thought a deal about my pigtail. No
offence to you, madam," he added, bending to Mrs. Crackenthorp, who
sat by him, "I didn't know _you_ when you were as young as Miss
Nancy here."

Mrs. Crackenthorp--a small blinking woman, who fidgeted
incessantly with her lace, ribbons, and gold chain, turning her head
about and making subdued noises, very much like a guinea-pig that
twitches its nose and soliloquizes in all company indiscriminately--
now blinked and fidgeted towards the Squire, and said, "Oh, no--no offence."

This emphatic compliment of the Squire's to Nancy was felt by others
besides Godfrey to have a diplomatic significance; and her father
gave a slight additional erectness to his back, as he looked across
the table at her with complacent gravity. That grave and orderly
senior was not going to bate a jot of his dignity by seeming elated
at the notion of a match between his family and the Squire's: he was
gratified by any honour paid to his daughter; but he must see an
alteration in several ways before his consent would be vouchsafed.
His spare but healthy person, and high-featured firm face, that
looked as if it had never been flushed by excess, was in strong
contrast, not only with the Squire's, but with the appearance of the
Raveloe farmers generally--in accordance with a favourite saying
of his own, that "breed was stronger than pasture".

"Miss Nancy's wonderful like what her mother was, though; isn't
she, Kimble?" said the stout lady of that name, looking round for
her husband.

But Doctor Kimble (country apothecaries in old days enjoyed that
title without authority of diploma), being a thin and agile man, was
flitting about the room with his hands in his pockets, making
himself agreeable to his feminine patients, with medical
impartiality, and being welcomed everywhere as a doctor by
hereditary right--not one of those miserable apothecaries who
canvass for practice in strange neighbourhoods, and spend all their
income in starving their one horse, but a man of substance, able to
keep an extravagant table like the best of his patients. Time out
of mind the Raveloe doctor had been a Kimble; Kimble was inherently
a doctor's name; and it was difficult to contemplate firmly the
melancholy fact that the actual Kimble had no son, so that his
practice might one day be handed over to a successor with the
incongruous name of Taylor or Johnson. But in that case the wiser
people in Raveloe would employ Dr. Blick of Flitton--as less
unnatural.

"Did you speak to me, my dear?" said the authentic doctor, coming
quickly to his wife's side; but, as if foreseeing that she would be
too much out of breath to repeat her remark, he went on immediately--
"Ha, Miss Priscilla, the sight of you revives the taste of that
super-excellent pork-pie. I hope the batch isn't near an end."

"Yes, indeed, it is, doctor," said Priscilla; "but I'll answer
for it the next shall be as good. My pork-pies don't turn out well
by chance."

"Not as your doctoring does, eh, Kimble?--because folks forget
to take your physic, eh?" said the Squire, who regarded physic and
doctors as many loyal churchmen regard the church and the clergy--
tasting a joke against them when he was in health, but impatiently
eager for their aid when anything was the matter with him. He
tapped his box, and looked round with a triumphant laugh.

"Ah, she has a quick wit, my friend Priscilla has," said the
doctor, choosing to attribute the epigram to a lady rather than
allow a brother-in-law that advantage over him. "She saves a
little pepper to sprinkle over her talk--that's the reason why she
never puts too much into her pies. There's my wife now, she never
has an answer at her tongue's end; but if I offend her, she's sure
to scarify my throat with black pepper the next day, or else give me
the colic with watery greens. That's an awful tit-for-tat." Here
the vivacious doctor made a pathetic grimace.

"Did you ever hear the like?" said Mrs. Kimble, laughing above
her double chin with much good-humour, aside to Mrs. Crackenthorp,
who blinked and nodded, and seemed to intend a smile, which, by the
correlation of forces, went off in small twitchings and noises.

"I suppose that's the sort of tit-for-tat adopted in your
profession, Kimble, if you've a grudge against a patient," said the
rector.

"Never do have a grudge against our patients," said Mr. Kimble,
"except when they leave us: and then, you see, we haven't the
chance of prescribing for 'em. Ha, Miss Nancy," he continued,
suddenly skipping to Nancy's side, "you won't forget your promise?
You're to save a dance for me, you know."

"Come, come, Kimble, don't you be too for'ard," said the Squire.
"Give the young uns fair-play. There's my son Godfrey'll be
wanting to have a round with you if you run off with Miss Nancy.
He's bespoke her for the first dance, I'll be bound. Eh, sir! what
do you say?" he continued, throwing himself backward, and looking
at Godfrey. "Haven't you asked Miss Nancy to open the dance with
you?"

Godfrey, sorely uncomfortable under this significant insistence
about Nancy, and afraid to think where it would end by the time his
father had set his usual hospitable example of drinking before and
after supper, saw no course open but to turn to Nancy and say, with
as little awkwardness as possible--

"No; I've not asked her yet, but I hope she'll consent--if
somebody else hasn't been before me."

"No, I've not engaged myself," said Nancy, quietly, though
blushingly. (If Mr. Godfrey founded any hopes on her consenting to
dance with him, he would soon be undeceived; but there was no need
for her to be uncivil.)

"Then I hope you've no objections to dancing with me," said
Godfrey, beginning to lose the sense that there was anything
uncomfortable in this arrangement.

"No, no objections," said Nancy, in a cold tone.

"Ah, well, you're a lucky fellow, Godfrey," said uncle Kimble;
"but you're my godson, so I won't stand in your way. Else I'm not
so very old, eh, my dear?" he went on, skipping to his wife's side
again. "You wouldn't mind my having a second after you were gone--
not if I cried a good deal first?"

"Come, come, take a cup o' tea and stop your tongue, do," said
good-humoured Mrs. Kimble, feeling some pride in a husband who must
be regarded as so clever and amusing by the company generally. If
he had only not been irritable at cards!

While safe, well-tested personalities were enlivening the tea in
this way, the sound of the fiddle approaching within a distance at
which it could be heard distinctly, made the young people look at
each other with sympathetic impatience for the end of the meal.

"Why, there's Solomon in the hall," said the Squire, "and playing
my fav'rite tune, _I_ believe--"The flaxen-headed ploughboy"--
he's for giving us a hint as we aren't enough in a hurry to hear him
play. Bob," he called out to his third long-legged son, who was at
the other end of the room, "open the door, and tell Solomon to come
in. He shall give us a tune here."

Bob obeyed, and Solomon walked in, fiddling as he walked, for he
would on no account break off in the middle of a tune.

"Here, Solomon," said the Squire, with loud patronage. "Round
here, my man. Ah, I knew it was "The flaxen-headed ploughboy":
there's no finer tune."

Solomon Macey, a small hale old man with an abundant crop of long
white hair reaching nearly to his shoulders, advanced to the
indicated spot, bowing reverently while he fiddled, as much as to
say that he respected the company, though he respected the key-note
more. As soon as he had repeated the tune and lowered his fiddle,
he bowed again to the Squire and the rector, and said, "I hope I
see your honour and your reverence well, and wishing you health and
long life and a happy New Year. And wishing the same to you,
Mr. Lammeter, sir; and to the other gentlemen, and the madams, and
the young lasses."

As Solomon uttered the last words, he bowed in all directions
solicitously, lest he should be wanting in due respect. But
thereupon he immediately began to prelude, and fell into the tune
which he knew would be taken as a special compliment by
Mr. Lammeter.

"Thank ye, Solomon, thank ye," said Mr. Lammeter when the fiddle
paused again. "That's "Over the hills and far away", that is. My
father used to say to me, whenever we heard that tune, "Ah, lad, _I_
come from over the hills and far away." There's a many tunes I
don't make head or tail of; but that speaks to me like the
blackbird's whistle. I suppose it's the name: there's a deal in the
name of a tune."

But Solomon was already impatient to prelude again, and presently
broke with much spirit into "Sir Roger de Coverley", at which
there was a sound of chairs pushed back, and laughing voices.

"Aye, aye, Solomon, we know what that means," said the Squire,
rising. "It's time to begin the dance, eh? Lead the way, then,
and we'll all follow you."

So Solomon, holding his white head on one side, and playing
vigorously, marched forward at the head of the gay procession into
the White Parlour, where the mistletoe-bough was hung, and
multitudinous tallow candles made rather a brilliant effect,
gleaming from among the berried holly-boughs, and reflected in the
old-fashioned oval mirrors fastened in the panels of the white
wainscot. A quaint procession! Old Solomon, in his seedy clothes
and long white locks, seemed to be luring that decent company by the
magic scream of his fiddle--luring discreet matrons in
turban-shaped caps, nay, Mrs. Crackenthorp herself, the summit of
whose perpendicular feather was on a level with the Squire's
shoulder--luring fair lasses complacently conscious of very short
waists and skirts blameless of front-folds--luring burly fathers
in large variegated waistcoats, and ruddy sons, for the most part
shy and sheepish, in short nether garments and very long coat-tails.

Already Mr. Macey and a few other privileged villagers, who were
allowed to be spectators on these great occasions, were seated on
benches placed for them near the door; and great was the admiration
and satisfaction in that quarter when the couples had formed
themselves for the dance, and the Squire led off with
Mrs. Crackenthorp, joining hands with the rector and Mrs. Osgood.
That was as it should be--that was what everybody had been used to--
and the charter of Raveloe seemed to be renewed by the ceremony.
It was not thought of as an unbecoming levity for the old and
middle-aged people to dance a little before sitting down to cards,
but rather as part of their social duties. For what were these if
not to be merry at appropriate times, interchanging visits and
poultry with due frequency, paying each other old-established
compliments in sound traditional phrases, passing well-tried
personal jokes, urging your guests to eat and drink too much out of
hospitality, and eating and drinking too much in your neighbour's
house to show that you liked your cheer? And the parson naturally
set an example in these social duties. For it would not have been
possible for the Raveloe mind, without a peculiar revelation, to
know that a clergyman should be a pale-faced memento of solemnities,
instead of a reasonably faulty man whose exclusive authority to read
prayers and preach, to christen, marry, and bury you, necessarily
coexisted with the right to sell you the ground to be buried in and
to take tithe in kind; on which last point, of course, there was a
little grumbling, but not to the extent of irreligion--not of
deeper significance than the grumbling at the rain, which was by no
means accompanied with a spirit of impious defiance, but with a
desire that the prayer for fine weather might be read forthwith.

There was no reason, then, why the rector's dancing should not be
received as part of the fitness of things quite as much as the
Squire's, or why, on the other hand, Mr. Macey's official respect
should restrain him from subjecting the parson's performance to that
criticism with which minds of extraordinary acuteness must
necessarily contemplate the doings of their fallible fellow-men.

"The Squire's pretty springe, considering his weight," said
Mr. Macey, "and he stamps uncommon well. But Mr. Lammeter beats
'em all for shapes: you see he holds his head like a sodger, and he
isn't so cushiony as most o' the oldish gentlefolks--they run fat
in general; and he's got a fine leg. The parson's nimble enough,
but he hasn't got much of a leg: it's a bit too thick down'ard, and
his knees might be a bit nearer wi'out damage; but he might do
worse, he might do worse. Though he hasn't that grand way o' waving
his hand as the Squire has."

"Talk o' nimbleness, look at Mrs. Osgood," said Ben Winthrop, who
was holding his son Aaron between his knees. "She trips along with
her little steps, so as nobody can see how she goes--it's like as
if she had little wheels to her feet. She doesn't look a day older
nor last year: she's the finest-made woman as is, let the next be
where she will."

"I don't heed how the women are made," said Mr. Macey, with some
contempt. "They wear nayther coat nor breeches: you can't make
much out o' their shapes."

"Fayder," said Aaron, whose feet were busy beating out the tune,
"how does that big cock's-feather stick in Mrs. Crackenthorp's
yead? Is there a little hole for it, like in my shuttle-cock?"

"Hush, lad, hush; that's the way the ladies dress theirselves, that
is," said the father, adding, however, in an undertone to
Mr. Macey, "It does make her look funny, though--partly like a
short-necked bottle wi' a long quill in it. Hey, by jingo, there's
the young Squire leading off now, wi' Miss Nancy for partners!
There's a lass for you!--like a pink-and-white posy--there's
nobody 'ud think as anybody could be so pritty. I shouldn't wonder
if she's Madam Cass some day, arter all--and nobody more
rightfuller, for they'd make a fine match. You can find nothing
against Master Godfrey's shapes, Macey, _I_'ll bet a penny."

Mr. Macey screwed up his mouth, leaned his head further on one side,
and twirled his thumbs with a presto movement as his eyes followed
Godfrey up the dance. At last he summed up his opinion.

"Pretty well down'ard, but a bit too round i' the shoulder-blades.
And as for them coats as he gets from the Flitton tailor, they're a
poor cut to pay double money for."

"Ah, Mr. Macey, you and me are two folks," said Ben, slightly
indignant at this carping. "When I've got a pot o' good ale, I
like to swaller it, and do my inside good, i'stead o' smelling and
staring at it to see if I can't find faut wi' the brewing. I should
like you to pick me out a finer-limbed young fellow nor Master
Godfrey--one as 'ud knock you down easier, or 's more
pleasanter-looksed when he's piert and merry."

"Tchuh!" said Mr. Macey, provoked to increased severity, "he
isn't come to his right colour yet: he's partly like a slack-baked
pie. And I doubt he's got a soft place in his head, else why should
he be turned round the finger by that offal Dunsey as nobody's seen
o' late, and let him kill that fine hunting hoss as was the talk o'
the country? And one while he was allays after Miss Nancy, and then
it all went off again, like a smell o' hot porridge, as I may say.
That wasn't my way when _I_ went a-coorting."

"Ah, but mayhap Miss Nancy hung off, like, and your lass didn't,"
said Ben.

"I should say she didn't," said Mr. Macey, significantly.
"Before I said "sniff", I took care to know as she'd say "snaff",
and pretty quick too. I wasn't a-going to open _my_ mouth, like a
dog at a fly, and snap it to again, wi' nothing to swaller."

"Well, I think Miss Nancy's a-coming round again," said Ben, "for
Master Godfrey doesn't look so down-hearted to-night. And I see
he's for taking her away to sit down, now they're at the end o' the
dance: that looks like sweethearting, that does."

The reason why Godfrey and Nancy had left the dance was not so
tender as Ben imagined. In the close press of couples a slight
accident had happened to Nancy's dress, which, while it was short
enough to show her neat ankle in front, was long enough behind to be
caught under the stately stamp of the Squire's foot, so as to rend
certain stitches at the waist, and cause much sisterly agitation in
Priscilla's mind, as well as serious concern in Nancy's. One's
thoughts may be much occupied with love-struggles, but hardly so as
to be insensible to a disorder in the general framework of things.
Nancy had no sooner completed her duty in the figure they were
dancing than she said to Godfrey, with a deep blush, that she must
go and sit down till Priscilla could come to her; for the sisters
had already exchanged a short whisper and an open-eyed glance full
of meaning. No reason less urgent than this could have prevailed on
Nancy to give Godfrey this opportunity of sitting apart with her.
As for Godfrey, he was feeling so happy and oblivious under the long
charm of the country-dance with Nancy, that he got rather bold on
the strength of her confusion, and was capable of leading her
straight away, without leave asked, into the adjoining small
parlour, where the card-tables were set.

"Oh no, thank you," said Nancy, coldly, as soon as she perceived
where he was going, "not in there. I'll wait here till Priscilla's
ready to come to me. I'm sorry to bring you out of the dance and
make myself troublesome."

"Why, you'll be more comfortable here by yourself," said the
artful Godfrey: "I'll leave you here till your sister can come."
He spoke in an indifferent tone.

That was an agreeable proposition, and just what Nancy desired; why,
then, was she a little hurt that Mr. Godfrey should make it? They
entered, and she seated herself on a chair against one of the
card-tables, as the stiffest and most unapproachable position she
could choose.

"Thank you, sir," she said immediately. "I needn't give you any
more trouble. I'm sorry you've had such an unlucky partner."

"That's very ill-natured of you," said Godfrey, standing by her
without any sign of intended departure, "to be sorry you've danced
with me."

"Oh, no, sir, I don't mean to say what's ill-natured at all," said
Nancy, looking distractingly prim and pretty. "When gentlemen have
so many pleasures, one dance can matter but very little."

"You know that isn't true. You know one dance with you matters
more to me than all the other pleasures in the world."

It was a long, long while since Godfrey had said anything so direct
as that, and Nancy was startled. But her instinctive dignity and
repugnance to any show of emotion made her sit perfectly still, and
only throw a little more decision into her voice, as she said--

"No, indeed, Mr. Godfrey, that's not known to me, and I have very
good reasons for thinking different. But if it's true, I don't wish
to hear it."

"Would you never forgive me, then, Nancy--never think well of me,
let what would happen--would you never think the present made
amends for the past? Not if I turned a good fellow, and gave up
everything you didn't like?"

Godfrey was half conscious that this sudden opportunity of speaking
to Nancy alone had driven him beside himself; but blind feeling had
got the mastery of his tongue. Nancy really felt much agitated by
the possibility Godfrey's words suggested, but this very pressure of
emotion that she was in danger of finding too strong for her roused
all her power of self-command.

"I should be glad to see a good change in anybody, Mr. Godfrey,"
she answered, with the slightest discernible difference of tone,
"but it 'ud be better if no change was wanted."

"You're very hard-hearted, Nancy," said Godfrey, pettishly. "You
might encourage me to be a better fellow. I'm very miserable--but
you've no feeling."

"I think those have the least feeling that act wrong to begin
with," said Nancy, sending out a flash in spite of herself.
Godfrey was delighted with that little flash, and would have liked
to go on and make her quarrel with him; Nancy was so exasperatingly
quiet and firm. But she was not indifferent to him _yet_, though--

The entrance of Priscilla, bustling forward and saying, "Dear heart
alive, child, let us look at this gown," cut off Godfrey's hopes of
a quarrel.

"I suppose I must go now," he said to Priscilla.

"It's no matter to me whether you go or stay," said that frank
lady, searching for something in her pocket, with a preoccupied
brow.

"Do _you_ want me to go?" said Godfrey, looking at Nancy, who was
now standing up by Priscilla's order.

"As you like," said Nancy, trying to recover all her former
coldness, and looking down carefully at the hem of her gown.

"Then I like to stay," said Godfrey, with a reckless determination
to get as much of this joy as he could to-night, and think nothing
of the morrow.