The walk had made them hungry, Angel in particular, who was now

an outdoor man, accustomed to the profuse dapes inemptae of the

dairyman's somewhat coarsely-laden table. But neither of the old

people had arrived, and it was not till the sons were almost tired of

waiting that their parents entered. The self-denying pair had been

occupied in coaxing the appetites of some of their sick parishioners,

whom they, somewhat inconsistently, tried to keep imprisoned in the

flesh, their own appetites being quite forgotten.

The family sat down to table, and a frugal meal of cold viands

was deposited before them. Angel looked round for Mrs Crick's

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black-puddings, which he had directed to be nicely grilled as they

did them at the dairy, and of which he wished his father and mother

to appreciate the marvellous herbal savours as highly as he did

himself. "Ah! you are looking for the black-puddings, my dear boy," observed

Clare's mother. "But I am sure you will not mind doing without them

as I am sure your father and I shall not, when you know the reason.

I suggested to him that we should take Mrs Crick's kind present to

the children of the man who can earn nothing just now because of his

attacks of delirium tremens; and he agreed that it would be a great

pleasure to them; so we did."

"Of course," said Angel cheerfully, looking round for the mead.

"I found the mead so extremely alcoholic," continued his mother,

"that it was quite unfit for use as a beverage, but as valuable

as rum or brandy in an emergency; so I have put it in my

medicine-closet." "We never drink spirits at this table, on principle," added his

father. "But what shall I tell the dairyman's wife?" said Angel.

"The truth, of course," said his father.

"I rather wanted to say we enjoyed the mead and the black-puddings

very much. She is a kind, jolly sort of body, and is sure to ask me

directly I return."

"You cannot, if we did not," Mr Clare answered lucidly.

"Ah--no; though that mead was a drop of pretty tipple."

"A what?" said Cuthbert and Felix both.

"Oh--'tis an expression they use down at Talbothays," replied Angel,

blushing. He felt that his parents were right in their practice if

wrong in their want of sentiment, and said no more.

XXVI

It was not till the evening, after family prayers, that Angel found

opportunity of broaching to his father one or two subjects near his

heart. He had strung himself up to the purpose while kneeling behind

his brothers on the carpet, studying the little nails in the heels of

their walking boots. When the service was over they went out of the

room with their mother, and Mr Clare and himself were left alone.




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