"True," said Bawtree, emphatically. "And for my part I shall take my

custom from old Jones and go to this one directly I've anything the

matter with me. That last medicine old Jones gave me had no taste in

it at all."

Mr. Melbury, as became a well-informed man, did not listen to these

recitals, being moreover preoccupied with the business appointment

which had come into his head. He walked up and down, looking on the

floor--his usual custom when undecided. That stiffness about the arm,

hip, and knee-joint which was apparent when he walked was the net

product of the divers sprains and over-exertions that had been required

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of him in handling trees and timber when a young man, for he was of the

sort called self-made, and had worked hard. He knew the origin of

every one of these cramps: that in his left shoulder had come of

carrying a pollard, unassisted, from Tutcombe Bottom home; that in one

leg was caused by the crash of an elm against it when they were

felling; that in the other was from lifting a bole. On many a morrow

after wearying himself by these prodigious muscular efforts, he had

risen from his bed fresh as usual; his lassitude had departed,

apparently forever; and confident in the recuperative power of his

youth, he had repeated the strains anew. But treacherous Time had been

only hiding ill results when they could be guarded against, for greater

accumulation when they could not. In his declining years the store had

been unfolded in the form of rheumatisms, pricks, and spasms, in every

one of which Melbury recognized some act which, had its consequence

been contemporaneously made known, he would wisely have abstained from

repeating.

On a summons by Grammer Oliver to breakfast, he left the shed. Reaching

the kitchen, where the family breakfasted in winter to save

house-labor, he sat down by the fire, and looked a long time at the

pair of dancing shadows cast by each fire-iron and dog-knob on the

whitewashed chimney-corner--a yellow one from the window, and a blue

one from the fire.

"I don't quite know what to do to-day," he said to his wife at last.

"I've recollected that I promised to meet Mrs. Charmond's steward in

Round Wood at twelve o'clock, and yet I want to go for Grace."

"Why not let Giles fetch her by himself? 'Twill bring 'em together all

the quicker."

"I could do that--but I should like to go myself. I always have gone,

without fail, every time hitherto. It has been a great pleasure to

drive into Sherton, and wait and see her arrive; and perhaps she'll be

disappointed if I stay away."




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