At length Joe returned--very talkative and conciliatory, as though with
a strong presentiment that he was going to be found fault with.
'Such a thing as love is!' he said, drawing a chair near the fire, and
looking round for sympathy. 'He has set off to walk to London,--all
the way to London. His nag gone lame in riding out here this blessed
afternoon, and comfortably littered down in our stable at this minute;
and he giving up a good hot supper and our best bed, because Miss
Haredale has gone to a masquerade up in town, and he has set his heart
upon seeing her! I don't think I could persuade myself to do that,
beautiful as she is,--but then I'm not in love (at least I don't think I
am) and that's the whole difference.'
'He is in love then?' said the stranger.
'Rather,' replied Joe. 'He'll never be more in love, and may very easily
be less.'
'Silence, sir!' cried his father.
'What a chap you are, Joe!' said Long Parkes.
'Such a inconsiderate lad!' murmured Tom Cobb.
'Putting himself forward and wringing the very nose off his own father's
face!' exclaimed the parish-clerk, metaphorically.
'What HAVE I done?' reasoned poor Joe.
'Silence, sir!' returned his father, 'what do you mean by talking, when
you see people that are more than two or three times your age, sitting
still and silent and not dreaming of saying a word?'
'Why that's the proper time for me to talk, isn't it?' said Joe
rebelliously.
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