The locksmith, who happened at the moment to have his eyes thrown upward
and his head backward, in an intense communing with Toby, did not see
his visitor, until Mrs Varden, more watchful than the rest, had desired
Sim Tappertit to open the glass door and give him admission--from which
untoward circumstance the good lady argued (for she could deduce a
precious moral from the most trifling event) that to take a draught of
small ale in the morning was to observe a pernicious, irreligious, and
Pagan custom, the relish whereof should be left to swine, and Satan, or
at least to Popish persons, and should be shunned by the righteous as
a work of sin and evil. She would no doubt have pursued her admonition
much further, and would have founded on it a long list of precious
precepts of inestimable value, but that the young gentleman standing by
in a somewhat uncomfortable and discomfited manner while she read
her spouse this lecture, occasioned her to bring it to a premature
conclusion.
'I'm sure you'll excuse me, sir,' said Mrs Varden, rising and
curtseying. 'Varden is so very thoughtless, and needs so much
reminding--Sim, bring a chair here.'
Mr Tappertit obeyed, with a flourish implying that he did so, under
protest.
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