The locksmith did for a moment seem disposed to gratify her, but he gave
a great gulp, and mildly rejoined:
'I was going to say, what on earth do you call it unchristian for?
Which would be most unchristian, Martha--to sit quietly down and let our
houses be sacked by a foreign army, or to turn out like men and drive
'em off? Shouldn't I be a nice sort of a Christian, if I crept into
a corner of my own chimney and looked on while a parcel of whiskered
savages bore off Dolly--or you?'
When he said 'or you,' Mrs Varden, despite herself, relaxed into a
smile. There was something complimentary in the idea. 'In such a state
of things as that, indeed--' she simpered.
'As that!' repeated the locksmith. 'Well, that would be the state of
things directly. Even Miggs would go. Some black tambourine-player,
with a great turban on, would be bearing HER off, and, unless the
tambourine-player was proof against kicking and scratching, it's
my belief he'd have the worst of it. Ha ha ha! I'd forgive the
tambourine-player. I wouldn't have him interfered with on any account,
poor fellow.' And here the locksmith laughed again so heartily, that
tears came into his eyes--much to Mrs Varden's indignation, who thought
the capture of so sound a Protestant and estimable a private character
as Miggs by a pagan negro, a circumstance too shocking and awful for
contemplation.
Pages:
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546