And the looks of
fondness she threw at that stable-urchin were as good as a play.
"And what will you do," I asked, "when you are married?"
"Go home and ask my father's forgiveness. He is proud; but very,
very kind."
I told them I was a clergyman, and began to cast round in my mind
what to do next; for the marriage service of the Church isn't exactly
the thing to repeat to two babes, and the girl was quick enough to
detect and resent any attempt at fooling. So at last I persuaded
them to sit together under the gorse-bush, and told them that
matrimony was a serious matter, and that a long exhortation was
necessary. They settled themselves to listen.
Having been twice married, I did not lack materials for a discourse.
Indeed, when I talk of married life, it is a familiar experience with
me to be carried away by my subject. Nor was I altogether surprised,
on looking up after half an hour's oratory, to find the little ones
curled in each other's arms, fast asleep.
So I spread my coat over them, and next (because the fancy took me,
and not a breath of air was stirring) I treated them much as the
robins treated the Babes in the Wood, strewing all my Tracts, pink
and white, over them, till all but their faces was covered. And then
I set off for the "Woolpack."
One spring morning, ten years later, I was standing outside the
"Woolpack," drinking my mug of beer with a tall recruiting sergeant,
and discussing the similarity of our professions, when a post-chaise
appeared at the head of the street, and a bobbing red postillion's
jacket, and a pair of greys that came down the hill with a rattle,
and drew up at the inn-door.
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