Mrs. Thornburgh stood transfixed, something of her fresh pink color slowly deserting her face as she realized the enormity of the catastrophe. And was it possible that there was the faintest twinkle of grim satisfaction on the face of that elderly minx, Sarah? Mrs. Thornburgh, however, did, not stay to explore the recesses of Sarah’s mind, but ran with little pattering, undignified steps across the front garden and down the steps to where Mr. Backhouse, the carrier, stood, bracing himself for self-defense. ‘Ya may weel fret, mum,’ said Mr. Backhouse, interrupting the flood of her reproaches, with the comparative _sang-froid_ of one who knew that, after all, he was the only carrier on the road, and that the vicarage was five miles from the necessaries of life; ‘it’s a bad job, and I’s not goin’ to say it isn’t. But; ya jest look ‘ere, mum, what’s a man to du wi’ a daft thingamy like _that_, as caan’t teak a plain order, and spiles a poor man’s business as caan’t help hissel’?’ And Mr. Backhouse pointed with withering scorn to a small, shrunken old man, who sat dangling his legs on the shaft of the cart, and whose countenance wore a singular expression of mingled meekness and composure, as his partner flourished an indignant finger toward him. ‘Jim,’ cried Mrs. Thornburgh reproachfully, ‘I did think you would have taken more pains about my order!’ ‘Yis, mum,’ said the old man, placidly, ‘ya might ‘a’ thowt it. I’s reet sorry, but ya caan’t help these things _sum_times--an’ it’s naw gud hollerin’ ower ‘em like a mad bull. Aa tuke yur bit paper to Randall’s and aa laft it wi’ ‘em to mek up, an’ than, aa weel, aa went to a frind, an’ ee _may_ hev giv’ me a glass of yale, aa doon’t say ee _dud_--but ee may, I ween’t sweer. Hawsomiver, aa niver thowt naw mair aboot it, nor mair did John, so _ee_ needn’t taak--till we wur jest two mile from ‘ere. An’ ee’s a gon’ on sence! My! an’ a larroping the poor beast like onything.’ Mrs. Thornburgh stood aghast at the calmness of this audacious recital. As for John, he looked on, surveying his brother’s philosophical demeanor at first with speechless wrath, and then with an inscrutable mixture of expressions, in which, however, any one accustomed to his weather-beaten countenance would have probably read a hidden admiration. ‘Weel, aa niver!’ he exclaimed, when Jim’s explanatory remarks had come to an end, swinging himself up on to his seat and gathering up the reins. ‘Yur a boald ‘un to tell the missus theer to hur feeace as how ya wur’ tossicatit whan yur owt ta been duing yur larful business. Aa’ve doon wi’ yer. Aa aims to please ma coostomers, an’ aa caan’t abide sek wark. Yur like an oald kneyfe, I can mak’ nowt o’ ya’, nowder back nor edge.’ Mrs. Thornburgh wrung her fat short hands in despair, making little incoherent laments and suggestions as she saw him about to depart, of which John at last gathered the main purport to be that she wished him to go back to Whinborough for her precious parcel.