Clergy -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Mrs. Hackit, who had always the
courage of her opinion, ‘but I know, some of our labourers and
stockingers as used never to come to church, come to the cottage, and
that’s better than never hearing anything good from week’s end to week’s
end. And there’s that Track Society as Mr. Barton has begun--I’ve seen
more o’ the poor people with going tracking, than all the time I’ve lived
in the parish before. And there’d need be something done among ’em; for
the drinking at them Benefit Clubs is shameful. There’s hardly a steady
man or steady woman either, but what’s a dissenter.’
During this speech of Mrs. Hackit’s, Mr. Pilgrim had emitted a succession
of little snorts, something like the treble grunts of a guinea-pig, which
were always with him the sign of suppressed disapproval. But he never
contradicted Mrs. Hackit--a woman whose ‘pot-luck’ was always to be
relied on, and who on her side had unlimited reliance on bleeding,
blistering, and draughts.
Mrs. Patten, however, felt equal disapprobation, and had no reasons for
suppressing it.
‘Well,’ she remarked, ‘I’ve heared of no good from interfering with one’s
neighbours, poor or rich. And I hate the sight o’ women going about
trapesing from house to house in all weathers, wet or dry, and coming in
with their petticoats dagged and their shoes all over mud. Janet wanted
to join in the tracking, but I told her I’d have nobody tracking out o’
my house; when I’m gone, she may do as she likes. I never dagged my
petticoats in _my_ life, and I’ve no opinion o’ that sort o’ religion.’
‘No,’ said Mr. Hackit, who was fond of soothing the acerbities of the
feminine mind with a jocose compliment, ‘you held your petticoats so
high, to show your tight ankles: it isn’t everybody as likes to show her
ankles.’
This joke met with general acceptance, even from the snubbed Janet, whose
ankles were only tight in the sense of looking extremely squeezed by her
boots. But Janet seemed always to identify herself with her aunt’s
personality, holding her own under protest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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