"You done well not to '_ave_ the big gal. I will say that for ye. She's a gad-about grinny, she is, if ever was. A gad-about grinny. Mucked up my mushroom bed to rights, she did, and I 'aven't forgot it. Got the feet of a centipede, she 'as--ll over everything and neither with your leave nor by your leave. Like a stray 'en in a pea patch. Cluck! cluck! Trying to laugh it off. _I_ laughed 'er off, I did. Dratted lumpin baggage!..." For a while he mused malevolently upon Annie, and routed out a reluctant crumb from some coy sitting-out place in his tooth. "Wimmin's a toss up," said Uncle Pentstemon. "Prize packets they are, and you can't tell what's in 'em till you took 'em 'ome and undone 'em. Never was a bachelor married yet that didn't buy a pig in a poke. Never. Marriage seems to change the very natures in 'em through and through. You can't tell what they won't turn into--nohow. "I seen the nicest girls go wrong," said Uncle Pentstemon, and added with unusual thoughtfulness, "Not that I mean _you_ got one of that sort." He sent another crumb on to its long home with a sucking, encouraging noise. "The _wust_ sort's the grizzler," Uncle Pentstemon resumed. "If ever I'd 'ad a grizzler I'd up and 'it 'er on the 'ed with sumpthin' pretty quick. I don't think I could abide a grizzler," said Uncle Pentstemon. "I'd liefer '_ave_ a lump-about like that other gal. I would indeed. I lay I'd make 'er stop laughing after a bit for all 'er airs. And mind where her clumsy great feet went.... "A man's got to tackle 'em, whatever they be," said Uncle Pentstemon, summing up the shrewd observation of an old-world life time. "Good or bad," said Uncle Pentstemon raising his voice fearlessly, "a man's got to tackle 'em." VIII At last it was time for the two young people to catch the train for Waterloo _en route_ for Fishbourne. They had to hurry, and as a concluding glory of matrimony they travelled second-class, and were seen off by all the rest of the party except the Punts, Master Punt being now beyond any question unwell. "Off!" The train moved out of the station. Mr. Polly remained waving his hat and Mrs. Polly her handkerchief until they were hidden under the bridge. The dominating figure to the last was Mr. Voules. He had followed them along the platform waving the equestrian grey hat and kissing his hand to the bride. They subsided into their seats. "Got a compartment to ourselves anyhow," said Mrs. Polly after a pause. Silence for a moment. "The rice 'e must '_ave_ bought. Pounds and pounds!" Mr. Polly felt round his collar at the thought. "Ain't you going to kiss me, Elfrid, now we're alone together?" He roused himself to sit forward hands on knees, cocked his hat over one eye, and assumed an expression of avidity becoming to the occasion. "Never!" he said. "Ever!" and feigned to be selecting a place to kiss with great discrimination. "Come here," he said, and drew her to him.