influence over that keen brown visage; but firmness had fixed the features, and sagacity had carved her own lines about them.
“I met Supplehough,” he continued, “plodding through the mud this wet night, going to preach at Milldean opposition shop. As I told you, I heard Barraclough bellowing in the midst of a conventicle like a possessed bull; and I find you, gentlemen, tarrying over your half pint of muddy port-wine, and scolding like angry old women. No wonder Supplehough should have dipped sixteen adult converts in a day—which he did a fortnight since; no wonder Barraclough, scamp and hypocrite as he is, should attract all the weaver-girls, in their flowers and ribbons, to witness how much harder are his knuckles than the wooden brim of his tub; as little wonder that you, when you are left to yourselves, without your rectors—myself, and Hall, and Boultby—to back you, should too often perform the holy service of our church to bare walls, and read your bit of a dry discourse to the clerk, and the organist, and the beadle. But enough of the subject: I came to see Malone—I have an errand unto thee, O captain!”
“What is it?” inquired Malone discontentedly; “there can be no funeral to take at this time of day.”
“Have you any arms about you?”
“Arms, sir?—yes, and legs:” and he advanced the mighty members.
