There was
one exception. When little Susie Clemow, who at Mr. Fogo's express
desire was one of the bridesmaids, identified the bridegroom with the
strange gentleman who had frightened her in the lane, and burst into
loud screams in the middle of the service, I could not sufficiently
admire the readiness with which Peter Dearlove produced a packet of
brandy-balls from his tail-pocket to comfort her, or the prescience
which led him to bring such confectionery to a wedding.
At the breakfast, too, which, owing to the dimensions of the
Dearloves' cottage, was perforce select, Peter again shone.
In proposing the health of Mr. and Mrs. Fogo, he said--
"On an occasion like the present et becomes us not to repine.
These things es sent us for our good" (here he looked doubtfully at
the cake), "an' wan man's meat es t'other's p'ison, which I hopes"
(severely) "you knawed wi'out my tellin' 'ee; an' I shudn' wonder ef
Paul an' me was to draw lots wan o' these fine days as to which o' us
shud take the pledge--I means, the plunge--an' go an' scarify hissel'
'pon the high menial altar."
Immense excitement at this point prevailed among certain elderly
spinsters present.
"That was a joke," explained the speaker, with a sudden and stony
solemnity, "an' I hopes 'twill be tuk in the sperrit in which 'twas
meant.
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