The Cricket on the Hearth by Charles Dickens

But, now, the sound of wheels was heard again outside the door; and somebody exclaimed that Gruff and Tackleton was coming back. Speedily that worthy gentleman appeared, looking warm and flustered.

‘Why, what the Devil’s this, John Peerybingle!’ said Tackleton. ‘There’s some mistake. I appointed Mrs. Tackleton to meet me at the church, and I’ll swear I passed her on the road, on her way here. Oh! here she is! I beg your pardon, sir; I haven’t the pleasure of knowing you; but if you can do me the favour to spare this young lady, she has rather a particular engagement this morning.’

‘But I can’t spare her,’ returned Edward. ‘I couldn’t think of it.’

‘What do you mean, you vagabond?’ said Tackleton.

‘I mean, that as I can make allowance for your being vexed,’ returned the other, with a smile, ‘I am as deaf to harsh discourse this morning, as I was to all discourse last night.’

The look that Tackleton bestowed upon him, and the start he gave!

‘I am sorry, sir,’ said Edward, holding out May’s left hand, and especially the third finger; ‘that the young lady can’t accompany you to church; but as she has been there once, this morning, perhaps you’ll excuse her.’

Tackleton looked hard at the third finger, and took a little piece of silver-paper, apparently containing a ring, from his waistcoat- pocket.

‘Miss Slowboy,’ said Tackleton. ‘Will you have the kindness to throw that in the fire? Thank’ee.’

‘It was a previous engagement, quite an old engagement, that prevented my wife from keeping her appointment with you, I assure you,’ said Edward.

‘Mr. Tackleton will do me the justice to acknowledge that I revealed it to him faithfully; and that I told him, many times, I never could forget it,’ said May, blushing.

‘Oh certainly!’ said Tackleton. ‘Oh to be sure. Oh it’s all right. It’s quite correct. Mrs. Edward Plummer, I infer?’

‘That’s the name,’ returned the bridegroom.

‘Ah, I shouldn’t have known you, sir,’ said Tackleton, scrutinising his face narrowly, and making a low bow. ‘I give you joy, sir!’

‘Thank’ee.’

‘Mrs. Peerybingle,’ said Tackleton, turning suddenly to where she stood with her husband; ‘I am sorry. You haven’t done me a very great kindness, but, upon my life I am sorry. You are better than I thought you. John Peerybingle, I am sorry. You understand me; that’s enough. It’s quite correct, ladies and gentlemen all, and perfectly satisfactory. Good morning!’

With these words he carried it off, and carried himself off too: merely stopping at the door, to take the flowers and favours from his horse’s head, and to kick that animal once, in the ribs, as a means of informing him that there was a screw loose in his arrangements.

Of course it became a serious duty now, to make such a day of it, as should mark these events for a high Feast and Festival in the Peerybingle Calendar for evermore. Accordingly, Dot went to work to produce such an entertainment, as should reflect undying honour on the house and on every one concerned; and in a very short space of time, she was up to her dimpled elbows in flour, and whitening the Carrier’s coat, every time he came near her, by stopping him to give him a kiss. That good fellow washed the greens, and peeled the turnips, and broke the plates, and upset iron pots full of cold water on the fire, and made himself useful in all sorts of ways: while a couple of professional assistants, hastily called in from somewhere in the neighbourhood, as on a point of life or death, ran against each other in all the doorways and round all the corners, and everybody tumbled over Tilly Slowboy and the Baby, everywhere. Tilly never came out in such force before. Her ubiquity was the theme of general admiration. She was a stumbling-block in the passage at five-and-twenty minutes past two; a man-trap in the kitchen at half-past two precisely; and a pitfall in the garret at five-and-twenty minutes to three. The Baby’s head was, as it were, a test and touchstone for every description of matter, – animal, vegetable, and mineral. Nothing was in use that day that didn’t come, at some time or other, into close acquaintance with it.

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