"A most valuable woman, Timson," the vicar said to the churchwarden;
"most suitable person. You never see her flurried when a great many
people are waiting for seats."
"Never," said Mr Timson, gruffly.
The conversation took place in the vicar's snuggery, where he and his
friend indulged in these unclerical comforts, pipes, gin-and-water, and
cribbage.
"Very stiff and formal she is certainly," said the vicar; "but, somehow,
she never seems to give offence."
"Yes, she does," said Mr Timson, gruffly; "she offends me; I don't like
her. Wish Mother Nimmer was alive again."
"Pooh! nonsense! stuff! prejudice!"
"Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo!" ejaculated Mr Timson. "I haven't a bit of
prejudice in my whole body."
"I mean," said the vicar, taking not the slightest notice of the
interruption, "she never seems to give offence about people's sittings;
for her's is a delicate task, and one not easy to manage. I can assure
you that I have not had a single complaint as yet, and they used to be
constant in Mrs Nimmer's time."
"'Fraid of her," suggested Mr Timson.
"I do wish that you would talk rationally, Timson," said the vicar.
"Well, that is rationally," said Mr Timson.
"The church fills uncommonly well now," observed the vicar, after a
pause, so as to start a fresh subject; for Mr Timson was looking red and
choleric, and his short hair was standing up all over his head. "The
people seem to like those historical sermons. I think I shall continue
them."
"I think I should," said Timson, drily; "perhaps it might be as well, at
the same time, to stop some of the music, or give Mr Pellet a holiday."
"Why?" said the vicar, sharply.
"Make more room in the church," said Timson.
"There, there! I won't quarrel with you Timson," said the vicar, with
some asperity; "but I can understand your allusion, though I won't
notice it. But, to return to the subject, don't you think that Mrs
Ruggles' salary might be a little raised?"
"No," said Mr Timson, stoutly; "I don't think anything of the kind.
Why, what for, pray? when the woman has the same as poor old Mrs Nimmer,
who was worth a dozen of her."
"Well, Timson," said the vicar, quietly, "if you are not disposed to
discuss the matter in a liberal spirit, why it had better drop; at
least, I think so."
"So do I," said the illiberal Timson; and consequently the matter did
drop, with the advantage to Mrs Ruggles of making her appear an ill-used
woman, much persecuted, in the vicar's eyes.
For the old gentleman most thoroughly believed in her, from her conduct
being so exemplary. Always the same quiet, prim woman, ready at proper
times to do her duty; to arrange hassocks at a christening, or to point
out the positions for the actors at a hymeneal sacrifice. The vicar was
loud in her praise, so loud, indeed, that when with his crony Timson,
Mrs Ruggles grew to be quite a bone--or rather bundle of bones--of
contention, over which at times they almost quarrelled, for Mr Timson,
either from a spirit of opposition, or from genuine dislike, invariably
took part against the woman. So near were they to quarrelling at times,
that had they been people of a more secular turn, it might have been
said that they quite fell out.
The vicar told Timson so more than once, though he would not believe it;
for in spite of his friendly feeling and genuine respect for his
nominator, the churchwarden could at times be as obstinate as the
proverbial pig.
In short, there was a division in the church, for and against Mrs
Ruggles, and Purkis told his wife in confidence, that he "couldn't see
it at all; and if it hadn't been for Pellet--he knowed"--What, he did
not say; but he shook and nodded his head a great many times, as he
concluded by telling Mrs Purkis that if she had been ruled by him, Mrs
Ruggles would never have had the post.
"And you'd never have had a decent bit of hot dinner o' Sundays,"
retorted his lady.
"She's a deceitful one, that's what she is," said Mr Purkis; "and she
ain't going to meddle and interfere with my dooties; so come now!"
"I shouldn't bemean myself to speak to her, if I was you, Joseph," said
his wife.
"You might just as well have took the place, and gone comfortable to
church with me, and come back with me comfortable," said Mr Purkis,
ignoring his wife's last remark.
"And, as I said before, you never knowing what it was to have hot
dinners on Sundays," retorted Mrs Purkis. "No, not if I know it,
Joseph. We've been man and wife now turned of thirty year, and never
once yet did I give you a cold Sunday-dinner. If I don't know my duty
as a wife by this time it's a pity."
Mrs Purkis turned very red in the face as she spoke, and, after the
fashion of her husband, shook her head and nodded it, till Mr Purkis,
who, if he did not make a god of his gastric region, certainly yielded
it the deference due to a monarch, owned that there was something in
what she said, when her face resumed its natural hue, which was only a
warm pink.
"But it would have been a deal nicer for some things," said Mr Purkis,
who still hung about the subject.
"And a deal nastier for other things, Joseph," retorted his wife; "and
that makes six of one and half-a-dozen of the other."
"Just so, my dear," said Mr Purkis, making his first and last attempt at
a joke--"six of one in pounds, and half-a-dozen of the other in
shillings--six guineas a year, and what you could have made besides, and
a very nice thing too."
"And you growling and grumbling because your Sunday-dinner was always
cold," said Mrs Purkis, resorting once more to her carnal fortification.
"But I don't know, now, but what that would have been better," said the
beadle, indulging in a habit which he had learned of a stout alderman
and magistrate, who believed in its awe-inspiring qualities, and often
tried it on small pickpockets, while Mr Purkis was so pleased with it
that he always wore it with his beadle's uniform, and practised it
frequently upon Ichabod Gunnis, though with so little effect that the
said young gentleman only imitated him as soon as his back was turned,
frowning, blowing out his cheeks, and then letting them collapse again.
"I don't know, my dear," said Mr Purkis, "but what it would have been
better than to have had that woman always pottering about in my church."
"And never even had the decency to call in and thank us for the pains we
took," said Mrs Purkis, "or to drop in occasional for a friendly cup o'
tea, and a mossle of toast, as anybody else would; or come in and sit
down sociably as poor Mrs Nimmer would, and ready at any time to take up
a bit o' needlework, or a stocking, and have a quiet chat."
"Well," said Mr Purkis, whose thoughts were evidently running quite as
much upon Sunday-dinners as upon pew-openers, "it's of no use to
grumble, for what's done can't be undone. But when Christmas comes, if
she pushes herself forward so much, I'll let her know--see if I don't
I'm not going to put up with so much of her interference, I can tell
her."
"The more you give way, the more give you may," said Mrs Purkis,
rhythmically.
"Why, she'll want to be beadle next, and clerk too," said Mr Purkis,
indignantly, and growing so warm that he had to wipe inside his
shirt-collar as well as dab his head; "says all the Amens now, she does,
louder than the poor old gentleman--reg'lar drowns him in the litany,
and makes herself that conspickyus that it's a wonder Mr Gray can't see
through her, instead of taking her into favour. Not that I mind a bit--
not I. Mr Timson don't like her, though; and you see if he gives her a
Christmas-box, same as he used Mrs Nimmer--pound o' best black, and a
quarter o' green--he always give her reg'lar."
"Ah! same as he gives us," sighed Mrs Purkis, "and as good tea as ever
stood on a hob to draw."
Volume 1, Chapter XIX.