Though
Norway was not exactly new to him, the region of the Alten Fjord was,
and he at once felt, though he knew not why, that the air there would be
the very thing to benefit his delicate constitution. Besides, it looked
well for at least _one_ occasion, to go away for the summer without
asking his congregation to pay for his trip. It was generous on his
part, almost noble.
The ladies of his flock wept at his departure and made him socks,
comforters, slippers, and other consoling gear of the like description
to recall their sweet memories to his saintly mind during his absence
from their society. But, truth to tell, Mr. Dyceworthy gave little
thought to these fond and regretful fair ones; he was much too
comfortable at Bosekop to look back with any emotional yearning to the
ugly, precise little provincial town he had left behind him. The
minister's quaint, pretty house suited him perfectly; the minister's
servants were most punctual in their services: the minister's phaeton
conveniently held his cumbrous person, and the minister's pony was a
quiet beast, that trotted good-temperedly wherever it was guided, and
shied at nothing.
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