He paced the path slowly,--the light of the sinking sun
blazing gloriously on his plush breeches, silver cordons and
tassels,--for he was in full-dress livery in honor of the fete, and
looked exceedingly imposing. Now and then he glanced down at his calves
with mild approval,--his silk stockings fitted them well, and they had a
very neat and shapely appearance.
"I've developed," he murmured to himself. "There ain't a doubt about
it! One week of Country air, and I'm a different man;--the effecks of
overwork 'ave disappeared. Flopsie won't know these legs of mine when I
get back,--they've improved surprisingly." He stopped to survey a bed of
carrots. "Plenty of Cressy there," he mused. "Cressy's a noble soup, and
Flopsie makes it well,--a man might do wuss than marry Flopsie. She's a
widder, and a _leetle_ old--just a leetle old for me--but--" Here he
sniffed delicately at a sprig of thyme he had gathered, and smiled
consciously. Presently he perceived a small, plump, pretty figure
approaching him, no other than Britta, looking particularly charming in
a very smart cap, adorned with pink-ribbon bows, and a very elaborately
frilled muslin apron.
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