"You'll have to get Abner to help you dress that mill-rock, Abel," he
said, "I'm off for the morning. That's a good pup of yours, but he's old
enough to begin learning."
With the inherited idleness of the Revercombs, he combined the
headstrong impulses and dogged obstinacy of his mother's stock, yet
because of his personal charm, these faults were not only tolerated but
even admired by his family.
"You're always off in the mornings when there's work to be done,"
replied Abel, "but for heaven's sake, bring home a string of hares to
put ma into a better humour. She whets her tongue on me and I'll be
hanged if it's right."
"She never used to do it till you went over to Mr. Mullen's church and
fell in love with Molly Merryweather. Great Scott, I'm glad I don't
stand in either of your shoes when it comes to that. Life's too short to
pay for your religion or your sweetheart every day you live."
"It would have been the same anyway--she's put out with me about
nothing. I had a right to go to Old Church if I wanted to, and what on
earth has she got against Mr. Mullen anyway, except that he couldn't
recite the first chapter in Chronicles? What kind of religion does that
take I'd like to know?"
The meal poured softly out of the valve into the trough beneath, and
lifting a wooden scoop he bent over and scattered the pile in the
centre.
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