MIDDLEMARCH (Completed)

Chapter 6

My lady's tongue is like the meadow blades,

That cut you stroking them with idle hand.

Nice cutting is her function: she divides

With spiritual edge the millet-seed,

And makes intangible savings.

As Mr. Casaubon's carriage was passing out of the gateway,

it arrested the entrance of a pony phaeton driven by a lady with

a servant seated behind. It was doubtful whether the recognition

had been mutual, for Mr. Casaubon was looking absently before him;

but the lady was quick-eyed, and threw a nod and a "How do you do?"

in the nick of time. In spite of her shabby bonnet and very old

Indian shawl, it was plain that the lodge-keeper regarded her

as an important personage, from the low curtsy which was dropped

on the entrance of the small phaeton.

"Well, Mrs. Fitchett, how are your fowls laying now?" said the

high-colored, dark-eyed lady, with the clearest chiselled utterance.

"Pretty well for laying, madam, but they've ta'en to eating their

eggs: I've no peace o' mind with 'em at all."

"Oh, the cannibals! Better sell them cheap at once. What will

you sell them a couple? One can't eat fowls of a bad character

at a high price."

"Well, madam, half-a-crown: I couldn't let 'em go, not under."

"Half-a-crown, these times! Come now--for the Rector's chicken-broth

on a Sunday. He has consumed all ours that I can spare.

You are half paid with the sermon, Mrs. Fitchett, remember that.

Take a pair of tumbler-pigeons for them--little beauties. You must

come and see them. You have no tumblers among your pigeons."

"Well, madam, Master Fitchett shall go and see 'em after work.

He's very hot on new sorts; to oblige you."

"Oblige me! It will be the best bargain he ever made. A pair

of church pigeons for a couple of wicked Spanish fowls that eat

their own eggs! Don't you and Fitchett boast too much, that is all!"

The phaeton was driven onwards with the last words, leaving Mrs.

Fitchett laughing and shaking her head slowly, with an interjectional

"Sure_ly_, sure_ly_!"--from which it might be inferred that she would

have found the country-side somewhat duller if the Rector's lady

had been less free-spoken and less of a skinflint. Indeed, both the

farmers and laborers in the parishes of Freshitt and Tipton

would have felt a sad lack of conversation but for the stories

about what Mrs. Cadwallader said and did: a lady of immeasurably