PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF MR. WATKINS TOTTLE. 19 



went the coach up the hill with that beautiful equanimity of pace for 

 which " short" stages are generally remarkable. 



Mr. Watkins Tottle gave a faultering jerk to the handle of the 

 garden-gate bell, in shape something like a gigantic note of admira- 

 tion., and he stood for some minutes like the Duke of Wellington 

 waiting in vain for a peal. He essayed a more energetic tug, and 

 his previous nervousness was not at all diminished by hearing the 

 bell ringing like a fire alarum. 



"Is Mr. Parsons at home?" inquired Tottle of the man who 

 opened the gate. He could hardly hear himself speak, for the bell 

 had not yet done tolling. 



" Here I am," shouted a voice on the lawn, and there was Mr. 

 Gabriel Parsons in a flannel jacket, running backwards and forwards 

 from a wicket to two hats piled on each other, and then from the two 

 hats to the wicket, in the most violent manner, while another gentle- 

 man with his coat off was getting down the area of the house, after a 

 ball. When the gentleman without the coat had found it which 

 he did in less than ten minutes he ran back to the hats, and Mr. 

 Gabriel Parsons pulled up. Then the gentleman without the coat 

 called out " play" very loudly and bowled ; Mr. Gabriel Parsons 

 knocked the ball several yards and took another run. Then the 

 other gentleman aimed at the wicket, and didn't hit it; and Mr. 

 Gabriel Parsons having finished running on his own account, laid 

 down the bat and ran after the ball which went into a neighbouring 

 field. They called this cricket. 



" Tottle, will you ' go in ?' " inquired Mr. Gabriel Parsons, as he 

 approached him, wiping the perspiration off his face. 



Mr. Watkins Tottle declined the offer, the bare idea of accepting 

 which, made him even warmer than his friend. 



" Then we'll go into the house as it's past four, and I shall have to 

 wash my hands before dinner," said Mr. Gabriel Parsons. " Here, 

 I hate ceremony you know Timson that is Tottle Tottle that's 

 Timson, bred for the church, which I fear will never be bread for 

 him/' and he chuckled at the old joke. Mr. Timson bowed care- 

 lessly ; Mr. Watkins Tottle bowed stiffly, and Mr. Gabriel Parsons 

 led the way to the house. He was a rich sugar-baker, and mistook 

 rudeness for honesty, and abrupt bluntness for an open and candid 

 manner; many besides Gabriel mistake bluntness for sincerity. 



Mrs. Gabriel Parsons received the visitors most graciously on the 

 steps, arid preceded them to the drawing-room. On the sofa was 

 seated a lady of very prim appearance, and remarkably inanimate. 

 She was just one of those persons at whose age it is impossible to 

 make any reasonable guess her features might have been remarkably 

 pretty when she was younger, and they might always have presented 

 the same appearance. Her complexion with a slight trace of pow- 

 der here and there was as clear as that of a well-made wax doll, 

 and her face as expressive. She was handsomely dressed, and was 

 winding up a gold watch for effect. 



" Miss Lillerton, my dear, this is our friend Mr. Watkins Tottle ; 

 a very old acquaintance I assure you," said Mrs. Parsons, presenting 



