I kept quiet,
Mrs. Penhallow said nothing, John ate his dinner, and no one quarrelled.
I longed for Mr. Grey--"
"For shame," said Mrs. Ann. "Tell him why we were laughing--it was at
nothing particular."
"It was about poor old Mrs. Burton."
"What about her? If you can make that widow interesting in any way, I
shall be grateful."
"It was about her dead husband--"
"Am I to hear it or not?" said Penhallow. "What is it?"
"Why, what she said was that she was more than ever confirmed in her
belief in special Providences, because Malcolm was so fond of tomatoes,
and this year of his death not one of their tomatoes ripened."
The Squire's range of enjoyment of the comic had limitations, but this
story was immensely enjoyed and to his taste. He laughed in his hearty
way. "Did she tell you that, Mark, or has it improved in your hands?"
"No--no, I got it from Grace, and he had it from the widow. I do not
think it seemed the least bit funny to Grace."
"But after all," said Mrs. Ann, "is it so very comic?"
"Oh, now," said Penhallow, "we are in for a discussion on special
Providences. I can't stand it to-night; I want something more definite.
My manager says sometimes, 'I want to close out this-here business.' Now
I want to close out this abominable business about my poor Josiah.
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