But she was worth the
trouble. Six foot six, with the lumbago, might have
done it.
'Oh goodness, John!' said' Mrs. P. 'What a state
you are in with the weather!'
He was something the worse for it, undeniably.
The thick mist hung in clots upon his eyelashes like
candied thaw; and between the fog and fire together,
there were rainbows in his very whiskers.
'Why, you see, Dot,' John made answer, slowly,
as he unrolled a shawl from about his throat; and
warmed his hands; 'It -- it an't exactly summer
weather. So, no wonder.'
'I wish you wouldn't call me Dot, John. I don't
like it,' said Mrs. Peerybingle: pouting in a way that
clearly showed she did like it, very much.
'Why what else are you?' returned John, looking
down upon her with a smile, and giving her waist as
light a squeeze as his huge hand and arm could give.
'A dot and' -- here he glanced at the baby -- 'a dot and
carry -- I won't say it, for fear I should spoil it; but
I was very near a joke. I don't know as ever I was
nearer.'
He was often near to something or other very
clever, by his own account: this lumbering, slow hon-
est John; this John so heavy, but so light of spirit;
so rough upon the surface, but so gentle at the core;
so dull without, so quick within, so stolid, but so good!
Oh Mother Nature, give thy children the true poetry
of heart that hid itself in this poor Carrier's breast --
he was but a Carrier by the way -- and we can bear
to have them talking prose, and leading lives of prose;
and bear to bless thee for their company!
It was pleasant to see Dot, with her little figure,
and her baby in her arms: a very doll of a baby:
glancing with a coquettish thoughtfulness at the fire,
and inclining her delicate little head just enough on
one side to let it rest in an odd, half-natural, half-
affected, wholly nestling and agreeable manner, on
the great rugged figure of the Carrier.
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