I tell you what we'll do.

We will make him ride back on Monday morning, and put him on 'Blue Bangles,' who won't have seen daylight since Friday.

Won't he jump about a bit! What a shame it is, not to let us ride on Sundays!" Ignorant of these kind intentions, Scudamore was enjoying himself in his quiet, observant way.

Mr.Twemlow, the rector of the parish, had chanced--as he often chanced on a Saturday, after buckling up a brace of sermons--to issue his mind (with his body outside it) for a little relief of neighbourhood.

And these little airings of his chastening love--for he loved everybody, when he had done his sermon--came, whenever there was a fair chance of it, to a glass of the fine old port which is the true haven for an ancient Admiral.
"Just in time, Rector," cried Admiral Darling, who had added by many a hardship to his inborn hospitality.