That sensitive, mild, complaisant face (humble, and even homely now, with scathe and scald and the lines of middle age) presented itself as a great surprise to the many who came to gaze at it.

With its child-like simplicity and latent fire, it was rather the face of a dreamer and poet than of a warrior and hero.
Mrs.Cheeseman, the wife of Mr.Cheeseman, who kept the main shop in the village, put this conclusion into better English, when Mrs.Shanks (Harry's mother) came on Monday to buy a rasher and compare opinions.
"If I could have fetched it to my mind," she said, "that Squire Darling were a tarradiddle, and all his wenches liars--which some of them be, and no mistake--and if I could refuse my own eyes about gold-lace, and crown jewels, and arms off, happier would I sleep in my bed, ma'am, every night the Lord seeth good for it.

I would sooner have found hoppers in the best ham in the shop than have gone to church so to delude myself.

But there! that Cheeseman would make me do it.

I did believe as we had somebody fit to do battle for us against Boney, and I laughed about all they invasion and scares.