Mr. Farebrother left the house soon after, and seeing Mary in the orchard with Letty, went to say good-by to her.  They made a pretty picture in the western light which brought out the brightness of the apples on the old scant-leaved boughs—­Mary in her lavender gingham and black ribbons holding a basket, while Letty in her well-worn nankin picked up the fallen apples.  If you want to know more particularly how Mary looked, ten to one you will see a face like hers in the crowded street to-morrow, if you are there on the watch:  she will not be among those daughters of Zion who are haughty, and walk with stretched-out necks and wanton eyes, mincing as they go:  let all those pass, and fix your eyes on some small plump brownish person of firm but quiet carriage, who looks about her, but does not suppose that anybody is looking at her.  If she has a broad face and square brow, well-marked eyebrows and curly dark hair, a certain expression of amusement in her glance which her mouth keeps the secret of, and for the rest features entirely insignificant—­ take that ordinary but not disagreeable person for a portrait of Mary Garth.  If you made her smile, she would show you perfect little teeth; if you made her angry, she would not raise her voice, but would probably say one of the bitterest things you have ever tasted the flavor of; if you did her a kindness, she would never forget it.  Mary admired the keen-faced handsome little Vicar in his well-brushed threadbare clothes more than any man she had had the opportunity of knowing.  She had never heard him say a foolish thing, though she knew that he did unwise ones; and perhaps foolish sayings were more objectionable to her than any of Mr. Farebrother’s unwise doings.  At least, it was remarkable that the actual imperfections of the Vicar’s clerical character never seemed to call forth the same scorn and dislike which she showed beforehand for the predicted imperfections of the clerical character sustained by Fred Vincy.  These irregularities of judgment, I imagine, are found even in riper minds than Mary Garth’s:  our impartiality is kept for abstract merit and demerit, which none of us ever saw.  Will any one guess towards which of those widely different men Mary had the peculiar woman’s tenderness?—­the one she was most inclined to be severe on, or the contrary?

“Have you any message for your old playfellow, Miss Garth?” said the Vicar, as he took a fragrant apple from the basket which she held towards him, and put it in his pocket.  “Something to soften down that harsh judgment?  I am going straight to see him.”

“No,” said Mary, shaking her head, and smiling.  “If I were to say that he would not be ridiculous as a clergyman, I must say that he would be something worse than ridiculous.  But I am very glad to hear that he is going away to work.”

“On the other hand, I am very glad to hear that you are not going away to work.  My mother, I am sure, will be all the happier if you will come to see her at the vicarage:  you know she is fond of having young people to talk to, and she has a great deal to tell about old times.  You will really be doing a kindness.”