“Kitty’s a good lass,” she said, “though a bit mettlesome and wild; but I’m not saying anything again her.  The Lord forbid that I should run down my own flesh and blood!  An’ she’s better than most gels of her age.  I wouldn’t grudge her a bit of fun while she’s got it in her,—­Heaven knows it’ll be soon gone out of her when she marries, which nat’rally she will do, sooner or later.  Anyhow, she’s all I’ve got,—­which is a marvel how the Lord deals with some of us, when you see a little chidester of a woman like Adam Frost’s wife with fifteen, boys and girls, and me with only one nesh maid.”

Walden was silent.  He was not disposed to argue on such marvels of the Lord’s way, as resulted in endowing one family with fifteen children, and the other with only a single sprout, such as was accorded to the righteous Jephthah, judge of Israel.

“Howsomever,” continued Mrs. Spruce, “Kitty’s welcome to jump round the Maypole till she’s wore her last pair of boots out, if so be it’s your wish, Mr. Walden,—­and many thanks to you, sir, for all your kindness to her!”

“Don’t mention it, Mrs. Spruce!” said Walden amicably, and then, determining to bring the worthy woman sharply round to the real object of her visit, he gave a side-glance at the clock.  “Is there anything you want me to do for you this morning?  I’m rather busy—­”

“Beggin’ your pardon, I’m sure, sir, for troubling you at all!—­ knowin’ as I do that what with the moithering old folks and the maupsing young ones, your ’ands is always full.  But when I got the letter this morning, I says to my husband, William—­’William,’ says I, very loud, for the poor creature’s growing so deaf that by and by I shall be usin’ a p’lice whistle to make him ‘ear me—­’William,’ says I, ’there is only one man in this village who’s got the right to give advice when advice is asked for.  Of course there’s no call for us to follow advice, even when we gets it,—­howsomever, it’s only respectable for decent church-going folks to see the minister of the parish whenever there’s any fear of our makin’ a slip of our souls and goin’ wrong.  Therefore, William,’ says I, shaking him By the arm to make the poor silly fool understand me, ’it’s to Passon Walden I’m goin’ this mornin’ with this letter,—­to Passon Walden, d’ye ‘ear?’ And he nodded his head wise-like, for all the world as though there were a bit of sense in it, (which there ain’t), and agrees with me;—­for the Lord, knows, if William doesn’t, that it may make an awsome change for him as well as for me.  And I do confess I’ve been took back.”

Following as best he could the entangled thread of the estimable lady’s discourse, Walden grasped the fact, albeit vaguely, that some unexpected letter with unexpected news in it had arrived to trouble the Spruces’ domestic peace.  Suppressing a slight yawn, he endeavoured to assume the proper show of interest which every village parson is expected to display on the shortest notice concerning any subject, from the birth of the latest baby parishioner, to the death of the earliest sucking pig.