The
old gentleman had laid aside his coat, probably that it might be spared
unnecessary wear and tear; he wore a claret coloured waistcoat with
large flaps, on which were apparent certain tarnished remains of
embroidery; his lower extremities, as far as the knees, were encased in
a texture the colour of which had once been pepper and salt, and from
the knee downwards he wore a pair of home-manufactured, grey worsted
stockings, which proved that his housekeeper was by no means inferior to
Mrs. Margaret in her darning talents, though we must do the Laird's aunt
the justice to assert, that she never darned stockings with more than
three different colours.
His slippers, both sole and upper part, had evidently at one time formed
a covering of a floor, though what the original pattern and colours had
been, could not now be made out. With all this quaintness of attire, the
old man had the general appearance of neatness and cleanliness, and had
it not been for the expression of his countenance, would have been far
from ill-looking.
He received Dymock with a sort of quiet civility, not unlike that which
a cat assumes when she is aware of a mouse, and yet does not perceive
that the moment is come to pounce upon it. Dymock drew near to the
table, and accosted Mr.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88