His father, with his large family, had
never exacted much,--had wanted no special attention from him. And if not
his father, then why his uncle? But his inattention, his absence of
gratitude for peculiar gifts, had sunk deep into Mr. Prosper's bosom.
Hence had come Miss Thoroughbung as his last resource, and Miss
Thoroughbung had--called him Peter. Hence his mind had wandered to Miss
Puffle, and Miss Puffle had gone off with the farmer's son, and, as he
was now informed, had taken to drinking gin. Therefore he turned his
face to the wall and prepared himself to die.
On the next day he sent for Matthew again. Matthew first came to him
always in the morning, but on that occasion very little conversation
ever took place. In the middle of the day he had a bowl of soup brought
to him, and by that time had managed to drag himself out of bed, and to
clothe himself in his dressing-gown, and to seat himself in his
arm-chair. Then when the soup had been slowly eaten, he would ring his
bell, and the conversation would begin. "I have been thinking over what
I was saying yesterday, Matthew." Matthew simply assented, but he knew
in his heart that his master had been thinking over what he himself had
said.
"Is Mr. Harry at the rectory?"
"Oh yes; he's there now.
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