How nice it
smells!'
'What's this?' said Ben, looking over the document.
'I don't know,' replied his wife. 'I haven't read a word of it.'
'"To be sold by Auction,"' read the host of the Nutmeg-Grater,
'"unless previously disposed of by private contract."'
'They always put that,' said Clemency.
'Yes, but they don't always put this,' he returned. 'Look here,
"Mansion," &c. - "offices," &c., "shrubberies," &c., "ring fence,"
&c. "Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs," &c., "ornamental portion of the
unencumbered freehold property of Michael Warden, Esquire,
intending to continue to reside abroad"!'
'Intending to continue to reside abroad!' repeated Clemency.
'Here it is,' said Britain. 'Look!'
'And it was only this very day that I heard it whispered at the old
house, that better and plainer news had been half promised of her,
soon!' said Clemency, shaking her head sorrowfully, and patting her
elbows as if the recollection of old times unconsciously awakened
her old habits. 'Dear, dear, dear! There'll be heavy hearts, Ben,
yonder.'
Mr. Britain heaved a sigh, and shook his head, and said he couldn't
make it out: he had left off trying long ago. With that remark,
he applied himself to putting up the bill just inside the bar
window. Clemency, after meditating in silence for a few moments,
roused herself, cleared her thoughtful brow, and bustled off to
look after the children.
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