of little snorts, something like the treble grunts of a guinea-pig, which
were always with him the sign of suppressed disapproval. But he never
contradicted Mrs. Hackit--a woman whose 'pot-luck' was always to be
relied on, and who on her side had unlimited reliance on bleeding,
blistering, and draughts.

Mrs. Patten, however, felt equal disapprobation, and had no reasons for
suppressing it.

'Well,' she remarked, 'I've heared of no good from interfering with one's
neighbours, poor or rich. And I hate the sight o' women going about
trapesing from house to house in all weathers, wet or dry, and coming in
with their petticoats dagged and their shoes all over mud. Janet wanted
to join in the tracking, but I told her I'd have nobody tracking out o'
my house; when I'm gone, she may do as she likes. I never dagged my
petticoats in _my_ life, and I've no opinion o' that sort o' religion.'

'No,' said Mr. Hackit, who was fond of soothing the acerbities of the
feminine mind with a jocose compliment, 'you held your petticoats so
high, to show your tight ankles: it isn't everybody as likes to show her
ankles.'

This joke met with general acceptance, even from the snubbed Janet, whose
ankles were only tight in the sense of looking extremely squeezed by her
boots. But Janet seemed always to identify herself with her aunt's
personality, holding her own under protest.

Under cover of the general laughter the gentlemen replenished their
glasses, Mr. Pilgrim attempting to give his the character of a
stirrup-cup by observing that he 'must be going'. Miss Gibbs seized this