Barchester Towers [263]
said a third.
'What I can do to fill the void which he left here, I will do. For your sake and my own I will do so, and especially for his sake. But to you who have known him, I can never be the same well-loved friend and father that he has been.'
'No, no, sir,' said old Bunce, who hitherto had held his peace; 'no one can be that. Not if the new bishop sent a hangel to us from heaven. We doesn't doubt you'll do your best, sir, but you'll not be like the old master; not to us old ones.'
'Fie, Bunce, fie! how dare you talk in that way!' said Mr Harding; but as he scolded the old man he still held him by his arm, and pressed it with warm affection.
There was no getting any enthusiasm in the matter. How could five old men tottering away to their final resting-place be enthusiastic on the reception of a stranger? What could Mr Quiverful be to them, or they to Mr Quiverful? Had Mr Harding indeed come back to them, some last flicker of joyous light might have shone forth on their aged cheeks; but it was in vain to bid them rejoice because Mr Quiverful was about to move his fourteen children from Puddingdale into the hospital house. In reality they did no doubt receive advantage, spiritual as well as corporal; but this they could neither anticipate nor acknowledge.
It was a dull affair enough, this introduction of Mr Quiverful; but still it had its effect. The good which Mr Harding intended did not fall to the ground. All the Barchester world, including the five old bedesmen, treated Mr Quiverful with the more respect, because Mr Harding had thus walked in arm in arm with him, on his first entrance to his duties.
And here in their new abode we will leave Mr and Mrs Quiverful and their fourteen children. May they enjoy the good things which Providence has at length given to them!
CHAPTER LIII
CONCLUSION
The end of a novel, like the end of a children's dinner-party, must be made up of sweetmeats and sugar-plums. There is now nothing else to be told but the gala doings of Mr Arabin's marriage, nothing more to be described than the wedding dresses, no further dialogue to be recorded than that which took place between the archdeacon who married them, and Mr Arabin and Eleanor who were married. 'Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?' and 'Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together according to God's ordinance?' Mr Arabin and Eleanor each answered, 'I will'. We have no doubt that they will keep their promises; the more especially as the Signora Neroni had left Barchester before the ceremony was performed.
Mrs Bold had been somewhat more than two years a widow before she was married to her second husband, and little Johnnie was then able with due assistance to walk on his own legs into the drawing-room to receive the salutations of the assembled guests. Mr Harding gave away the bride, the archdeacon performed the service, and the two Miss Grantlys, who were joined in their labours by other young ladies of the neighbourhood, performed the duties of bridesmaids with equal diligence and grace. Mrs Grantly superintended the breakfast and bouquets and Mary Bold distributed the cards and cake. The archdeacon's three sons had also come home for the occasion. The eldest was great with learning, being regarded by all who knew him as a certain future double first. The second, however, bore the palm on this occasion, being resplendent in his new uniform. The third was just entering the university, and was probably the proudest of the three.
But the most remarkable feature in the whole occasion was the excessive liberality of the archdeacon. He literally made presents to everybody. As Mr Arabin had already moved out of the parsonage of St Ewold's, that scheme of elongating the dining-room was of course abandoned; but he would have refurnished the whole deanery had he been allowed. He sent down a magnificent piano by Erard, gave Mr Arabin a cob which any dean in the land might have been proud to bestride, and made a special present to Eleanor of a new pony chair that had gained a prize
'What I can do to fill the void which he left here, I will do. For your sake and my own I will do so, and especially for his sake. But to you who have known him, I can never be the same well-loved friend and father that he has been.'
'No, no, sir,' said old Bunce, who hitherto had held his peace; 'no one can be that. Not if the new bishop sent a hangel to us from heaven. We doesn't doubt you'll do your best, sir, but you'll not be like the old master; not to us old ones.'
'Fie, Bunce, fie! how dare you talk in that way!' said Mr Harding; but as he scolded the old man he still held him by his arm, and pressed it with warm affection.
There was no getting any enthusiasm in the matter. How could five old men tottering away to their final resting-place be enthusiastic on the reception of a stranger? What could Mr Quiverful be to them, or they to Mr Quiverful? Had Mr Harding indeed come back to them, some last flicker of joyous light might have shone forth on their aged cheeks; but it was in vain to bid them rejoice because Mr Quiverful was about to move his fourteen children from Puddingdale into the hospital house. In reality they did no doubt receive advantage, spiritual as well as corporal; but this they could neither anticipate nor acknowledge.
It was a dull affair enough, this introduction of Mr Quiverful; but still it had its effect. The good which Mr Harding intended did not fall to the ground. All the Barchester world, including the five old bedesmen, treated Mr Quiverful with the more respect, because Mr Harding had thus walked in arm in arm with him, on his first entrance to his duties.
And here in their new abode we will leave Mr and Mrs Quiverful and their fourteen children. May they enjoy the good things which Providence has at length given to them!
CHAPTER LIII
CONCLUSION
The end of a novel, like the end of a children's dinner-party, must be made up of sweetmeats and sugar-plums. There is now nothing else to be told but the gala doings of Mr Arabin's marriage, nothing more to be described than the wedding dresses, no further dialogue to be recorded than that which took place between the archdeacon who married them, and Mr Arabin and Eleanor who were married. 'Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?' and 'Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together according to God's ordinance?' Mr Arabin and Eleanor each answered, 'I will'. We have no doubt that they will keep their promises; the more especially as the Signora Neroni had left Barchester before the ceremony was performed.
Mrs Bold had been somewhat more than two years a widow before she was married to her second husband, and little Johnnie was then able with due assistance to walk on his own legs into the drawing-room to receive the salutations of the assembled guests. Mr Harding gave away the bride, the archdeacon performed the service, and the two Miss Grantlys, who were joined in their labours by other young ladies of the neighbourhood, performed the duties of bridesmaids with equal diligence and grace. Mrs Grantly superintended the breakfast and bouquets and Mary Bold distributed the cards and cake. The archdeacon's three sons had also come home for the occasion. The eldest was great with learning, being regarded by all who knew him as a certain future double first. The second, however, bore the palm on this occasion, being resplendent in his new uniform. The third was just entering the university, and was probably the proudest of the three.
But the most remarkable feature in the whole occasion was the excessive liberality of the archdeacon. He literally made presents to everybody. As Mr Arabin had already moved out of the parsonage of St Ewold's, that scheme of elongating the dining-room was of course abandoned; but he would have refurnished the whole deanery had he been allowed. He sent down a magnificent piano by Erard, gave Mr Arabin a cob which any dean in the land might have been proud to bestride, and made a special present to Eleanor of a new pony chair that had gained a prize