"The Squire's pretty springe, considering his weight," said Mr.Macey, "and he stamps uncommon well.But Mr.Lammeter beats 'em all for shapes: you see he holds his head like a sodger, and he isn't so cushiony as most o' the oldish gentlefolks--they run fat in general; and he's got a fine leg.The parson's nimble enough, but he hasn't got much of a leg: it's a bit too thick down'ard, and his knees might be a bit nearer wi'out damage; but he might do worse, he might do worse.Though he hasn't that grand way o' waving his hand as the Squire has.""Talk o' nimbleness, look at Mrs.Osgood," said Ben Winthrop, who was holding his son Aaron between his knees."She trips along with her little steps, so as nobody can see how she goes--it's like as if she had little wheels to her feet.She doesn't look a day older nor last year: she's the finest-made woman as is, let the next be where she will.""I don't heed how the women are made," said Mr.Macey, with some contempt."They wear nayther coat nor breeches: you can't make much out o' their shapes.""Fayder," said Aaron, whose feet were busy beating out the tune, "how does that big cock's-feather stick in Mrs.Crackenthorp's yead? Is there a little hole for it, like in my shuttle-cock?""Hush, lad, hush; that's the way the ladies dress theirselves, that is," said the father, adding, however, in an undertone to Mr.Macey, "It does make her look funny, though--partly like a short-necked bottle wi' a long quill in it.Hey, by jingo, there's the young Squire leading off now, wi' Miss Nancy for partners!
There's a lass for you!--like a pink-and-white posy--there's nobody 'ud think as anybody could be so pritty.I shouldn't wonder if she's Madam Cass some day, arter all--and nobody more rightfuller, for they'd make a fine match.You can find nothing against Master Godfrey's shapes, Macey, _I_'ll bet a penny."Mr.Macey screwed up his mouth, leaned his head further on one side, and twirled his thumbs with a presto movement as his eyes followed Godfrey up the dance.At last he summed up his opinion.
"Pretty well down'ard, but a bit too round i' the shoulder-blades.
And as for them coats as he gets from the Flitton tailor, they're a poor cut to pay double money for.""Ah, Mr.Macey, you and me are two folks," said Ben, slightly indignant at this carping."When I've got a pot o' good ale, Ilike to swaller it, and do my inside good, i'stead o' smelling and staring at it to see if I can't find faut wi' the brewing.I should like you to pick me out a finer-limbed young fellow nor Master Godfrey--one as 'ud knock you down easier, or 's more pleasanter-looksed when he's piert and merry.""Tchuh!" said Mr.Macey, provoked to increased severity, "he isn't come to his right colour yet: he's partly like a slack-baked pie.And I doubt he's got a soft place in his head, else why should he be turned round the finger by that offal Dunsey as nobody's seen o' late, and let him kill that fine hunting hoss as was the talk o'
the country? And one while he was allays after Miss Nancy, and then it all went off again, like a smell o' hot porridge, as I may say.
That wasn't my way when _I_ went a-coorting.""Ah, but mayhap Miss Nancy hung off, like, and your lass didn't,"said Ben.
"I should say she didn't," said Mr.Macey, significantly.
