For, says I,
you talk o' Master Marner making out a tale- why, it's nonsense,
that is: it 'ud take a 'cute man to make a tale like that; and, says
I, he looked as scared as a rabbit.'
During this discursive address Silas had continued motionless in
his previous attitude, leaning his elbows on his knees, and pressing
his hands against his head. Mr Macey, not doubting that he had been
listened to, paused, in the expectation of some appreciatory reply,
but Marner remained silent. He had a sense that the old man meant to
be good-natured and neighbourly; but the kindness fell on him as
sunshine falls on the wretched- he had no heart to taste it, and
felt that it was very far off him.
'Come, Master Marner, have you got nothing to say to that?' said Mr
Macey at last, with a slight accent of impatience.
'Oh,' said Marner, slowly, shaking his head between his hands, 'I
thank you- thank you- kindly.'
'Aye, aye, to be sure: I thought you would,' said Mr Macey; 'and my
advice is- have you got a Sunday suit?'
'No,' said Marner.
'I doubted it was so,' said Mr Macey. 'Now, let me advise you to
get a Sunday suit: there's Tookey, he's a poor creatur, but he's got
my tailoring business, and some o' my money in it, and he shall make a
suit at a low price, and give you trust, and then you can come to
church, and be a bit neighbourly. Why you've never heared me say
"Amen" since you come into these parts, and I recommend you to lose no
time, for it'll be poor work when Tookey has it all to himself, for
I mayn't be equil to stand i' the desk at all, come another winter.
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