There was no reason, then, why the rector's dancing should not be
received as part of the fitness of things quite as much as the
Squire's, or why, on the other hand, Mr Macey's official respect
should restrain him from subjecting the parson's performance to that
criticism with which minds of extraordinary acuteness must necessarily
contemplate the doings of their fallible fellow-men.
'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 gentle-folks- they run fat in
general; but 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.
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