Freaks on the Fells | Page 8

tip of her right ear.
Presently Mr Sudberry pulled out his watch, and, exclaiming that it was
breakfast-time, trotted down the hill, followed by his family and
escorted by the dogs.
We will pause here to describe Mr Sudberry's family briefly.
George was the merchant's eldest son. He was bold, stout, active,

middle-sized, and seventeen years of age; full of energy and life, a
crack rower, a first-rate cricketer, and generally a clever fellow. George
was always jolly.
Fred was about the same height as his brother, two years younger,
slender in form, and gentle in disposition, but active, too, when
occasion required it. His forte was drawing and painting. Fred was
generally quiet and grave. Both brothers were musical.
Lucy had reached the interesting age of sixteen. She was plain,
decidedly, but sweet-tempered in the extreme. Her mouth was good,
and her eyes were good, and her colour was good, but her nose was a
snub,-- an undeniable and incurable snub. Her mother had tried to
amend it from the earliest hours of Lucy's existence by pulling the point
gently downwards and pinching up the bridge,--or, rather, the hollow
where the bridge ought to have been,--but all in vain; the infant turned
up its eyes when the operation was going on, and still turned up its nose
when it was over. Yes, although there were many of the elements of
beauty about Lucy, she was plain--but sweet; always bear that in mind.
She was funny too. Not that she made fun of her own free will; but she
appreciated fun in others so intensely that she looked funny herself; and
she giggled. This was her only fault, she giggled. When the spirit of fun
was roused, nothing could stop her. But don't suppose that she was
always giggling; by no means. She was always good and amiable, often
grave, and sometimes deeply serious.
Matilda, commonly called Tilly, was a meek, delicate, pretty little girl
of eight years old. She was charmingly innocent and ignorant. In the
last respect she resembled her mother, who was the only other stupid
member of Mr Sudberry's family. Being deeply impressed with the fact
of her ignorance and stupidity, Mrs Sudberry went on the tack of boldly
admitting the same, and holding, or affecting to hold, ability and
general acquirements in contempt.
Mrs Brown was a female dragon, nurse to Master Jacky and Miss Tilly;
she tormented the former, whom she disliked, and spoiled the latter,
whom she loved.

Hobbs was the man-servant of the family. He was characterised chiefly
by a tendency to drop his h's in conversation, out of words to which
they naturally belonged, and to pick them up and insert them in the
most contradictory manner, in words with which they had no
connection whatever. He was also marked by the strong regard and
esteem which he had for his master and family; the stronger regard and
esteem which he had for himself; and the easy, good-humoured way in
which he regarded the remainder of the world at large as an inferior
order of beings.
As for Peter, he has already been described as the timid clerk of humble
origin, whose chief duties, while in London, were to wipe up ink and
clear away debris. He had been taken with the family to act the part of
a page in buttons without the buttons--and to make himself generally
useful. Hitherto the page's bosom had, since leaving London, been a
chamber of indescribable terrors. Truly, if, as is said, the anticipation of
death be worse than the reality, poor Peter must have suffered a
prolonged and continuous death during the last few days. Never having
been on a railway before, the first shriek of the whistle pierced him like
a knife, the shock of starting rent him, (figuratively), like a thunderbolt.
Thereafter, every passing train was an excruciating arrow in his
quivering heart, every tunnel was a plunge into the horrible anticipation
that "here it was coming at last!" But Peter's trials were now, for a time,
he fondly hoped, at an end. Poor boy! he little knew what was in store
for him.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER 4.
FIRST COMERS SERVED FIRST, ETCETERA.
When Mr Sudberry reached the breakfast parlour, and put his head in at
the door to see whether his faithful wife were there, he was struck
absolutely dumb by the amazing tableau vivant that met his vision.
There was nothing in the aspect of the room itself to surprise him. It
was homely and neat. The table was spread with a clean white cloth, on

which the breakfast equipage was displayed with a degree of care and
precision that betrayed the master-hand of Hobbs; but on the edge of
the table sat a large black cat, calmly breakfasting off a