Patricia Wentworth
The Fire Within
Quench thou the fires of your old gods,
Quench not the fire within.”
Matthew Arnold.
CHAPTERI. MR. MOTTISFONT'S OPINION OF HIS NEPHEW
As I was going adown the dale
Sing derry down dale, and derry down dale,
As I was going adown the dale,
Adown the dale of a Monday,
With never a thought of the Devil his tricks,
Why who should I meet with his bundle of sticks,
But the very old man of the Nursery tale,
Sing derry down dale, and derry down dale,
The wicked old man of the Nursery tale
Who gathered his sticks of a Sunday.
Sing derry down, derry down dale.
OLD Mr. Edward Mottisfont looked over the edge of the sheet at David Blake.
“My nephew Edward is most undoubtedly and indisputably a prig-a damned prig,” he added thoughtfully after a moment's pause for reflection. As he reflected his black eyes danced from David's face to a crayon drawing which hung on the paneled wall above the mantelpiece.
“His mother's fault,” he observed, “it 's not so bad in a woman, and she was pretty, which Edward ain't. Pretty and a prig my sister Sarah-”
There was a faint emphasis on the word sister, and David remembered having heard his mother say that both Edward and William Mottisfont had been in love with the girl whom William married. “And a plain prig my nephew Edward,” continued the old gentleman. “Damn it all, David, why can't I leave my money to you instead?”
“Because I should n't take it, sir,” he said.
He was sitting, most unprofessionally, on the edge of his patient's large four-post bed. Old Mr. Edward Mottisfont looked at him quizzically.