A thicket
of trees, mostly evergreen, fenced the place round and secluded it
from the eyes of prying neighbours. As I came in view of it, on
that melancholy winter's morning, in the deluge of the falling
rain, and with the wind that now rose in occasional gusts and
hooted over the old chimneys, the cart had already drawn up at the
front-door steps, and the driver was already in earnest discourse
with Mr. Burchell Fenn. He was standing with his hands behind his
back--a man of a gross, misbegotten face and body, dewlapped like a
bull and red as a harvest moon; and in his jockey cap, blue coat
and top boots, he had much the air of a good, solid tenant-farmer.
The pair continued to speak as I came up the approach, but received
me at last in a sort of goggling silence. I had my hat in my hand.
'I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Burchell Fenn?' said I.
'The same, sir,' replied Mr. Fenn, taking off his jockey cap in
answer to my civility, but with the distant look and the tardy
movements of one who continues to think of something else. 'And
who may you be?' he asked.
'I shall tell you afterwards,' said I. 'Suffice it, in the
meantime, that I come on business.'
He seemed to digest my answer laboriously, his mouth gaping, his
little eyes never straying from my face.
'Suffer me to point out to you, sir,' I resumed, 'that this is a
devil of a wet morning; and that the chimney corner, and possibly a
glass of something hot, are clearly indicated.
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