But these were delivered by daylight always, and carted by Mr.Cheeseman's horse direct to his master's cellars; and Cheeseman had told everybody that his wife, having come into a little legacy, was resolved in spite of his advice to try a bit of speculation in hardware, through her sister miles away at Uckfield.
Most of the neighbours liked Mrs.Cheeseman, because she gave good weight (scarcely half an ounce short, with her conscience to her family thrown in against it), as well as the soundest piece of gossip to be had for the money in Springhaven.

And therefore they wished her well, and boxed their children's ears if they found them poking nose into her packages.

Mrs.Cheeseman shook her head when enquired of on the subject, and said with grave truth that the Lord alone can tell how any of poor people's doings may turn out.
Some other things puzzled the village, and would in more sensible times have produced a sensation.

Why did Mr.Cheeseman now think nothing of as much as three spots on his white linen apron, even in the first half of the week?
Why was he seldom at John Prater's now, and silent in a corner even when he did appear?
What was become of the ruddy polish, like that of a Winter Redstrake, on his cheeks, which made a man long for a slice of his ham?
Why, the only joke he had made for the last three months was a terrible one at his own expense.

He had rushed down the street about ten o'clock one morning, at a pace quite insane for a middle-aged man, with no hat on his head and no coat on his back, but the strings of his apron dashed wild on the breeze, and his biggest ham-carver making flashes in his hand.