head to foot.

Quick as thought, she caught up a besom and rushed out around the
corner of the cottage.

"You stinking young adders!" she began.

A big man stood on the slope above her.

"Mother, cuff my head, that's a dear. I couldn' help doin' it."

It was the elderly Registrar. His hat, collar, tie, and waistcoat were
awry; his boots were slung on the walking-stick over his shoulder;
stuck in his mouth and lit was a twist of root-fibre, such as country
boys use for lack of cigars, and he himself had used, forty years
before.

The old woman turned to an ash-colour, leant on her besom, and gasped.

"William Henry!"

"I'm not drunk, mother: been a Band of Hope these dozen years." He
stepped down the slope to her and bent his head low. "Box my ears,
mother, quick! You used to have a wonderful gift o' cuffin'."

"William Henry, I'm bound to do it or die."

"Then be quick about it."

Half-laughing, half-sobbing, she caught him a feeble cuff, and next