It was the birth in
him--even in him, a Cowfold ironmonger, not a scholar by any means--
of what philosophers call the IDEA, that Incarnation which has ever
been our Redemption. He said nothing to Zachariah about his own
affairs, nor did Zachariah, as before observed, say anything to him;
but the two knew one another, and felt that they knew one another as
intimately as if George had imparted to his friend the minutest
details of his unhappiness with his wife.
Towards the end of the afternoon Pauline returned, and inquired how
the battle went in Cowfold.
"I am afraid we shall be beaten. Sometimes I don't seem to care much
about it."
"Don't care! Why not?"
"Oh, we talk and talk, father and I, and somehow people's minds are
made up without talking, and nobody ever changes. When we have our
meetings, who is it who comes? Does Bushel come? Not a bit of it.
We only get our own set."
"Well," said Zachariah, the old man's republican revolutionary ardour
returning, "this is about the only struggle in which I have felt much
interest of late years. I should like to have cheap bread, and what
is more, I should like to deprive the landlords of that bit of the
price which makes the bread dear.
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