the Cornishman, touching his hat, and then thrusting his nose deeper than ever into the eel-basket.
'Beautiful stream this,' said Lancelot, who had a continual longing—right or wrong—to chat with his inferiors; and was proportionately sulky and reserved to his superiors.
'Beautiful enough, sir,' said the keeper, with an emphasis on the first word.
'Why, has it any other fault?'
'Not so wholesome as pretty, sir.'
'What harm does it do?'
'Fever, and ague, and rheumatism, sir.'
'Where?' asked Lancelot, a little amused by the man's laconic answers.
'Wherever the white fog spreads, sir.'
'Where's that?'
'Everywhere, sir.'
'And when?'
'Always, sir.'
Lancelot burst out laughing. The man looked up at him slowly and seriously.
'You wouldn't laugh, sir, if you'd seen much of the inside of these cottages round.'
'Really,' said Lancelot, I was only laughing at our making such very short work of such a long and serious story. Do you mean that the unhealthiness of this country is wholly caused by the river?'
'No, sir. The river-damps are God's sending; and so they are not too bad to bear. But there's more of man's sending, that is too bad to bear.'
