He was an immensely tall man, six foot at least. His long heavy limbs
loosely hung together, and his immense broad shoulders slightly
rounded. In features he was hardly handsome, but a kindly pleasant
looking face made ample atonement for want of beauty. He was dressed in
knee-breeches, and a great blue coat, with brass buttons, too large
even for him, was topped by a broad-brimmed beaver hat, with fur on it
half-aninch long. In age, this man was about five-and-twenty, and
well known he was to all the young fellows round there for skill in all
sporting matters, as well as for his kind-heartedness and generosity.
When he saw Mary pop out of the little side walk right upon him, he
leaned back against the gate and burst out laughing. No, hardly "burst
out." His laughter seemed to begin internally and silently, till, after
one or two rounds, it shook the vast fabric of his chest beyond
endurance, and broke out into so loud and joyous a peal that the
blackbird fled, screeching indignantly, from the ivy-tree behind him.
"What! Thomas Troubridge," said Mary. "My dear cousin, how are you?
Now, don't stand laughing there like a great gaby, but come and shake
hands.
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