 CHAPTER XV. A HAPPY RETURN. Before I left Miss Maddie at Cranford, everything had been comfortably arranged for her. Even Mrs. Jameson's approval of her selling tea had been gained. That oracle had taken a few days to consider whether, by doing so, Miss Maddie would forfeit her right to the privileges of society in Cranford. I think she had some little idea of mortifying Lady Glenmire by the decisions she gave at last, which was to this effect. That whereas a married woman takes her husband's rank by the strict laws of precedence, an unmarried woman retains the station her father occupied. So Cranford was allowed to visit Miss Maddie and, whether allowed or not, it intended to visit Lady Glenmire. But what was our surprise, our dismay, when we learned that Mr. and Mrs. Hodgins were returning on the following Tuesday? Mrs. Hodgins? Had she absolutely dropped her title, and so in a spirit of bravado cut the aristocracy to become a Hodgins? She, who might have been called Lady Glenmire to her dying day? Mrs. Jameson was pleased. She said it only convinced her of what she had known from the first, that the creature had a low taste. But the creature looked very happy on Sunday at church. Nor did we see it necessary to keep our veils down on that side of our bonnets on which Mr. and Mrs. Hodgins sat, as Mrs. Jameson did, thereby missing all the smiling glory of his face and the becoming blushes of hers. I am not sure if Martha and Jem looked more radiant in the afternoon when they too made their first appearance. Mrs. Jameson soothed all the turbulence of her soul by having the blinds of her windows drawn down, as if for a funeral, on the day when Mr. and Mrs. Hodgins received collars, and it was with some difficulty that she was prevailed upon to continue the St. James's Chronicle, so indignant was she with its having inserted the announcement of the marriage. Miss Maddie's sale went off famously. She retained the furniture of her sitting-room and bedroom, the former of which she was to occupy, till Martha could meet with a lodger who might wish to take it, and into this sitting-room and bedroom she had to cram all sorts of things, which were, the auctioneer assured her, bought in for her at the sale by an unknown friend. I always suspected Mrs. Fitzadam of this, but she must have had an accessory, who knew what articles were particularly regarded by Miss Maddie on account of their associations with her early days. The rest of the house looked rather bare, to be sure, all except one tiny bedroom, of which my father allowed me to purchase the furniture for my occasional use in case of Miss Maddie's illness. I had expended my own small store in buying all manner of confets and lozenges in order to tempt the little people whom Miss Maddie loved so much to come about her. Tee and bright green canisters and confets and tumblers, Miss Maddie and I felt quite proud as we looked around us on the evening before the shop was to be opened. Martha had scoured the boarded floor to a white cleanness, and it was adorned with a brilliant piece of oil-cloth on which customers were to stand before the table-counter. The wholesome smell of plaster and whitewash pervaded the apartment. A very small Matilda Jenkins, licensed to sell tea, was hidden under the lintel of the new door, and two boxes of tea, with cabalistic inscriptions all over them, stood ready to disgorge their contents into the canisters. Miss Maddie, as I ought to have mentioned before, had had some scrupules of conscious at selling tea, when there was already Mr. Johnson in the town, who included it among his numerous commodities, and before she could quite reconcile herself to the adoption of her new business, she had trotted down to his shop, unknown to me, to tell him of the project that was entertained, and to inquire if it was likely to injure his business. My father called this idea of hers great nonsense, and wondered how tradespeople were to get on if there was to be a continual consulting of each other's interests, which would put a stop to all competition directly. And perhaps it would not have done in Drumble, but in Cranford it answered very well, for not only did Mr. Johnson kindly put at rest all Miss Maddie's scrupules and fear of injuring his business, but I have reason to know he repeatedly sent customers to her, saying that the teas he kept were of a common kind, but that Miss Jenkins had all the choice sorts. And expensive tea is a favorite luxury with well-to-do tradespeople and farmers' wives, who turn up their noses at the Kongoo and Sushong prevalent at many tables of gentility, and will have nothing else than gunpowder and pico for themselves. But to return to Miss Maddie, it was really very pleasant to see how her unselfishness and simple sense of justice called out the same good qualities in others. She never seemed to think anyone would impose upon her, because she should have been so grieved to do it to them. I have heard her put a stop to the aceravations of the man who brought her coals by quietly saying, I am sure you would be sorry to bring me wrong weight, and if the coals were short measured that time, I don't believe they ever were again. People would have felt as much ashamed of presuming on her good faith as they would have done on that of a child. But my father says such simplicity might be very well in Cranford, but would never do in the world. And I fancy the world must be very bad, for with all my father's suspicion of every one with whom he has dealings, and in spite of all his many precautions, he lost upwards of a thousand pounds by roguery only last year. I stayed long enough to establish Miss Maddie in her new mode of life and to pack up the library which the rector had purchased. He had written a very kind letter to Miss Maddie saying how glad he should be to take a library so well selected as he knew that the late Mr. Jenkins's must have been at any valuation put upon them. And when she agreed to this with a touch of sorrowful gladness that they would go back to the rectory and be arranged on the accustomed walls once more, he sent word that he feared he had not room for them all, and perhaps Miss Maddie would kindly allow him to leave some volumes on her shelves. But Miss Maddie said that she had her Bible and Johnson's dictionary and should not have much time for reading, she was afraid. Still I retained a few books out of consideration for the rector's kindness. The money which he had paid, and that produced by the sale, was partly expended on the stock of tea, and part of it was invested against a rainy day, i.e., old age or illness. It was but a small sum, it is true, and it occasioned a few evasions of truth and white lies, all of which I think very wrong indeed, in theory, and would rather not put them in practice, for we knew Miss Maddie would be perplexed as to her duty if she were aware of any little reserve fund being made for her while the debts of the bank remained unpaid. Moreover, she had never been told of the way in which her friends were contributing to pay the rent. I should have liked to tell her this, but the mystery of the affair gave a pecancy to their deed of kindness which the ladies were unwilling to give up, and at first Martha had to shirk many a perplexed question as to her ways and means of living in such a house, but by and by Miss Maddie's prudent uneasiness sank down into acquiescence with the existing arrangement. I left Miss Maddie with a good heart. Her sales of tea during the first two days had surpassed by most sanguine expectations. The whole country round seemed to be all out of tea at once. The only alteration I could have desired in Miss Maddie's way of doing business was that she should not have so plaintively entreated some of her customers not to buy green tea, running it down as a slow poison, sure to destroy the nerves, and producing all manner of evil. Their pertinacity in taking it, in spite of all her warnings, distressed her so much that I really thought she would relinquish the sale of it, and so lose half her custom, when I was driven to my wit's end for instances of longevity entirely attributable to a persevering use of green tea. But the final argument, which sealed the question, was a happy reference of mine to the train oil and tallow candles with the excumose not only in joy but digest. After that she acknowledged that one man's meat might be another man's poison, and contented herself thence forward with an occasional remonstrance when she thought the purchaser was too young and innocent to be acquainted with the evil effects green tea produced on some constitutions, and an habitual sigh when people old enough to choose more wisely would prefer it. I went over from Drumble once a quarter at least to settle the accounts, and to see after the necessary business letters. And speaking of letters, I began to be very much ashamed of remembering my letter to the Aga Jenkins, and very glad I had never named my writing to any one. I only hoped the letter was lost. No answer came, no sign was made. About a year after Miss Maddie set up shop I received one of Martha's hieroglyphics begging me to come to Cranford very soon. I was afraid Miss Maddie was ill, and went off that very afternoon, and took Martha by surprise when she saw me opening the door. We went into the kitchen as usual to have our confidential confidence, and then Martha told me she was expecting her confinement very soon, in a week or two, and she did not think Miss Maddie was aware of it, and she wanted me to break the news to her for indeed Miss, continued Martha, crying hysterically, I am afraid she won't approve of it, and I am sure I don't know who is to take care of her as she should be taken care of when I am laid up. I comforted Martha by telling her I would remain till she was about again, and only wished she had told me her reason for the sudden summons, as then I would have brought the requisite stock of clothes. But Martha was so tearful and tender-spirited, and unlike her usual self, that I said as little as possible about myself, and endeavored, rather, to comfort Martha under all the probable and possible misfortunes which came crowding upon her imagination. I then stole out of the house door, and made my appearance as if I were a customer in the shop, just to take Miss Maddie by surprise, and gain an idea of how she looked in her new situation. It was warm May weather, so only the little half-door was closed, and Miss Maddie sat behind the counter, knitting an elaborate pair of garters, they seemed to me, but the difficult stitch was no weight upon her mind, for she was singing out in a low voice to herself as her needles went rapidly in and out. I call it singing, but I daresay a musician would not use that word to the toonless, yet sweet humming of the low-worn voice. I found out from the words, far more from the attempt at the toon, that it was the old hundredth she was crooning to herself, but the quiet continuous sound, told of content, and gave me a pleasant feeling, as I stood in the street just outside the door, quite in harmony with that soft May morning. I went in. At first she did not catch who it was, and stood up as if to serve me, but in another minute Watchful Kitty had clutched her knitting, which was dropped in eager joy at seeing me. I found, after we had had a little conversation, that it was as Martha had said, and that Miss Maddie had no idea of the approaching household event. So I thought I would let things take their course, secure that when I went to her with the baby in my arms I should obtain that forgiveness for Martha, which she was needlessly frightening herself into believing that Miss Maddie would withhold, under some notion that the new claimant would require attentions from its mother, that it would be faithless treason to Miss Maddie to render. But I was right. I think that must be an hereditary quality, for my father says he is scarcely ever wrong. One morning, within a week after I arrived, I went to call Miss Maddie with a little bundle of flannel in my arms. She was very much awestruck when I showed her what it was, and asked for her spectacles off the dressing-table, and looked at it curiously, with a sort of tender wonder at its small perfection of parts. She could not banish the thought of the surprise all day, but went about on tiptoe and was very silent. But she stole up to Martha and they both cried with joy, and she got into a complimentary speech to Jem, and did not know how to get out of it again, and was only extricated from her dilemma by the sound of the shop-bell, which was an equal relief to the shy, proud, honest Jem who shook my hand so vigorously when I congratulated him that I think I feel the pain of it yet. I had a busy life while Martha was laid up. I attended on Miss Maddie and prepared her meals. I cast up her accounts and examined into the state of her canisters and tumblers. I helped her, too, occasionally in the shop, and it gave me no small amusement and sometimes a little uneasiness to watch her ways there. If a little child came in to ask for an ounce of almond-confit and four of the large kind which Miss Maddie sold weighed that much, she always added one more by way of make-weight, she called it, although the scale was handsomely tuned as before, and when I remonstrated against this her reply was, the little things like it so much. There was no use in telling her that the fifth confit weighed a quarter of an ounce and made every sale a loss to her pocket. So I remembered the green tea and winged my shaft with a feather out of her own plumage. I told her how unwholesome almond confits were and how ill-excessing them might make little children. This argument produced of some effect, for henceforward instead of the fifth confit she always told them to hold out their tiny palms in which she shook either peppermint or ginger lozenges as a preventative to the dangers that might arise from the previous sale. All together the lozenges' trade, conducted on these principles, did not promise to be remunerative, but I was happy to find that she had made more than twenty pounds during the last year by the sale of her tea, and moreover, that now she was accustomed to it, she did not dislike the employment which brought her into kindly intercourse with many of the people round about. If she gave them good weight they in their turn brought many a little country present to the old rector's daughter, a cream cheese, a few new laid eggs, a little fresh ripe fruit, a bunch of flowers. The counter was quite loaded with these offerings sometimes, as she told me. As for Cranford in general it was going on much as usual. The Jameson and Hodgins feud still raged, if a feud it could be called, when only one side cared much about it. Mr. and Mrs. Hodgins were very happy together, and like most very happy people, quite ready to be friendly. Indeed, Mrs. Hodgins was really desirous to be restored to Mrs. Jameson's good graces, because of the former intimacy. But Mrs. Jameson considered their very happiness and insult to the Glenmire family, to which she still had the honor to belong, and she doggedly refused and rejected every advance. Mr. Mulliner, like a faithful clansman, espoused his mistress's side with ardor. If he saw either Mr. or Mrs. Hodgins he would cross the street, and appear absorbed in the contemplation of life in general, and his own path in particular until he had passed them by. Miss Pohl used to amuse herself with wondering what in the world Mrs. Jameson would do, if either she or Mr. Mulliner or any other member of her household was taken ill. She could hardly have the face to call in Mr. Hodgins after the way she had behaved to them. Miss Pohl grew quite impatient for some indisposition or accident to befall Mrs. Jameson or her dependents, in order that Cranford might see how she would act under the perplexing circumstances. The weather was beginning to go about again, and I had already fixed a limit, not very far distant, to my visit, when one afternoon, as I was sitting in the shop parlor with Miss Maddie, I remember the weather was colder now than it had been in May, three weeks before, and we had a fire and kept the door fully closed. We saw a gentleman go slowly past the window, and then stand opposite to the door, as if looking out for the name which we had so carefully hidden. He took out a double eyeglass, and peered about for some time before he could discover it. Then he came in, and all on a sudden it flashed across me that it was the aga himself. For his clothes had an out-of-the-way foreign cut about them, and his face was deep brown as if tanned and retanned by the sun. His complexion contrasted oddly with his plentiful snow-white hair, his eyes were dark and piercing, and he had an odd way of contracting them and puckering up his cheeks into innumerable wrinkles when he looked earnestly at objects. He did so to Miss Maddie when he came in. His first glance had caught and lingered a little upon me, but then turned with the peculiar searching look I have described to Miss Maddie. She was a little flustered and nervous, but no more so than she always was when any man came into her shop. She thought that he would probably have a note, or a sovereign at least, for which she would have to give change, which was an operation she very much disliked to perform. But the present customer stood opposite to her without asking for anything, only looking fixedly at her as he drummed upon the table with his fingers, just for all the world as Miss Jenkins used to do. Miss Maddie was on the point of asking him what he wanted, as she told me afterwards, when he turned sharp to me, Is your name Mary Smith? Yes, said I. All my doubts as to his identity were said at rest, and I only wondered what he would say or do next, and how Miss Maddie would stand the joyful shock of what he had to reveal. Only he was at a loss how to announce himself, for he looked round at last in search of something to buy, so as to gain time, and as it happened, his eye caught on the almond confets, and he boldly asked for a pound of those things. I doubt if Miss Maddie had a whole pound in the shop, and besides the unusual magnitude of the order, she was distressed with the idea of the indigestion they would produce, taken in such unlimited quantities. She looked up to remonstrate. Something of tender relaxation in his face struck home to her heart. She said, Is it—Oh, sir, can you be Peter?—and trembled from head to foot. In a moment he was round the table and had her in his arms, sobbing the tearless cries of old age. I brought her a glass of wine, for indeed her colour had changed so as to alarm me and Mr. Peter, too. He kept saying, I have been too sudden for you, Maddie. I have, my little girl. I proposed that she should go at once into the drawing-room and lie down upon the sofa there. She looked wistfully at her brother, whose hand she had held tight, even when nearly fainting, but on his assuring her that he would not leave her, she allowed him to carry her upstairs. I thought that the best thing I could do was to run and put the kettle on the fire for early tea, and then to attend to the shop, leaving the brother and sister to exchange some of the many thousand things they must have to say. I also had to break the news to Martha, who received it with a burst of tears which nearly infected me. She kept recovering herself to ask if I was sure it was indeed Miss Maddie's brother, for I had mentioned that he had grey hair, and she had always heard that he was a very handsome young man. Something of the same kind perplexed Miss Maddie at tea-time when she was installed in the great easy-chair opposite to Mr. Jenkins in order to gaze her fill. She could hardly drink for looking at him, and as for eating, that was out of the question. I suppose hot climate's age people very quickly, said she, almost to herself, when you left Cranford you had not a grey hair in your head. But how many years ago is that? said Mr. Peter, smiling. Ah, true, yes, I suppose you and I are getting old. But still, I did not think we were so very old. But white hair is very becoming to you, Peter, she continued, a little afraid lest she had hurt him by revealing how his appearance had impressed her. I suppose I forgot dates, too, Maddie, for what do you think I have brought for you from India? I have an Indian muslin gown and a pearl necklace for you somewhere in my chest at Portsmouth. He smiled as if amused at the idea of the incongruity of his presence with the appearance of his sister, but this did not strike her all at once, while the elegance of the articles did. I could see that for a moment her imagination dwelt complacently on the idea of herself thus attired, and instinctively she put up her hand to her throat, that little delicate throat which, as Miss Pohl had told me, had been one of her youthful charms, but the hand met the touch of folds of soft muslin in which she was always swathed up to her chin, and the sensation recalled a sense of unsuitableness of a pearl necklace to her age. She said, I'm afraid I'm too old, but it was very kind of you to think of it. They are just what I should have liked years ago when I was young. So I thought, my little Maddie, I remembered your tastes. They were so like my dear mother's. At the mention of that name the brother and sister clasped each other's hands yet more fondly, and although they were perfectly silent, I fancied they might have something to say if they were unchecked by my presence, and I got up to arrange my room for Mr. Peter's occupation that night, intending myself to share Miss Maddie's bed. But at my movement he started up. I must go and settle about a room at the George. My carpet bag is there, too. No, said Miss Maddie in great distress. You must not go. Please, dear Peter, pray, Mary, oh, you must not go. She was so much agitated that we both promised everything she wished. Peter sat down again and gave her his hand, for which better security she held in both of hers, and I left the room to accomplish my arrangements. Long, long into the night, far, far into the morning, did Miss Maddie and I talk. She had much to tell me of her brother's life and adventures, which he had communicated to her as they had sat alone. She said all was thoroughly clear to her, but I never quite understood the whole story, and when in after-days I lost my awe of Mr. Peter enough to question him myself, he laughed at my curiosity and told me stories that sounded so very much like Baron Munchausen's that I was sure he was making fun of me. What I heard from Miss Maddie was that he had been a volunteer at the Siege of Rangoon, had been taken prisoner by the Burmese, and somehow obtained favor and eventual freedom from knowing how to believe the chief of the small tribe in some case of dangerous illness. That on his release from years of captivity he had had his letters returned from England with the ominous word dead marked upon them, and believing himself to be the last of his race he had settled down as an indigo planter, and had proposed to spend the remainder of his life in the country to whose inhabitants and modes of life he had become habituated. When my letter had reached him, and with the odd vehemence which characterized him in its age as it had done in its youth, he had sold his land and all his possessions to the first purchaser and come home to a poor old sister, who was more glad and rich than any princess when she looked upon him. She talked me to sleep at last, and then I was awakened by a slight sound at the door, for which she begged my pardon as she crept penitently into bed. But it seems that when I could no longer confirm her belief that the long lost was really here under the same roof, she had begun to fear, lest it was only a waking dream of hers, that there had never been a Peter sitting by her all that blessed evening, but that the real Peter lay dead far beneath some wild sea-wave, or under some strange eastern tree. He so strong had this nervous feeling of hers become that she was feigned to get up and go and convince herself that he was really there by listening through the door to his even, regular breathing. I don't like to call it snoring, but I heard it myself through two closed doors, and by and by it soothed Miss Maddie to sleep. I don't believe Mr. Peter came home from India, rich as a Nabob. He even considered himself poor, but neither he nor Miss Maddie cared much about that. At any rate he had enough to live upon very gentile at Cranford, he and Miss Maddie together. And a day or two after his arrival the shop was closed, while troops of little urchins gleefully awaited the shower of confets and lozenges that came from time to time down upon their faces as they stood gazing up at Miss Maddie's drawing-room windows. Occasionally Miss Maddie would say to them, half-hidden behind the curtains, my dear children, don't make yourselves ill, but a strong arm pulled her back and a more rattling shower than ever succeeded. A part of the tea was sent in presence to the Cranford ladies, and some of it was distributed among the old people who remembered Mr. Peter in the days of his frolicsome youth. The Indian Muslim gown was reserved for Darling Floor Gordon, Miss Jessie Brown's daughter. The Gordon's had been on the Continent for the last few years, but were now expected to return very soon, and Miss Maddie, in her sisterly pride, anticipated great delight in the joy of showing them Mr. Peter. The pearl necklace disappeared, and about that time many handsome and useful presence made their appearance in the households of Miss Pole and Mrs. Forrester, and some rare and delicate Indian ornaments graced the drawing-rooms of Mrs. Jamison and Mrs. Fitzadam. I myself was not forgotten. Among other things I had the handsomest-bound and best addition of Dr. Johnson's works that could be procured, and dear Miss Maddie, with tears in her eyes, begged me to consider it as a present from her sister as well as herself. In short, no one was forgotten, and what was more, every one, however insignificant, that had shown kindness to Miss Maddie at any time, was sure of Mr. Peter's cordial regard. CHAPTER XVI. PEACE TO CRANFORD It was not surprising that Mr. Peter became such a favorite at Cranford. The ladies vied with each other, who should admire him most, and no wonder, for their quiet lives were astonishingly stirred up by the arrival from India, especially as the person arrived told more wonderful stories than Sinbad the sailor, and, as Miss Pole said, was quite as good as an Arabian night any evening. For my own part I had vibrated all my life between Drumble and Cranford, and I thought it was quite possible that all Mr. Peter's stories might be true, although wonderful, but when I found that, if we swallowed an anecdote of tolerable magnitude one week, we had the dose considerably increased the next, I began to have my doubts, especially as I noticed that when his sister was present the accounts of Indian life were comparatively tame, not that she knew more than we did, perhaps less. I noticed also that when the rector came to call, Mr. Peter talked in a different way about the countries he had been in. But I don't think that the ladies in Cranford would have considered him such a wonderful traveler if they had only heard him talk in the quiet way he did to him. They liked him the better, indeed, for being what they called so very oriental. One day, at a select party in his honour, which Miss Pole gave, and from which, as Mrs. Jameson honoured it with her presence, and had even offered to send Mr. Mulliner to wait, Mr. and Mrs. Hodgins and Mrs. Fitzadam were necessarily excluded, one day at Mrs. Poles, Mr. Peter said he was tired of sitting upright against the hard-backed, uneasy chairs, and asked if he might not indulge himself in sitting cross-legged. Miss Pole's consent was eagerly given, and down he went with the utmost gravity. But when Miss Pole asked me in an audible whisper, if he did not remind me of the father of the faithful, I could not help thinking of poor Simon Jones, the lame tailor, and while Mrs. Jameson slowly commented on the elegance and convenience of the attitude, I remembered how we had all followed that lady's lead in condemning Mr. Hodgins for vulgarity, because he simply crossed his legs as he sat still on his chair. Many of Mr. Peter's ways of eating were a little strange amongst such ladies as Miss Pole, and Miss Maddie, and Mrs. Jameson, especially when I recollected the untasted green peas and two pronged forks at poor Mr. Holbrook's dinner. The mention of that gentleman's name recalls to my mind a conversation between Mr. Peter and Miss Maddie one evening in the summer after he had returned to Cranford. The day had been very hot, and Miss Maddie had been much oppressed by the weather, in the heat of which her brother reveled. I remembered that she had been unable to nurse Martha's baby, which had become her favorite employment of late, and which was as much at home in her arms as in its mother's, as long as it remained a lightweight, portable by one so fragile as Miss Maddie. This day to which I refer, Miss Maddie had seemed more than unusually feeble and languid, and only revived when the sun went down, and her sofa was wheeled to the open window, through which, although it looked into the principal street of Cranford, the fragrant smell of the neighbouring hay-fields came in every now and then, borne by the soft breezes that stirred the dull air of the summer twilight, and then died away. The silence of the sultry atmosphere was lost in the murmuring noises which came in from many an open window and door. Even the children were broad in the street, late as it was, between ten and eleven, enjoying the game of play for which they had not had spirits during the heat of the day. It was a source of satisfaction to Miss Maddie to see how few candles were lighted, even in the apartments of those houses from which issued the greatest signs of life. Mr. Peter, Miss Maddie and I had all been quiet, each with a separate reverie from some little time, when Mr. Peter broke in. Do you know, little Maddie, I could have sworn you were on the high road to matrimony when I left England that last time. If anybody had told me you would have lived and died an old maid then, I should have laughed in their faces. Miss Maddie made no reply, and I tried in vain to think of some subject which should effectually turn the conversation, but I was very stupid and before I spoke he went on. It was Holbrook, that fine manly fellow who lived at Woodley, that I used to think would carry off my little Maddie. You would not think it now, I daresay, Mary, but this sister of mine was once a very pretty girl. At least I thought so, and so I have a notion did poor old Holbrook. What business had he to die before I came home to thank him for all his kindness to a good-for-nothing cub as I was? It was that that made me first think he cared for you, for in all our fishing expeditions it was Maddie, Maddie we talked about. Poor Deborah, what a lecture she read me on having asked him home to lunch one day when she had seen the Arleigh carriage in town, and thought my lady might call. Well, that's long years ago, more than half a lifetime, and yet it seems like yesterday. I don't know a fellow I should have liked better as a brother-in-law. You must have played your cards badly, my little Maddie, somehow or other, wanted your brother to be a good go-between, eh, little one? Said he, putting out his hand to take hold of hers as she lay on the sofa. Why, what's this? You're shivering and shaking, Maddie, with that confounded open window. Shut it, Mary, this minute. I did so, and then stoop down to kiss Miss Maddie, and see if she really were chilled. She caught at my hand and gave it a hard squeeze, but unconsciously, I think, for in a minute or two she spoke to us in quite her usual voice, and smiled our uneasiness away, although she patiently submitted to the prescriptions we enforced of a warm bed and a glass of weak negus. I was to leave Cranford the next day, and before I went I saw that all the effects of the open window had quite vanished. I had superintended most of the alterations necessary in the house and household during the latter weeks of my stay. The shop was once more a parlor, the empty, resounding rooms again furnished up to the very garrets. There had been some talk of establishing Martha and Jem in another house, but Miss Maddie would not hear of this. Indeed, I never saw her so much roused as when Miss Pole had assumed it to be the most desirable arrangement. As long as Martha would remain with Miss Maddie, Miss Maddie was only too thankful to have her about her. Yes, and Jem too, who was a very pleasant man to have in the house, for she never saw him from a week's end to a week's end. And as for the probable children, if they would all turn out such little darlings as her goddaughter Matilda, she should not mind the number if Martha didn't. Besides, the next was to be called Deborah, a point which Miss Maddie had reluctantly yielded to Martha's stubborn determination that her firstborn was to be Matilda. So Miss Pole had to lower her colors and even her voice as she said to me that, as Mr. and Mrs. Hearn were still to go on living in the same house with Miss Maddie, we certainly had done a wise thing in hiring Martha's niece as an auxiliary. I left Miss Maddie and Mr. Peter most comfortable and contented, the only subject for regret to the tender heart of the one, and the social friendly nature of the other, being the unfortunate quarrel between Mrs. Jameson and the plebeian Hodginses and their following. In joke, I prophesied one day that this would only last until Mrs. Jameson or Mr. Mullener were ill, in which case they would only be too glad to be friends with Mr. Hodgins. But Miss Maddie did not like my looking forward to anything like illness in so light a manner, and before the year was out all had come round in a far more satisfactory way. I received two letters from Cranford on one auspicious October morning. Both Miss Pole and Miss Maddie wrote to ask me to come over and meet the Gordon's, who had returned to England alive and well with their two children now almost grown up. Dear Jesse Brown had kept her old kind nature, although she had changed her name and station, and she wrote to say that she and Major Gordon expected to be in Cranford on the fourteenth, and she hoped and begged to be remembered to Mrs. Jameson, named first as became her honorable station, Miss Pole and Miss Maddie. Could she ever forget their kindness to her poor father and sister? Mrs. Forrester, Mr. Hodgins, and here again came in an allusion to kindness shown to the dead long ago, his new wife, who as such must allow Mrs. Gordon to desire to make her acquaintance, and who was moreover an old Scotch friend of her husband's. In short, everyone was named, from the rector, who had been appointed to Cranford in the interim between Captain Brown's death and Miss Jesse's marriage, and who was now associated with the latter event, down to Miss Betty Barker. All were asked to luncheon, all except Mrs. Fitzadam, who had come to live in Cranford since Miss Jesse Brown's days, and whom I found rather moping on account of the omission. People wondered at Miss Betty Barker's being included in the Honorable List. But then, as Miss Pole said, we must remember the disregard of the genteel proprieties of life in which the poor Captain had educated his girls, and for his sake we swallowed our pride. Indeed, Mrs. Jameson rather took it as a compliment, as putting Miss Betty, formerly her maid, on a level with those Hodginses. But when I arrived in Cranford nothing was as yet ascertained of Mrs. Jameson's own intentions. Would the Honorable Lady go, or would she not? Mr. Peter declared that she should and she would. Miss Pole shook her head and desponded. But Mr. Peter was a man of resources. In the first place he persuaded Miss Maddie to write to Mrs. Gordon and tell her of Mrs. Fitzadam's existence, and to beg that one so kind and cordial and generous might be included in the pleasant invitation. An answer came back by return of post, with a pretty little note for Mrs. Fitzadam, and a request that Miss Maddie would deliver it herself and explain the previous omission. Mrs. Fitzadam was as pleased as could be, and thanked Miss Maddie over and over again. Mr. Peter had said, leave Mrs. Jameson to me, so we did, especially as we knew nothing that we could do to alter her determination if once formed. I did not know, nor did Miss Maddie, how things were going on, until Miss Pole asked me, just the day before Mrs. Gordon came, if I thought there was anything between Mr. Peter and Mrs. Jameson in the matrimonial line, for that Mrs. Jameson was really going to the lunch at the George. She had sent Mr. Mulliner down to desire that there might be a foot stool to put the warmest seat in the room, as she meant to come, and knew that their chairs were very high. Miss Pole had picked this piece of news up, and from it she conjectured all sorts of things, and bemoaned yet more. If Peter should marry, what would become of poor dear Miss Maddie, and Mrs. Jameson of all people? Miss Pole seemed to think there were other ladies in Cranford who would have done more credit to his choice, and I think she must have had someone who was unmarried in her head, for she kept saying, it was so wanting and delicacy in a widow to think of such a thing. When I got back to Miss Maddie's I really did begin to think that Mr. Peter might be thinking of Mrs. Jameson for a wife, and I was as unhappy as Miss Pole about it. He had the proof sheet of a great placard in his hand. Senior Brunoni, magician to the King of Delhi, the Raja of Ud, and the Great Lama of Tibet, etc., etc., was going to perform in Cranford were one night only, the very next night, and Miss Maddie, exultant, showed me a letter from the Gordons, promising to remain over this gaiety which Miss Maddie said was entirely Peter's doing. He had written to ask the senior to come, and was to be at all the expenses of the affair. Tickets were to be sent gratis to as many people as the room would hold. In short, Miss Maddie was charmed with the plan, and said that to-morrow Cranford would remind her of the Preston Guild, to which she had been in her youth, a luncheon at the George, with the dear Gordons, and the senior in the assembly room in the evening. But I looked only at the fatal words, under the patronage of the honourable Mrs. Jameson. She, then, was chosen to preside over this entertainment of Mr. Peter's. She was perhaps going to displace my dear Miss Maddie in his heart, and make her life lonely once more. I could not look forward to the morrow with any pleasure, and every innocent anticipation of Miss Maddie's only served to add to my annoyance. So angry and irritated, and exaggerating every little incident which could add to my irritation, I went on till we were all assembled in the great parlor at the George. Major and Mrs. Gordon, and Pretty Flora, and Mr. Ludovic were all as bright and handsome and friendly as could be. But I could hardly attend to them for watching Mr. Peter, and I saw that Miss Pohl was equally busy. I had never seen Mrs. Jameson so roused and animated before. Her face looked full of interest in what Mr. Peter was saying. I drew near to listen. My relief was great when I caught his words that were not words of love, but that for all his grave face he was at his old tricks. He was telling her of his travels in India, and describing the wonderful height and size of the Himalaya Mountains. One touch after another added to their size. Each exceeded the former in absurdity. But Mrs. Jameson really enjoyed all in perfect good faith. I suppose she required strong stimulants to excite her to come out of her apathy. Mr. Peter wound up his account by saying that, of course, at that altitude there were none of the animals to be found that existed in the lower regions. The game, everything was different. Firing one day at some flying creature he was very much dismayed when it fell to find that he had shot a cherubim. Mr. Peter caught my eye at this moment and gave me such a funny twinkle that I felt sure he had no thoughts of Mrs. Jameson as a wife from that time. She looked uncomfortably amazed. But Mr. Peter, shooting a cherubim, don't you think I am afraid that was sacrilege? Mr. Peter composed his countenance in a moment and appeared shocked at the idea, which, as he said truly enough, was now presented to him for the first time. But then Mrs. Jameson must remember that he had been living for a long time among savages, all of whom were heathens. Some of them, he was afraid, were downright dissenters. Then seeing Miss Maddie draw near, he hastily changed the conversation. And after a little while turning to me he said, Don't be shocked, Prim Little Mary, at all my wonderful stories. I consider Mrs. Jameson fair game, and besides I am bent on propitiating her, and the first step towards it is keeping her well awake. I brined her here by asking her to let me have her name as patroness for my poor conjurer this evening, and I don't want to give her time enough to get up her rancor against the hajanses who are just coming in. I want everybody to be friends, for it harasses Maddie so much to hear of these quarrels. I shall go at it again by and by, so you need not look shocked. I intend to enter the assembly-room tonight with Mrs. Jameson on one side, and my lady Mrs. Hodgins on the other. You see if I don't. Somehow or another he did, and fairly got them into conversation together. Major and Mrs. Gordon helped at the good work with their perfect ignorance of any existing coolness between any of the inhabitants of Cranford. Ever since that day there has been the old friendly sociability in Cranford society, which I am thankful for because of my dear Miss Maddie's love of peace and kindliness. We all love Miss Maddie, and I somehow think we are all of us better when she is near us.