 CHAPTER XI. Samuel Brown. The next morning I met Lady Glenmire and Miss Pohl, setting out on a long walk to find some old woman who was famous in the neighborhood for her skill in knitting woolen stockings. Miss Pohl said to me, with a smile half kindly and half contemptuous upon her countenance, I have just been telling Lady Glenmire of our poor friend, Mrs. Forrester, and her terror of ghosts. It comes from living so much alone and listening to the bugaboo stories of that Jenny of hers. She was so calm and so much above superstitious fears herself that I was almost ashamed to say how glad I had been of her headingly causeway proposition the night before, and turned off the conversation to something else. In the afternoon Miss Pohl called on Miss Maddie to tell her of the adventure, the real adventure they had met with on their morning's walk. They had been perplexed about the exact path which they were to take across the fields in order to find the knitting old woman and had stopped to inquire at a little wayside public-house standing on the high road to London about three miles from Cranford. The good woman had asked them to sit down and rest themselves while she fetched her husband, who could direct them better than she could, and while they were sitting in the sanded parlor a little girl came in. They thought that she belonged to the landlady and began some trifling conversation with her. On Mrs. Robert's return she told them that the little thing was the only child of a couple who were staying in the house. And then she began a long story, out of which Lady Glenmire and Miss Pohl could only gather one or two decided facts, which were that about six weeks ago a light spring cart had broken down just before their door, in which there were two men, one woman and this child. One of the men was seriously hurt, no bones broken, only shaken, the landlady called it, but he had probably sustained some severe internal injury for he had languished in their house ever since, attended by his wife, the mother of this little girl. Miss Pohl had asked what he was, what he looked like, and Mrs. Robert's had made answer that he was not like a gentleman nor yet like a common person. If it had not been that he and his wife were such decent, quiet people, she could have almost thought he was a mount-bank or something of that kind, for they had a great box in the cart full of she did not know what. She had helped to unpack it and take out their linen in clothes, while the other man, his twin-brother, she believed he was, had gone off with the horse and cart. Miss Pohl had begun to have her suspicions at this point and expressed her idea that it was rather strange that the box and cart and horse all should have disappeared, but good Mrs. Robert's seemed to have become quite indignant at Miss Pohl's implied suggestion. In fact, Miss Pohl said she was as angry as if Miss Pohl had told her that she herself was a swindler. As the best way of convincing the ladies, she bethought her of begging them to see the wife, and as Miss Pohl said there was no doubting the honest, worn, bronzed face of the woman who at the first tender word from Lady Glenmire burst into tears, which she was too weak to check until some word from the landlady made her swallow down her sobs in order that she might testify to the Christian kindness shown by Mr. and Mrs. Robert's. Miss Pohl came round with a swing as to vehement a belief in the sorrowful tale she had been sceptical before, and as a proof of this her energy in the poor sufferer's behalf was nothing daunted when she found out that he, and no other, was our senior Brunoni, to whom all Cranford had been attributing all manner of evil this past six weeks. Yes, his wife said his proper name was Samuel Brown, Sam, she called him, but to the last we preferred calling him the senior. It sounded so much better. The end of their conversation with the senior Brunoni was that it was agreed that he should be placed under medical advice, and for any expense incurred in procuring this Lady Glenmire promised to hold herself responsible, and had accordingly gone to Mr. Hodgins to beg him to ride over to the Rising Sun that very afternoon and examine into the senior's real state. And as Miss Pohl said, if it was desirable to remove him to Cranford to be more immediately under Mr. Hodgins's eye, she would undertake to see for lodging and arrange about the rent. Mrs. Roberts had been as kind as could be throughout, but it was evident that their long residence there had been a slight inconvenience. Before Miss Pohl left us, Miss Maddie and I were as full of the morning's adventure as she was. We talked about it all the evening, turning it in every possible light, and we went to bed anxious for the morning, when we should surely hear from someone what Mr. Hodgins thought and recommended. For as Miss Maddie observed, though Mr. Hodgins did say jack's up, a fig for his heels, and called preference preff, she believed he was a very worthy man and a very clever surgeon. Indeed, we were rather proud of our doctor, at Cranford, as a doctor. We often wished, when we heard of Queen Adelaide or the Duke of Wellington being ill, that they would send for Mr. Hodgins, but on consideration we were rather glad that they did not. For if we were ailing, what should we do if Mr. Hodgins had been appointed physician and ordinary to the royal family? As a surgeon we were proud of him, but as a man, or rather, I should say as a gentleman, we could only shake our heads over his name and himself, and wished that he had read Lord Chesterfield's letters in the days when his manners were susceptible of improvement. Nevertheless we all regarded his dictum in the senior's cases infallible, and when he said that, with care and attention he might rally, we had no more to fear for him. But although we had no more fear, everybody did as much as if there was great cause for anxiety, as indeed there was, until Mr. Hodgins took charge of him. Miss Pol looked out clean and comfortable, if homely lodgings. Miss Maddie sent the Sajan chair for him, and Martha and I aired it well before it left Cranford by holding a warming pan full of red hot coals in it, and then shutting it up close, smoke and all, until the time when he should get into it at the rising sun. Lady Glenmire undertook the medical department under Mr. Hodgins' directions, and rummaged up all Mrs. Jamison's medicine glasses and spoons and bed tables in a free and easy way that made Miss Maddie feel a little anxious as to what the lady and Mr. Mulliner might say if they knew. Mrs. Forrester made some of the bread jelly for which she was so famous to have ready as a refreshment in the lodgings when he should arrive. A present of this bread jelly was the highest mark of favor dear Mrs. Forrester could confer. Miss Pol had once asked her for the recipe, but she had met with a very decided rebuff. That lady told her that she could not part with it to any one during her life, and that after her death it was bequeathed as her executors were fined to Miss Maddie. What Miss Maddie, or as Mrs. Forrester called her, remembering the claws in her will and the dignity of the occasion, Miss Matilda Jenkins, might choose to do with the recipe when it came into her possession, whether to make it public or to hand it down as an heirloom she did not know, nor would she dictate. And a mold of this admirable, digestible, unique bread jelly was sent by Mrs. Forrester to our poor, sick conjurer. Who says that the aristocracy are proud? Here was a lady by birth, a Tyrell, and ascended from the great Sir Walter that shot King Rufus, and in whose veins ran the blood of him who murdered the little princes in the tower. Going every day to see what dainty dishes she could prepare for Samuel Brown, a mount-bank. But indeed it was wonderful to see what kind feelings were called out by this poor man's coming amongst us. And also wonderful to see how the great Cranford Panic, which had been occasioned by his first coming into his Turkish dress, melted away into thin air on his second coming, pale and feeble, and with his heavy, filmy eyes that only brightened a very little when they fell upon the countenance of his faithful wife, or their pale and sorrowful little girl. Somehow we all forgot to be afraid. I daresay it was finding out that he, who at first excited our love of the marvellous by his unprecedented arts, had not sufficient every-day gifts to manage a shying horse, made us feel as if we were ourselves again. Miss Pohl came with her little basket at all hours of the evening, as if her lonely house and the unfrequentened road to it had never been infested by that murderous gang. Mrs. Forster said she thought that neither Jenny nor she had to mind that headless lady, who wept and wailed in darkness slain, for surely the power was never given to such beings to harm those who went about to try to do what little good was in their power, to which Jenny tremblingly assented, but the mistress's theory had little effect on the maid's practice until she had sown two pieces of red flannel in the shape of a cross on her inner garment. I found Miss Maddie covering her penny-ball, the ball that she used to roll into her bed, with gay-colored worsted in striped rainbows. My dear, she said, my heart is sad for that little care-worn child. Although her father is a conjurer, she looks as if she had never had a good game of play in her life. I used to make very pretty balls in this way when I was a girl, and I thought I would try to see if I could not make this one smart and take it to Phoebe this afternoon. I think the gang must have left the neighborhood, for one does not hear any more of their violence and robbery now. We were all of us far too full of the senior's precarious state to talk either about robbers or goats. Indeed, Letty Glenmire said she never heard of any actual robberies, except that two little boys had stolen some apples from Farmer Benson's orchard, and that some eggs had been missed on a market-day off widow Hayward Stahl. But that was expecting too much of us. We could not acknowledge that we had only this small foundation for all our panic. Miss Pohl drew herself up to this remark of Letty Glenmire's, and said that she wished she could agree with her as to the very small reason we had had for alarm, but with the recollection of a man disguised as a woman who had endeavored to force himself into her house while his confederates waited outside, with the knowledge gained from Letty Glenmire herself of the footprint seen on Mrs. Jamison's flower-borders, with the fact before her of the audacious robbery committed on Mr. Hodgins at his own door. But here Letty Glenmire broke in with a very strong expression of doubt as to whether this last story was not an entire fabrication founded upon the theft of a cat. She grew so red while she was saying all this I was not surprised at Miss Pohl's manner of bridling up. I am certain if Letty Glenmire had not been her ladyship we should have seen a more emphatic contradiction than the well, to be sure, and similar fragmentary ejaculations which were all that she ventured upon in that lady's presence. But when she was gone Miss Pohl began a long congratulation to Miss Maddie that so far they had escaped marriage, which she noticed always made people credulous to the last degree. Indeed she thought it argued great natural credulity in a woman if she could not keep herself from being married, and in what Letty Glenmire had said about Mr. Hodgins's robbery we had a specimen of what people came to if they gave way to such a weakness. Evidently Letty Glenmire would swallow anything if she could believe the poor vamped up story about a neck of mutton and a pussy with which he had tried to impose on Miss Pohl, only she had always been on her guard against believing too much of what men said. We were thankful, as Miss Pohl desired us to be, that we had never been married, but I think of the two we were even more thankful that the robbers had left Cranford. At least I judged so from a speech of Miss Maddie's that evening, as we sat over the fire, in which she evidently looked upon a husband as a great protector against thieves, burglars, and ghosts, and said that she did not think that she should dare to be always warning young people against matrimony, as Miss Pohl did continually. To be sure marriage was a risk, as she saw, now she had had some experience, but she remembered the time when she had looked forward to being married as much as any one. Not to any particular person, my dear, said she, hastily checking herself up, as if she were afraid of having admitted too much. Only the old story, you know, of ladies always saying, when I marry, and gentlemen, if I marry. It was a joke spoken in a rather sad tone, and I doubt if either of us smiled, but I could not see Miss Maddie's face by the flickering firelight. In a little while she continued, But after all I have not told you the truth. It is so long ago, and no one ever knew how much I thought of it at the time, unless indeed, my dear mother guessed. But I may say that there was a time when I did not think I should have been Miss Maddie Jenkins all my life, for even if I did meet with any one who wished to marry me now, and as Miss Pohl says, one is never too safe, I could not take him. I hope he would not take it too much to heart, but I could not take him, or any one but the person I once thought I should be married to, and he is dead and gone, and he never knew how it all came about that I said no. When I had thought many and many a time—well, it's no matter what I thought. God ordains it all, and I am very happy, my dear. No one has such kind friends as I, continued she, taking my hand and holding it at hers. If I had never noted Mr. Holbrook, I could have said something in this pause, but as I had I could not think of anything that would come in naturally, and so we both kept silence for a little time. My father once made us, she began, keep a diary in two columns. On one side we were to put down in the morning what we thought would be the chorus and events of the coming day, and at night we were to put down on the other side what had really happened. It would be to some people rather a sad way of telling their lives. A tear dropped on my hand at these words. I don't mean that mine has been sad, only so very different to what I expected. I remember one winter's evening, sitting over our bedroom fire with Deborah. I remember it as if it were yesterday, and we were planning our future lives. Both of us were planning, though she only talked about it. She said she would like to marry an Archdeacon and write his charges. You know, my dear, she was never married, and for odd I know she never spoke to an unmarried Archdeacon in her life. I never was ambitious, nor could I have written charges, but I thought I could manage a house. My mother used to call me her right hand, and I was always so fond of little children. The shyest babies would stretch out their little arms to me when I was a girl. I was half my leisure-time nursing in the neighboring cottages, but I don't know how it was when I grew sad and grave, which I did a year or two after this time. The little things drew back from me, and I am afraid I lost the knack, though I am just as fond of children as ever, and have a strange yearning at my heart whenever I see a mother with her baby in her arms. Name I, dear, and by a sudden blaze which springs up from a fall of undesired curls. I saw that her eyes were full of tears, gazing intently on some vision of what might have been. Do you know I dream sometimes that I have a little child? Always the same, a little girl of about two years old. She never grows older, though I have dreamt about her for many years. I don't think I ever dream of any words or sounds she makes. She is very noiseless and still, but she comes to me when she is very sorry or very glad, and I have wakened with the clasp of her dear little arms round my neck. Only last night, perhaps because I had gone to sleep thinking of this ball for Phoebe, my little darling came in my dream and put up her mouth to be kissed, just as I have seen real babies do to real mothers before going to bed. But all this is nonsense, my dear, only don't be frightened by Miss Poe from being married. I fancy it may be a very happy state, and a little credulity helps one on through life very smoothly, better than always doubting and doubting and seeing difficulties and disagreeables and everything. If I had been inclined to be daunted for matrimony, it would not have been Miss Poe to do it. It would have been the lot of poor Senora Brunoni and his wife. And yet again it was an encouragement to see how, through all their cares and sorrows, they thought of each other and not of themselves, and how very keen were their joys if they only passed through each other or through the little Phoebe. The Senora told me one day a good deal about their lives up to this period. It began by my asking her whether Miss Poe's story of the twin brothers were true. It sounded so wonderful a likeness that I should have had my doubts if Miss Poe had not been unmarried. But the Senora, or as we found out she preferred to be called, Mrs. Brown, said it was quite true, that her brother-in-law was, by many, taken for her husband, which was of great assistance to them in their profession. Though she continued, how people can mistake Thomas for the real Senora Brunoni I can't conceive, but he says they do, so I suppose I must believe him. Not but what he is a very good man. I am sure I don't know how we should have paid our bill at the rising sun but for the money he sends. But people must know very little about art if they can take him for my husband. Why, Miss, in the ball-trick, where my husband threads his fingers wide and throws out his little finger with quite an air and a grace, Thomas just clumps up his hand like a fist, and might have ever so many balls hidden in it. Besides, he has never been in India, and knows nothing of the proper sit of a turban. Have you been in India? I said, rather astonished. Oh, yes, many a year, ma'am. Sam was a sergeant in the thirty-first, and when the regiment was ordered to India I drew a lot to go, and I was more thankful than I can tell, for it seemed as if it would only be a slow death to me to part from my husband. But indeed, ma'am, if I had known all, I don't know whether I would not have rather died there and then gone through what I have done since. To be sure I have been able to comfort Sam and be with him, but, ma'am, I have lost six children, said she, looking up at me with those strange eyes that I have never noticed but in mothers of dead children, with a kind of wild look in them, as if seeking for what they never more might find. Yes, six children died off like little buds nipped untimely in that cruel India. I thought as each died I never could, I never would love a child again, and when the next came it had not only its own love but the deeper love that came from the thoughts of its little dead brothers and sisters. And when Phoebe was coming I said to my husband, Sam, when the child is born and I am strong, I shall leave you. It will cut my heart cruel, but if this baby dies too I shall go mad. The madness is in me now, but if you let me go down to Calcutta, carrying my baby step by step, maybe it will work itself off, and I will save and I will board and I will beg and I will die to get a passage home to England where our baby may live. God bless him. He said I might go, and he saved up his pay, and I saved up every price I could get for washing or any way, and when Phoebe came and I grew strong again I set off. It was very lonely, through the thick forests, dark again with their heavy trees, along by the riverside, but I had been brought up by the Avon in Warwickshire, so that the flowing noise sounded like home, from station to station, from Indian village to village, I went along carrying my child. I had seen one of the officers' ladies with a little picture-ma'am, done by a Catholic foreigner-ma'am, of the Virgin and the Little Saviour-ma'am. She had him on her arm, and her form was softly curled round him, and their cheeks touched. Well, when I went to bid good-bye to this lady, for whom I had washed, she cried, sadly, for she too had lost her children, but she had not another to save like me, and I was bold enough to ask her, would she give me that print? And she cried the more, and said that her children were with that little blessed Jesus, and gave it me, and told me that she had heard it had been painted on the bottom of a cask, which made it have that round shape. And when my body was very weary, and my heart was sick, for there were times when I mis-doubted if I could ever reach my home, and there were times when I thought of my husband, and at one time when I thought my baby was dying, I took out that picture and looked at it, till I could have thought the mother spoke to me and comforted me. And the natives were very kind. We could not understand one another, but they saw my baby at my breast, and they came out to me, and brought me rice and milk, and sometimes flowers. I've got some of the flowers dried. Then the next morning I was so tired, and they wanted me to stay with them, I could tell that, and tried to frighten me from going into the deep woods, which indeed looked very strange and dark, but it seemed to me as if death was following me to take my baby away from me, and as if I must go on and on, and I thought how God had cared for mothers ever since the world was made, and would care for me. So I bade them good-bye, and set off afresh. And once when my baby was ill, and both she and I needed rest, he led me to a place where I found a kind Englishman lived, right in the midst of the natives. And you reached Calcutta safely at last? Yes, safely. Oh, when I knew I had only two days' journey more before me, I could not help it, ma'am. It might be idolatry, I cannot tell, but I was near one of the native temples, and I went into it with my baby to thank God for his great mercy, for it seemed to me that where others had prayed to their God, in their joy or their agony, was itself a sacred place. And I got as a servant to an invalid lady who grew quite fond of my baby aboard ship, and in two years' time Sam earned his discharge and came home to me and to our child. Then he had to fix on a trade, but he knew of none, and once upon a time he had learnt some tricks from an Indian juggler, so he set up conjuring, and it answered so well that he took Thomas to help him, as his man, you know, not as another conjurer, though Thomas has set it up now on his own hook. But it has been a great help to us, that likeness between the twins, and made a good many tricks go off well that they made up together. And Thomas is a good brother, only he has not the fine carriage of my husband, so I can't think how he can be taken for Senior Bernoni himself as he says he is. Poor little Phoebe, said I, my thoughts going back to the baby she carried all those hundred miles. Ah, you may say so. I never thought that I should have reared her, though when she fell ill at Chandrabadad, but that good kind Agha Jenkins took us in, which I believed was the very saving of her. Jenkins, said I, yes Jenkins, I shall think all people of that name are kind, for here is that nice old lady who comes every day to take Phoebe a walk. But an idea had flashed through my head. Would the Agha Jenkins be the lost Peter? True he was reported by many to be dead, but equally true some had said that he had arrived at the dignity of the great lama of Tibet. Miss Maddie thought he was alive. I would make further inquiry. CHAPTER XII of Cranford by Elizabeth Kledhorn Gaskell read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. CHAPTER XII ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED Was the poor Peter of Cranford the Agha Jenkins of Chandrabad, or was he not? As somebody says, that was the question. In my own home, whenever people had nothing else to do, they blamed me for want of discretion. In discretion was my bugbear fault. Everybody has a bugbear fault, a sort of standing characteristics, a pièce de résistance for their friends to cut at, and in general they cut and come again. I was tired of being called indiscreet and unconscious, and I determined for once to prove myself a model of prudence and wisdom. I would not even hint to my suspicions regarding the Agha. I would collect evidence and carry it home to lay before my father as the family friend of the two Miss Jenkinses. In my search after facts I was often reminded of a description my father had once given of a lady's committee that he had had to preside over. He said he could not help thinking of a passage in Dickens, which spoke of a chorus in which every man took the tune he knew best and sang it to his own satisfaction. So at this charitable committee every lady took the subject uppermost in her mind and talked about it to her own great contentment, but not much to the advancement of the subject they had met to discuss. But even that committee could have been nothing to the Cranford ladies when I attempted to gain some clear and definite information as to poor Peter's height, appearance, and when and where he was seen and heard of last. For instance, I remember asking Miss Polle, and I thought the question was very opportune, for I put it when I met her at a call at Mrs. Forster's, and both the ladies had known Peter, and I imagined that they might refresh each other's memories. I asked Miss Polle what was the very last thing they had ever heard about him, and then she named the absurd report to which I have eluded about his having been elected Great Lama of Tibet. And this was a signal for each lady to go off on her separate idea. Mrs. Forster's start was made on the veiled prophet in Lala Rukh. Whether I thought he was meant for the Great Lama, though Peter was not so ugly, indeed rather handsome if he had not been freckled. I was thankful to see her double upon Peter, but in a moment the delusive lady was off upon Roland's Caledor, and the merits of cosmetics and hair oils in general, and holding forth so fluently that I turned to listen to Miss Polle, who, through the llamas the beasts of burdens, had got to Peruvian bonds and the share market, and her poor opinion of joint stock banks in general, and of that one in particular in which Miss Maddie's money was invested. In vain I put in, when was it, in what year was it that you heard Mr. Peter was the Great Lama? They only joined to dispute the issue, whether llamas were carnivorous animals or not, in which dispute they were not quite on fair grounds, as Mrs. Forster, after they had grown warm and cool again, acknowledged that she always confused carnivorous and gammonivorous together, just as she did horizontal and perpendicular. But then she apologized for it very prettily, by saying that in her day the only use people made of four-syllable words was to teach how they should be spelt. The only fact I gained from this conversation was that certainly Peter had been last heard of in India, or in that neighborhood, and that this scanty intelligence of his whereabouts had reached Cranford in the year when Miss Polle had brought her Indian Muslim gown, long since worn out. We washed it and mended it and traced its decline and fall into a window blind before we could go on, and in a year when Womwell came to Cranford, because Miss Maddie had wanted to see an elephant in order that she might the better imagine Peter writing on one, and had seen a boa constrictor, too, which was more than she wished to imagine in her fancy pictures of Peter's locality, and in a year when Miss Jenkins had learnt some piece of poetry off by heart and used to say at all the Cranford parties how Peter was surveying mankind from China to Peru, which everybody had thought very grand and rather appropriate, because India was between China and Peru if you took care to turn the globe left instead of right. I suppose all these inquiries of mine and the consequent curiosity excited in the minds of my friends made us deaf and blind to what was going on around us. It seemed to me as if the sun rose and shone and as if the rain rained down Cranford just as usual, and I did not notice any sign of the times that could be considered as a prognostic of any uncommon event, and to the best of my belief not only Miss Maddie and Mrs. Forster, but even Miss Pol herself, whom we looked upon as a kind of prophetess from the knack she had of her seeing things before they came to pass, although she did not like to disturb her friends by telling them of her foreknowledge, even Miss Pol herself was breathless with astonishment when she came to tell us of the astounding piece of news. But I must recover myself. The contemplation of it, even at this distance of time, has taken away my breath and my grammar, and unless I subdue my emotion my spelling will go too. We were sitting, Miss Maddie and I, much as usual, she in the blue chins easy-chair, with her back to the light and her knitting in her hand, and I reading aloud the St. James's Chronicle. A few minutes more, and we should have gone to make the little alterations in dress usual before calling time, twelve o'clock in Cranford. I remember the scene and the date well. We had been talking of the senior's rapid recovery since the warmer weather had set in, and praising Mr. Hodgins' skill, and lamenting his want of refinement and manner. It seems a curious coincidence that this should have been our subject, but so it was. When a knock was heard, a caller's knock, three distinct taps, and we were flying, that is to say, Miss Maddie could not walk very fast, having had a touch of rheumatism to our rooms, to change cap and collars, when Miss Poll arrested us by calling out as she came up the stairs, Don't go, I can't wait, it is not twelve I know, but never mind your dress, I must speak to you. We did our best to look as if it was not we who had made the hurried movement, the sound of which she had heard. For, of course, we did not like to have it supposed that we had any old clothes, that it was convenient to wear out in the sanctuary of home, as Miss Jenkins once prettily called the back parlor, where she was tying up preserves. So we threw our gentility with double force into our manners, and very gentile we were for two minutes, while Miss Poll recovered breath, and excited our curiosity strongly by lifting up her hands in amazement, and bringing them down in silence, as if what she had to say was too big for words, and could only be expressed by pantomime. What do you think, Miss Maddie, what do you think? Lady Glenmire is to marry, it's to be married, I mean. Lady Glenmire, Mr. Hodgens, Mr. Hodgens is going to marry Lady Glenmire. Mary, said we, Mary, madness. Mary, said Miss Poll, with the decision that belonged to her character, I said Mary, as you do, and I also said, what a fool my lady is going to make of herself. I could have said madness, but I controlled myself, for it was in a public shop that I heard of it. Where feminine delicacy is gone to, I don't know. You and I, Miss Maddie, would have been ashamed to have known that our marriage was spoken of in a grocers' shop, in the hearing of shopmen. But, said Miss Maddie, sighing as one recovering from a blow, perhaps it is not true, perhaps we are doing her injustice. No, said Miss Poll, I have taken care to ascertain that. I went straight to Mrs. Fitzadam to borrow a cookery book which I knew she had, and I introduced my congratulations apropos of the difficulty gentlemen must have in housekeeping. And Mrs. Fitzadam bridled up, and said that she believed it was true, though how and where I could have heard it she did not know. She said her brother and Lady Glenmire had come to an understanding at last. Understanding? Such a coarse word! But my lady will have to come down to many a want of refinement. I have reason to believe Mr. Hodgson sups on bread and cheese and beer every night. Mary, said Miss Maddie once again, while I never thought of it. Two people that we know going to be married. It's coming very near. So near that my heart stopped beating when I heard of it, while you might have counted twelve, said Miss Poll. One does not know whose turn may come next. Here in Cranford poor Lady Glenmire might have thought herself safe, said Miss Maddie, with a gentle pity in her tones. Bah! said Miss Poll, with a toss of her head. Don't you remember poor Captain Brown's song, Tibe Fowler, and the line, Set her on the tin-top cap, the wind will blow a man till her? That was because Tibe Fowler was rich, I think. Well there was a kind of attraction about Lady Glenmire that I, for one, would be ashamed to have. I put in my wonder. But how can she have fancied Mr. Hodgson's? I am not surprised that Mr. Hodgson's has liked her. Oh, I don't know. Mr. Hodgson's is rich and very pleasant-looking, said Miss Maddie, and very good-tempered and kind-hearted. She is married for an establishment. That's it. I suppose she takes the sugary with it, said Miss Poll, with a little dry laugh at her own joke. But like many people who think that they have made a severe and sarcastic speech, which yet is clever of its kind, she began to relax in her grimness from the moment when she made the solution to the surgery, and we turn to speculate on the way in which Mrs. Jamison would receive the news. The person whom she had left in charge of her house to keep off followers from her maids to set up a follower of her own, and that follower a man whom Mrs. Jamison had tabooed as vulgar and inadmissible to Cranford Society, not merely on account of his name, but because of his voice, his complexion, his boots, smelling of the stable, and himself, smelling of drugs. Had he ever been to see Lady Glenmire at Mrs. Jamison's, chloride of lime would not purify the house in its owner's estimation if he had, or had their interviews been confined to the occasional meetings in the chamber of the poor sick conjurer, to whom, with all our sense of the mes allowance, we could not help allowing that they had both been exceedingly kind. And now it turned out that a servant of Mrs. Jamison's had been ill, and Mr. Hodgins had been attending to her for some weeks. So the wolf had got into the fold, and now he was carrying off the shepherdess. What would Mrs. Jamison say? We looked into the darkness of futurity as a child gazes after a rocket in the cloudy sky, full of wondering expectations of the rattle, the discharge, and the brilliant shower of sparks and light. Then we brought ourselves down to earth and the present time by questioning each other, being all equally ignorant and all equally without the slightest data to build any conclusions upon, as to when it would take place, where, how much a year Mr. Hodgins had, whether she would drop her title, and how Martha and the other correct servants in Cranford would ever be brought to announce a married couple as Lady Glenmire and Mr. Hodgins. But would they be visited? Would Mrs. Jamison let us? Or must we choose between the honourable Mrs. Jamison and the degraded Lady Glenmire? We all liked Lady Glenmire the best. She was bright and kind and sociable and agreeable, and Mrs. Jamison was dull and inert and pompous and tiresome. But we had acknowledged this way of the latter so long that it seemed like a kind of disloyalty even now to meditate disobedience to the prohibition we anticipated. Mrs. Forrester surprised us in our darned caps and patched collars, and we forgot all about them in our eagerness to see how she would bear the information, which we honourably left to Miss Pohl to impart. Although if we had been inclined to take unfair advantage we might have rushed in ourselves, for she had a most out-of-place fit of coughing for five minutes after Mrs. Forrester entered the room. I shall never forget the imploring expression of her eyes as she looked at us over her pocket-hanker-chip. They said, as plain as words could speak, don't let nature deprive me of the treasure which is mine, although for a time I could make no use of it. And we did not. Mrs. Forrester's surprise was equal to ours, and her sense of injury rather greater, because she had to feel for her order, and saw more fully than we could do how such conduct brought stains on the aristocracy. When she and Miss Pohl left us we endeavored to subside into calmness, but Miss Maddie was really upset by the intelligence she had heard. She reckoned it up, and it was more than fifteen years since she had heard of any of her acquaintance going to be married, with the one exception of Miss Jessie Brown, and as she said it gave her quite a shock, and made her feel as if she could not think what would happen next. I don't know whether it is a fancy of mine or a real fact, but I have noticed that, just after the announcement of an engagement in any set, the unmarried ladies in that set flutter out in an unusual gaiety and newness of dress, as much to say, in a tacit and unconscious manner, we are also spinsters. Miss Maddie and Miss Pohl talked and thought more about bonnets, gowns, caps, and shawls, during the fortnight that succeeded this call than I had known them to do for years before. But it might be the spring weather, for it was a warm and pleasant march, and marinos and beavers and woollen materials of all sorts were but ungracious receptacles of the bright sun's glancing rays. It had not been Lady Glenmire's dress that had won Mr. Hodgens's heart, for she went about on her errands of kindness more shabby than ever. Although in the hurried glimpses I caught of her at church or elsewhere she appeared rather to shun meeting any of her friends, her face seemed to have almost something of the flesh of youth in it. Her lips looked redder and more trembling, full in their old and compressed state. And her eyes dwelt on all things with a lingering light, as if she were learning to love Cranford in all its belongings. Mr. Hodgens looked broad and radiant, and creaked up the middle aisle at church in a brand new pair of top boots, and audible, as well as visible, sign of his purposed state of change, for the tradition went that the boots he had worn till now were the identical pair in which he had first sat on his rounds in Cranford twenty-five years ago, only they had been new-piece, high and low, top and bottom, heel and sole, black leather and brown leather, more times than any one could tell. None of the ladies in Cranford chose to sanction the marriage by congratulating either of the parties. We wished to ignore the whole affair until our leech lady, Mrs. Jameson, returned. Till she came back to give us our cue, we felt that it would be better to consider the engagement in the same light as the queen of Spain's legs, facts which certainly existed, but the less said about the better. This restrained upon our tongues, for, you see, if we did not speak about it to any of the parties concerned, how could we get answers to the questions that we longed to ask was beginning to be irksome, and our idea of the dignity of silence was pailing before our curiosity when another direction was given to our thoughts by an announcement on the part of the principal shopkeeper of Cranford, who ranged the trades from grocer and cheese monger to man milliner, as occasion required, that the spring fashions were arrived, and would be exhibited on the following Tuesday at his rooms in High Street. Now, Miss Maddie had been only waiting for this before buying herself a new silk gown. I had offered it as true to send a drumble for patterns, but she had rejected my proposal, gently implying that she had not forgotten her disappointment about the sea-green turban. I was thankful that I was on the spot now to counteract the dazzling fascination of any yellow or scarlet silk. I must say a word or two here about myself. I have spoken of my father's old friendship for the Jenkins family, and indeed, I am not sure if there was not some distant relationship. He had willingly allowed me to remain all the winter at Cranford in consideration of a letter which Miss Maddie had written to him about the time of the panic, in which I suspect that she had exaggerated my powers and my bravery as a defender of the house. But now that the days were longer and more cheerful, he was beginning to urge the necessity of my return. And I only delayed in a sort of odd, forlorn hope that if I could obtain any clear information I might make the account given by the senora of the Agha Jenkins, tally with that of poor Peter, his appearance and disappearance which I had winnowed out of the conversation of Miss Pole and Mrs. Forrester. CHAPTER XIII. STOPPED PAYMENT. The very Tuesday morning on which Mr. Johnson was going to show the fashions, the postwoman brought two letters to the house. I say the postwoman, but I should say the postman's wife. He was a lame shoemaker, a very clean, honest man, much respected in the town, but he never brought the letters round except on unusual occasions such as Christmas Day or Good Friday, and on those days the letters, which should have been delivered at eight in the morning, did not make their appearance until two or three in the afternoon, for everyone liked poor Thomas and gave him a welcome on these festive occasions. He used to say he was wellestah with eating, for there were three or four houses where not would serve him but he must share in their breakfast. And by the time he had done his last breakfast he came to some other friend who was beginning dinner, but come what might in the way of temptation, Tom was always sober, civil, and smiling, and as Miss Jenkins used to say, it was a lesson in patience that she doubted not would call out that precious quality in some minds, where but for Thomas it might have lain dormant and undiscovered. Patience was certainly very dormant in Miss Jenkins's mind. She was always expecting letters, and always drumming on the table till the postwoman had called or gone past. On Christmas Day and Good Friday she drummed from breakfast till church, from church time till two o'clock, unless when the fire wanted stirring, when she invariably knocked down the fire irons and scolded Miss Maddie for it. But equally certain was the hearty welcome and the good dinner for Thomas, Miss Jenkins standing over him like a bold dragoon, questioning him as to his children, what they were doing, what school they went to, abrading him if another was likely to make its appearance, but sending even the little babies the shilling and the mince pie which was her gift to all the children, with half a crown in addition for both father and mother. The post was not half of so much consequence to dear Miss Maddie, but not for the world which she have diminished Thomas's welcome and his dull. Though I could see that she felt rather shy over the ceremony, which would have been regarded by Miss Jenkins as a glorious opportunity for giving advice and benefitting her fellow creatures. Miss Maddie would steal the money all in a lump into his hand, as if she were ashamed of herself. Miss Jenkins gave him each individual coin separate, with a, there, that's for yourself, that's for Jenny, etc. Miss Maddie would even beckon Martha out of the kitchen while he ate his food, and once, to my knowledge, winked at its rapid disappearance into a blue cotton handkerchief. Miss Jenkins scolded him if he did not leave a clean plate, however heaped it might have been, and gave an injunction with every mouthful. I have wandered a long way from the two letters that awaited us on the breakfast-table that Tuesday morning. Mine was from my father. Miss Maddie's was printed. My father's was just a man's letter. I mean it was very dull, and gave no information beyond that he was well, that they had had a good deal of rain, and that trade was very stagnant, and that there were very many disagreeable rumors afloat. He then asked me if I knew whether Miss Maddie still retained her shares in the Town and Country Bank, as there were very unpleasant reports about it, though nothing more than he had always foreseen, and had prophesied to Miss Jenkins years ago, when she would invest their little property in it, the only unwise step that clever woman had ever taken to his knowledge, the only time she ever acted against his advice I knew. However, if anything had gone wrong, of course I was not to think of leaving Miss Maddie while it could be of any use, etc., etc. Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very civil invitation, signed Edwin Wilson, asking me to attend an important meeting of the shareholders of the Town and Country Bank, to be held and drumble on Thursday the twenty-first. I am sure it is very attentive of them to remember me. I did not like to hear of this important meeting, for though I did not know much about business, I feared it confirmed what my father said. However, I thought ill news always came fast enough, so I resolved to say nothing about my alarm, and merely told her that my father was well, and sent his kind regards to her. She kept turning over and admiring her letter. At last she spoke, I remember there sending one to Deborah just like this, but that I did not wonder at, for everybody knew she was so clear-headed. I am afraid I could not help them much. Indeed if they came to accounts I should be in quite the way, or I could never do sums in my head. Deborah I know, rather wished to go, and went so far as to order a new bonnet for the occasion, but when the time came she had a bad cold, so they sent her a very polite account of what they had done. Chosen a director, I think it was. Do you think they want me to help them, choose a director? I am sure I should choose your father at once. My father has no shares in the bank, said I. Oh, no! I remember. He objected very much to Deborah's buying any, I believe, but she was quite the woman of business, and always judged for herself. And here, you see, they have paid eight percent all these years. It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my half-knowledge, so I thought I would change the conversation, and asked what time she thought we had better go and see the fashions. While my dear, she said, the thing is this, it is not etiquette to go till after twelve, but then you see all Cranford will be there, and one does not like to be too curious about dress and trimmings and caps, with all the world looking on. It is never genteel to be over-curious on these occasions. Deborah had the knack of always looking as if the latest fashion was nothing new to her, a manner she had caught from Lady Arleigh, who did see all the new modes in London, you know. So I thought we would just slip down, for I do want this morning, soon after breakfast, half a pound of tea, and then we could go up and examine the things at our leisure, and see exactly how my new silk gown must be made. And then, after twelve, we could go with our minds disengaged and free from thoughts of dress. We began to talk of Miss Maddie's new silk gown. I discovered that it would be really the first time in her life that she had had to choose anything of consequence for herself, for Miss Jenkins had always been the more decided character, whatever her taste might have been, and it is astonishing how such people carry the world before them by the mere force of will. Miss Maddie anticipated the sight of the glossy folds with as much delight as if the five sovereigns set apart for the purchase could buy all the silts in the shop, and, remembering my own loss of two hours in a toy shop, before I could tell on what wonder to spend a silver thripence, I was very glad that we were going early, that dear Miss Maddie might have the leisure for the delights of perplexity. If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was to be sea-green. If not, she inclined to maize, and I to silver-grey, and we discussed the requisite number of breaths until we arrived at the shop door. We were to buy the tea, select the silk, and then clamor up the iron quartz-crew stairs that led into what was once aloft, though now a fashion showroom. The young men at Mr. Johnson's had on their best looks and their best cravats, and pivoted themselves over the counter with surprising activity. They wanted to show us upstairs at once, but on the principle of business first and pleasure afterwards we stayed to purchase the tea. Here Miss Maddie's absence of mind betrayed itself. If she was made aware that she had been drinking green tea at any time, she always thought of her duty to lie awake half through the night afterward. I have known her to take it in ignorance many of time without such effects, and consequently green tea was prohibited at the house. Yet today she herself asked for the obnoxious article under the impression that she was talking about the silk. However, the mistake was soon rectified, and then the silk's unrolled in good truth. By this time the shop was pretty well filled, for it was Cranford Market Day, and many of the farmers and country people from the neighborhood round came in, sleaking down their hair and glancing shyly about from under their eyelids, as anxious to take back some notion of the unusual gaiety to the mistress of the lass's at home, and yet feeling that they were out of place among the smart shopmen and gay shawls and summer-prints. One honest-looking man, however, made his way up to the counter at which we stood, and boldly asked to look at a shawl or two. The other country folk confined themselves to the grocery side, but our neighbor was evidently too full of some kind intention towards mistress, wife, or daughter to be shy, and it soon became a question with me whether he or Miss Maddie would keep their shopmen the longest time. He thought each shawl a more beautiful than the last, and as for Miss Maddie she smiled and sighed over each fresh bale that was brought out. One color set off another, and the heap together would, as she said, make even the rainbow look poor. I am afraid, said she, hesitating, whichever I choose, I shall wish I had taken another. Look at this lovely crimson! It would be so warm in winter. But spring is coming on, you know. I wish I could have a gown for every season, said she, dropping her voice, as we all did in Cranford whenever we talked of anything we wished for but could not afford. However, she continued in a louder and more cheerful tone. It would give me a great deal of trouble to take care of them if I had them. So I think I'll only take one. But which must it be, my dear? And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, while I pulled out a quiet sage-green that had faded into insignificance among the more brilliant colors, but which was nevertheless a good silk in its humble way. Our attention was called off to our neighbor. He had chosen a shawl of about thirty shillings' value, and his face looked broadly happy, under the anticipation, no doubt, of the pleasant surprise he would give to some molly or Jenny at home. He had tugged a leather purse out of his breech's pocket, and had offered a five-pound note in payment for the shawl, and for some parcels which had been brought round to him from the grocery counter, and it was just at this point that he attracted our notice. The shopman was examining the note with a puzzled, doubtful air. Town and county bank. I am not sure, sir, but I believe we have received a warning against notes issued by this bank only this morning. I will just step and ask Mr. Johnson, sir, but I'm afraid I must trouble you for payment in cash or in a note of a different bank. I never saw a man's countenance fall so suddenly into dismay and bewilderment. It was almost piteous to see the rapid change. Dang it! said he, striking his fist down on the table, as if to try, which was the harder, the chap talks as if notes and gold were to be had for the picking up. Miss Maddie had forgotten her silk gown in her interest for the man. I don't think she had caught the name of the bank, and in my nervous cowardice I was anxious that she should not, and so I began admiring the yellow-spotted lilac gown that I had been utterly condemning only a minute before. But it was of no use. What bank was it? I mean, what bank did your note belong to? Town and county bank. Let me see it, she said quietly to the shopman, gently taking it out of his hand as he brought it back to return it to the farmer. Mr. Johnson was very sorry, but from information he had received the notes issued by that bank were little better than waste paper. I don't understand it, said Miss Maddie to me in a low voice. That is our bank, is it not, the town and county bank? Yes, said I. This lilac silk would just match the ribbons in your new cap, I believe. I continued, holding up the fold so as to catch the light, and wishing that the man would make haste and be gone, and yet having a new wonder that had only just sprung up, how far it was wise or right in me to allow Miss Maddie to make this expensive purchase if the affairs of the bank were really so bad as the refusal of the note implied. But Miss Maddie put on the soft, dignified manner peculiar to her, rarely used, and yet which became her so well, and laying her hand gently on mine, she said, Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I don't understand you, sir, turning now to the shopman, who had been attending to the farmer. Is this a forged note? Oh, no, ma'am, it is a true note of its kind, but you see, ma'am, it is a joint stock bank, and there are reports out that it is likely to break. Mr. Johnson is only doing his duty, ma'am, as I am sure Mr. Dobson knows. But Mr. Dobson could not respond to the appealing bow by any answering smile. He was turning the note absently over in his fingers, looking gloomily enough at the parcel containing the lately chosen shawl. It's hard upon a poor man, said he, as earns every farthing with the sweat of his brow. However, there's no help for it. You must take back your shawl, my man, Lizzie must go on with her cloak for a while. And yawn figs for the little ones. I promise them to them. I'll take them. But the back-o, and the other things. I will give you five sovereigns for your note, my good man," said Miss Maddie. I think there is some great mistake about it, for I am one of the shareholders, and I'm sure they would have told me if things had not been going on right. The shopman whispered a word or two across the table to Miss Maddie. She looked at him with a dubious air. Perhaps so, said she, but I don't pretend to understand business. I only know that if it is going to fail, and if honest people are to lose their money because they have taken our notes. I can't explain myself, said she, suddenly becoming aware that she had got into a long sentence with four people for audience. Only I would rather exchange my gold for the note, if you please. Turning to the farmer. And then you can take your wife the shawl. It is only going without my gown a few days longer, she continued, speaking to me. Then I have no doubt everything will be cleared up. But if it is cleared up the wrong way, said I. Why, then it will only have been common honesty in me, as a shareholder, to have given this good man the money. I am quite clear about it in my own mind, but you know I can never speak quite as comprehensively as others can. Only you must give me your note, Mr. Dobson, if you please, and go on with your purchases with these sovereigns. The man looked at her with silent gratitude. Too awkward to put his thanks into words, but he hung back for a minute or two, fumbling with his note. I'm loath to make another one lose instead of me, if it is a loss, but you see, five pounds is a great deal of money to a man with a family, and as you say, ten to one in a day or two the note will be as good as gold again. No hope of that, my friend, said the shopman. The more reason why I should take it, said Miss Maddie quietly. She pushed her sovereigns toward the man who slowly laid his note down in exchange. Thank you. I will wait a day or two before I purchase any of these silks. Perhaps then you will have a greater choice. My dear, will you come upstairs? We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious and an interest as if the gown to be made after them had been bought. I could not see that the little event in the shop below had in the lease dampened Miss Maddie's curiosity as to the make of sleeves or the set of skirts. She once or twice exchanged congratulations with me on our private and leisurely view of bonnets and shawls, but I was, all the time, not so sure that our examination was utterly private, for I caught glimpsons of a figure dodging behind the cloaks and mantles, and by a dexterous move I came face to face with Miss Pole, also in mourning costume, the principal feature of which was her being without teeth and wearing a veil to conceal the deficiency, come on the same errand as ourselves. But she quickly took her departure, because, as she said, she had had a bad headache and did not feel herself up to conversation. As we came down through the shop the civil Mr. Johnson was awaiting us. He had been informed of the exchange of the note for gold and with much good feeling and real kindness, but with a little want of tact he wished to condole with Miss Maddie and to impress upon her the true state of the case. I could only hope that he had heard an exaggerated rumor, for he said that her shares were worse than nothing and that the bank could not pay a shilling in the pound. I was glad that Miss Maddie seemed a little incredulous, but I could not tell how much of this was real or assumed, with that self-control which seemed habitual to ladies of Miss Maddie standing in Cranford, who would have thought their dignity compromised by the slightest expression of surprise, dismay, or any similar feeling to an inferior in station or in a public shop. However we walked home very silently. I am ashamed to say I believe I was rather vexed and annoyed at Miss Maddie's conduct in taking the note to herself so decidedly. I had set my heart upon her having a new silk gown, which she wanted sadly. In general she was so undecided anybody might turn her around. In this case I had felt that it was no use attempting it, but I was not the less put out at the result. Somehow after twelve o'clock we both acknowledged to a sated curiosity about the fashions and to a certain fatigue of body, which was in fact depression of mind, that indisposed us to go out again. But still we never spoke of the note, till all at once something possessed me to ask Miss Maddie if she would think at her duty to offer sovereigns for all the notes of the town and county bank she met with. I could have bitten my tongue out the minute I had set it. She looked up rather sadly, and as if I had thrown a new perplexity into her already distressed mind, and for a minute or two she did not speak. Then she said, my own dear Miss Maddie, without a shade of approach in her voice, my dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people call very strong, and it's often hard enough work for me to settle what I ought to do with the case right before me. I was very thankful to—I was very thankful that I saw my duty this morning with the poor man standing by me, but it's rather a strain upon me to keep thinking and thinking what I should do if such and such a thing happened, and I believe I had rather wait and see what really does come, and I don't doubt I shall be helped then if I don't fidget myself and get too anxious beforehand. You know, love, I'm not like Deborah. If Deborah had lived, I've no doubt she would have seen after them, before they had gotten themselves into this state. We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though we tried to talk cheerfully about indifferent things. When we returned into the drawing-room Miss Maddie unlocked her desk and began to look over her account-books. I was so penitent for what I had said in the morning that I did not choose to take upon myself the presumption to suppose that I could assist her. I rather left her alone, as with puzzled brow her eye followed her pen up and down the ruled page. By and by she shut the book, locked the desk, and came and drew a chair to mine where I sat in moody sorrow over the fire. I stole my hand in hers, she clasped it, but did not speak a word. At last she said, with forced composure in her voice, if that bank goes wrong I shall lose one hundred and forty-nine pounds, thirteen shilling and four pence a year, I shall only have thirteen pounds a year left. I squeezed her hand hard and tight. I did not know what to say. Suddenly it was too dark to see her face. I felt her fingers work convulsively in my grasp, and I knew she was going to speak again. I heard the sobs in her voice as she said, I hope it's not wrong, not wicked. But, oh, I am so glad poor Deborah is spared this. She could not have borne to come down in the world. She had such a noble lofty spirit. This was all she said about the sister who had insisted upon investing their little property in that unlucky bank. We were later enlightening the candle than usual that night, and until that light shamed us into speaking we sat together very silently and sadly. However, we took our work after tea with a kind of forced cheerfulness, which soon became real as far as it went, talking of that never-ending wonder Lady Glenmire's engagement. Miss Maddie was almost coming round to think it a good thing. I don't mean to deny that men are troublesome in a house. I don't judge from my own experience, for my father was neatness itself, and wiped his shoes on coming in as carefully as any woman. But still a man has a sort of knowledge of what should be done in difficulties, and that it is very pleasant to have one at hand ready to lean upon. Now, Lady Glenmire, instead of being tossed about and wondering where she is to settle, will be certain of a home among pleasant and kind people, such as our good Miss Pole and Mrs. Forrester. And Mr. Hodgins is really a very personable man, and as for his manners, why, if they are not very polished, I have known people with very good hearts and very clever minds, too, who were not what some people reckoned refined, but who were both true and tender. She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr. Holbrook, and I did not interrupt her. I was so busy maturing a plan I had had in my mind for some days, but which this threatened failure of the bank had brought to a crisis. That night, after Miss Maddie went to bed, I treacherously lighted the candle again, and sat down in the drawing-room to compose a letter to the Agha Jenkins, a letter which should affect him if he were Peter, and yet seem a mere statement of dry facts if he were a stranger. The church-clock peeled, too, before I had done. The next morning news came, both official and otherwise, that the town and county bank had stopped payment. Miss Maddie was ruined. She tried to speak quietly to me, but when she came to the actual fact that she would have but about five shillings a week to lip-upon, she could not restrain a few tears. I am not crying for myself, dear, said she, wiping them away. I believe I am crying for the very silly thought of how my mother would grieve if she could know she always cared for us so much more than for herself. But many a poor person has less, and I am not very extravagant, and thank God when the neck of mutton and Martha's wages and the renter paid, I have not a farthing owing. Poor Martha, I think she'll be sorry to leave me. Miss Maddie smiled at me through her tears, and she would feign have had me see only the smile, not the tears. CHAPTER XIV of Cranford by Elizabeth Clegghorn-Gascol CHAPTER XIV Friends in Need It was an example to me, and I fancy it might be to many others, to see how immediately Miss Maddie said about the retrenchment which she knew to be right under her altered circumstances. While she went down to speak to Martha and break the intelligence to her, I stole out with my letter to the Agha Jenkins and went to the Seniors' lodgings to obtain the exact address. I bound the Senora to secrecy, and indeed her military manners had a degree of shortness in reserving them which made her always say as little as possible except when under the pressure of strong excitement. Moreover, which made my secret doubly sure, the Senora was now so far recovered as to be looking forward to traveling and conjuring again in the space of a few days when he, his wife, and little Phoebe would leave Cranford. Indeed I found him looking over a great black and red placard in which the Senora Brunoni's accomplishments were set forth, and of which only the name of the town where he would next display them was wanting. He and his wife were so much absorbed in deciding where the red letters would come in with most effect, it might have been the rubric for that matter, that it was some time before I could get my question asked privately, and not before I had given several decisions the which I questioned afterwards with equal wisdom of sincerity as soon as the Senora threw in his doubts and reasons on the important subject. At last I got the address, spelt by sound, and very queer it looked. I dropped in the post on my way home, and then for a minute I stood looking at the wooden pane with a gaping slit which divided me from the letter but a moment ago in my hand. It was gone from me like life never to be recalled. It would get tossed about on the sea, and stained with sea waves perhaps, and be carried among the palm trees, and scented with all tropical fragrance, the little pieces of paper, but an hour ago so familiar and commonplace, had sat out on its race to the strange, wild countries beyond the Ganges. But I could not afford to lose much time on this speculation. I hastened home that Miss Maddie might not miss me. Martha opened the door to me, her face swollen with crying. As soon as she saw me she burst out afresh, and taking hold of my arm she pulled me in, and banged the door to, in order to ask me if, indeed it was all true that Miss Maddie had been saying. I'll never leave her. No, I won't. I'd tell her so, and I could not think how she could find it in her heart to give me warning. I could not have had the face to do it if I'd been her. I might have been just as good for nothing as Mrs. Fitzalum's Rosie, who struck for wages after living seven years and a half in one place. I said I was not one to go and serve mammon at that rate, that I knew when I'd got a good Mrs., and if she didn't think she'd got a good servant. But Martha, said I, cutting in while she wiped her eyes. Don't put Martha me, she replied to my deprecatory tone. Listen to reason. I'll not listen to reason, she said, now in full possession of her voice, which had been rather choked with sobbing. Reason always means what someone else has got to say. Now I think what I've got to say is good enough reason, but reason or not I'll say it and I'll stick to it. I've money in the savings bank and I have a good stock of clothes, and I'm not going to leave Miss Maddie. No, not if she gives me warning every hour in the day. She put her arms akimbo as much to say she defied me, and indeed I could hardly tell how to begin to remonstrate with her, so much did I feel that Miss Maddie, in her increasing infirmity, needed the attendance of this kind and faithful woman. Well, said I at last, I'm thankful you begin with well. If you'd have begun with but, as you did before, I'd not listen to you. Now you may go on. I know you would be a great loss to Miss Maddie, Martha. I tell'd her so, a loss she'd never cease to be sorry for, broken, Martha, triumphantly. Still, she will have so little, so very little to live upon, that I don't see just now how she could find you food. She will be even pressed for her own. I tell you this, Martha, because I feel you are like a friend to dear Miss Maddie, but you know she might not like to have it spoken about. Apparently, this was even a blacker view of the subject than Miss Maddie had presented to her. For Martha just sat down on the first chair that came to hand, and cried out loud. We had been standing in the kitchen. At last she put her apron down, and looking me earnestly in the face, asked, Was that the reason Miss Maddie wouldn't order a pudding today? She said she had no great fancy for sweet things, and you and she would just have a mutton chop. But I'll be up to her. Never you tell, but I'll make her a pudding, and a pudding she'll like too, and I'll pay for it myself. So mind that she eats it. Many a one has been comforted in their sorrow by seeing a good dish come upon the table. I was rather glad that Martha's energy had taken the immediate and practical direction of pudding-making, for it saved off the quarrelsome discussion as to whether she should or should not leave Miss Maddie's service. She began to tie on a clean apron, and otherwise prepare herself for going to the shop for the butter, eggs, and what else she might require. She would not use a scrap of the articles already in the house for her cookery, but went to an old teapot in which her private store of money was deposited and took out what she wanted. I found Miss Maddie very quiet, and not a little sad, but by and by she tried to smile for my sake. It was settled that I was to write to my father and ask him to come over and hold a consultation, and as soon as this letter was dispatched we began to talk over future plans. Miss Maddie's idea was to take a single room and retain as much of her furniture as would be necessary to fit up this and sell the rest, and there to quietly exist upon what would remain after paying the rent. For my part I was more ambitious and less contented. I thought of all the things by which a woman, past middle age, and with the education common, to ladies fifty years ago, could earn or add to a living without materially losing case. But at length I put even this last clause on one side and wondered what in the world Miss Maddie could do. Teaching was, of course, the first thing that suggested itself. If Miss Maddie could teach children anything it would throw her among the little elves in whom her soul delighted. I ran over her accomplishments. Once upon a time I had heard her say she could play Ah! Vue-dir et jeu maman? on the piano, but that was long, long ago, that faint shadow of musical acquirement had died out years before. We had also once been able to trace out patterns very nicely for muslin embroidery by dint of placing a piece of silver paper over the design to be copied, and holding both against the window-pane while she marked the scallop and eyelet-holes. But that was her nearest approach to the accomplishment of drawing, and I did not think it would go very far. Then again as to the branches of a solid English education, fancy work, and the use of the globes, such as the mistress of the Lady's Seminary, to which all the tradespeople in Cranford sent their daughters, professed to teach. Miss Maddie's eyes were failing her, and I doubted if she could discover the number of threads in a worsted work pattern, or rightly appreciate the different shades required for Queen Adelaide's face in the loyal wool-work now fashionable in Cranford. As for the use of the globes, I had never been able to find it out myself, so perhaps I was not a good judge of Miss Maddie's capability of instructing in this branch of education. But it struck me that equators and tropics, and such mystical circles, were very imaginary lines indeed to her, and that she looked upon the signs of the zodiac as so many remnants of the black art. What she peaked herself upon, as arts in which she excelled, was making candle-lighters, or spills, as she preferred calling them, of colored paper, cut so as to resemble feathers and knitting garters in a variety of dainty stitches. I had once said, on receiving a present of an elaborate pair, that I should feel quite tempted to drop one of them in the street, in order to have it admired. But I found this little joke, and it was a very little one, was such a distress to her sense of propriety, and was taken with such anxious earnest alarm, lest temptation might some day prove too strong for me, that I quite regretted having ventured upon it. A present of these delicately wrought garters, a bunch of gay spills, or a set of cards on which sewing silk was wound in a mystical manner, were the well-known tokens of Miss Maddie's favour. But would any one pay to have their children taught these arts? Or indeed would Miss Maddie sell, for filthy lucre, the knack in the skill with which she made trifles of value to those who loved her? I had to come down to reading, writing, and arithmetic, and in reading the chapter every morning she always coughed before coming to long words. I doubted her power of getting through a genealogical chapter without any number of coughs. Writing she did well and delicately, but spelling, she seemed to think that the more out of the way this was, and the more trouble it cost her, the greater the compliment she paid to her correspondent, and words that she would spell quite correctly in her letters to me became perfect enigmas when she wrote to my father. No, there was nothing she could teach to the rising generation of Cranford, unless they had been quick learners and ready imitators of her patience, her humility, her sweetness, her quiet contentment with all that she could not do. I pondered and pondered until dinner was announced by Martha, with a face all blubbered and swollen with crying. Miss Maddie had a few little peculiarities which Martha was apt to regard as whims below her attention, and appeared to consider as childish fancies of which an old lady of fifty-eight should try and cure herself. But today everything was attended to with the most careful regard. The bread was cut to the imaginary pattern of excellence that existed in Miss Maddie's mind as being the way which her mother had preferred. The curtain was drawn so as to exclude the dead brick wall of a neighbor's stable, and yet left so as to show every tender leaf of the poplar which was bursting into spring beauty. Martha's tone to Miss Maddie was just such as that good, rough-spoken servant usually kept sacred for little children and which I had never heard her used to any grown-up person. I had forgotten to tell Miss Maddie about the pudding, and I was afraid she might not do justice to it, for she had evidently very little appetite this day, so I seized the opportunity of letting her into the secret while Martha took away the meat. Miss Maddie's eyes filled with tears, and she could not speak, either to express surprise or delight when Martha returned bearing it aloft, made in the most wonderful representation of a lion-couchant that was ever molded. Martha's face gleamed with triumph as she set it down before Miss Maddie with an exultant there. Miss Maddie wanted to speak her thanks but could not, so she took Martha's hand and shook it warmly, which set Martha off crying, and I myself could hardly keep up the necessary composure. Martha burst out of the room, and Miss Maddie had to clear her voice once or twice before she could speak. At last she said, I should like to keep this pudding under a glass shade, my dear, and the notion of the lion-couchant with his current eyes being hoisted up to the place of honour on a mantelpiece, tickled my hysterical fancy, and I began to laugh, which rather surprised Miss Maddie. I am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things under a glass shade before now, said she. So had I, many a time and oft, and I accordingly composed my countenance, and now I could hardly keep from crying, and we both fell upon the pudding, which was indeed excellent, only every morsel seemed to choke us, our hearts were so full. We had too much to think about to talk much that afternoon. It passed over very tranquilly. But when the tea-earn was brought in, a new thought came into my head. Why should not Miss Maddie sell tea? Be an agent to the East India Tea Company which then existed. I could see no objections to this plan, while the advantages were many, always supposing that Miss Maddie could get over the degradation of condescending to anything like trade. Tea was neither greasy nor sticky, grease and stickiness being two of the qualities which Miss Maddie could not endure. No shop window would be required. A small, gentile notification of her being licensed to sell tea would, it is true, be necessary, but I hoped that it could be placed where no one would see it. Neither was tea a heavy article, so as to tax Miss Maddie's fragile strength. The only thing against my plan was the buying and selling involved. While I was giving, but absent answers to the questions Miss Maddie was putting, almost as absently, we heard a clumping sound on the stairs and a whispering outside the door, which indeed once opened and shut as if by some invisible agency. After a little while Martha came in, dragging after her a great, tall, young man, all crimson with shyness, and finding his only relief in perpetually sleeking down his hair. Please, ma'am, he is only Jim Hearn, said Martha by way of an introduction, and so out of breath was she that I imagine she had had some bodily struggle before she could overcome his reluctance to be presented on the courtly scene of Miss Matilda Jenkins' drawing-room. And please, ma'am, he wants to marry me offhand. And please, ma'am, he wants to take a lodger, just one quiet one, to make our two ends meet, and we'd take any house comfortable, and oh dear Miss Maddie, if I may be so bold, would you have any objections to lodging with us? Jim wants it as much as I do. To Jim. You great oaf! Why can't you back me? But he does want it all the same very bad, don't you, Jim? Only you see he's dazed at being called on to speak before quality. It's not that, broken, Jim. It's that you've taken me all on a sudden, and I didn't think for to get married so soon. And such quick words does flabbergast a man. It's not that I'm against it, ma'am, addressing Miss Maddie. Only Martha has such quick ways with her when she once takes a thing into her head, and marriage, ma'am, marriage nails a man, as one may say. I dare say I shan't mind it after it's once over. Please, ma'am, said Martha, who had plucked it in sleeve, and nudged him with her elbow, and otherwise tried to interrupt him all the time he had been speaking. Don't mind him, he'll come, too, to his only last night he was an ax in me, and an ax in me, and all the more because I said I could not think of it for years to come. And now he's only taken aback with the suddenness of the joy. But you know, Jim, you are just as full as me about wanting a lodger. Another great nudge. I, if Miss Maddie would lodge with us, otherwise I have no mind to be cumbered with strange folk in the house, said Jim, with the want of tact which I could see enraged Martha, who was trying to represent a lodger as the only object they wished to obtain, and that, in fact, Miss Maddie would be smoothing their path and conferring a favour if she would only come and live with them. Miss Maddie herself was bewildered by the pair. There, or rather Martha's sudden resolution in favour of matrimony staggered her, and stood between her and the contemplation of the plan which Martha had at heart. Miss Maddie began, Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha. It is indeed, ma'am, quote Jim, not that I have no objections to Martha. You've never let me be a askin' for me to fix when I would be married, said Martha, her face all afire and ready to cry with fixation, and now you're shaming me before my missus in all. Nay, now, Martha, don't eat, don't eat. Only a man likes to have breathein' time, said Jim, trying to possess himself of her hand, but in vain. Then sheen she was more seriously hurt than he had imagined, he seemed to try to rally his scattered faculties, and with more straightforward dignity, than ten minutes before I should have thought it possible for him to assume, he turned to Miss Maddie and said, I hope, ma'am, you know that I am bound to respect everyone who has been kind to Martha. I always looked on her as to be my wife, some time, and she has often and often spoken of you as the kindest lady that ever was. And though the plain truth is, I would not like to be troubled with lodgers of the common run, yet if, ma'am, you'd honor us by living with us, I'm sure Martha would do her best to make you comfortable, and I'd keep out of your way as much as I could, which I reckon would be about the best kindness such an awkward chap as me could do. Miss Maddie had been very busy with taking off her spectacles, wiping them and replacing them, but all she could say was, Don't let any thought of me hurry you into marriage, pray don't. Marriage is such a very solemn thing. But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, Martha, said I, struck with the advantages that it offered, and unwilling to lose the opportunity of considering about it. And I'm sure neither she nor I can ever forget your kindness, nor yours either, Jim. Why, yes, ma'am, I'm sure I mean kindly, though I'm a bit flustered by being pushed straight ahead into matrimony, as it were, and manned to express myself comfortable. But I'm sure I'm willing enough, and give me time to get accustomed, so, Martha Wench, watch the use of crying so and slapping me if I come near. This last was Sotovoce, and had the effect of making Martha bounce out of the room to be followed ensued by her lover. Whereupon Miss Maddie sat down and cried very heartily, and accounted for it by saying that the thought of Martha being married so soon gave her quite a shock, and that she should never forgive herself if she thought she was hurrying the poor creature. I think my pity was more for Jim of the two, but both Miss Maddie and I appreciated to the full the kindness of the honest couple, although we said little about this and a good deal about the chances and dangers of matrimony. The next morning, very early, I received a note from Miss Pohl, so mysteriously wrapped up, and with so many seals on it to secure a secrecy, that I had to tear the paper before I could unfold it. And when I came to the writing I could hardly understand the meeting, it was so involved and oracular. I made out, however, that I was to go to Miss Pohl's at eleven o'clock, the number eleven being written in full length as well as in numerals, and A.M. twice dashed under, as if I were very likely to come at eleven at night, when all Cranford was usually a bed and a sleep by ten. There was no signature except Miss Pohl's initials reversed, P.E., but as Martha had given me the note, with Miss Pohl's kind regards, it needed no wizard to find out who sent it, and if the writer's name was to be kept secret it was very well that I was alone when Martha delivered it. I went as requested to Miss Pohl's. The door was open to me by her little maid Lizzie in Sunday Trim, as if some grand event was impeding over this work-day. And the drawing-room upstairs was arranged in accordance with this idea. The table was set out with the best green card-cloth and writing-materials upon it. On the little chiffonet was a tray with a newly decanted bottle of cow-slip wine, and some lady's finger biscuits. Miss Pohl herself was in solemn array, as if to receive visitors, although it was only eleven o'clock. Mrs. Forster was there, quying, quietly and sadly, and my arrival seemed only to call forth fresh tears. Before we had finished our greetings, performed with legubrious mystery of demeanor, there was another rat-tat-tat, and Mrs. Fitz-Adams appeared, crimson with walking and incitement. It seemed as if this was all the company expected, for now Miss Pohl made several demonstrations of being about to open the business of the meeting, by stirring the fire, opening and shutting the door, and coughing and blowing her nose. Then she arranged us all round the table, taking care to place me opposite to her, and, last of all, she inquired of me if the sad report was true, as she feared it was that Miss Maddie had lost all her fortune. Of course I had but one answer to make, and I never saw more unaffected sorrow depicted on any countenances than I did there on the three before me. I wish Mrs. Jameson was here, said Mrs. Forster at last, but to judge for Mrs. Fitz-Adams' face she could not second the wish. But without Mrs. Jameson, said Miss Pohl, with a sound of offended merit in her voice, we, the ladies of Cranford, in my drawing-room assembled, can resolve upon something. I imagine we are none of us what may be called rich, though we all possess a genteel competency, sufficient for tastes that are elegant and refined, and would not, if they could, be vulgarly ostentatious. Here I observed Miss Pohl to refer to a small card concealed in her hand, on which I imagined she had put down a few notes. Miss Smith, she continued, addressing me, familiarly known as Mary to all the company assembled, but this was a state occasion. I have conversed in private. I have made it my business to do so yesterday afternoon, with these ladies on the misfortune which has happened to our friend, and one and all of us have agreed that while we have superfluity it is not a duty, but a pleasure, a true pleasure, Mary, her voice was rather choked just here, and she had to wipe her spectacles before she could go on, to give what we can to assist her, Miss Matilda Jenkins. Only in consideration of the feelings of delicate independence existing in the mind of every refined female, I was sure she had got back to the card now. We wish to contribute our mites in a secret and concealed manner, so as not to hurt the feelings I have referred to. And our object in requesting you to meet us this morning is that, believing you are the daughter, that your father is, in fact, her confidential advisor in all pecuniary matters, we imagined that, by consulting with him, you might devise some mode in which our contribution could be made to appear the legal due which Miss Matilda Jenkins ought to receive from—probably your father, knowing her investments, can fill up the blank. And this poll concluded her address and looked round for approval and agreement. I have expressed your meeting, ladies, have I not, and while Miss Smith considers what reply to make, allow me to offer you some little refreshment. I had no great reply to make. I had more thankfulness at my heart for their kind thoughts than I cared to put into words, and so only mumbled out something to the effect that I would name what Miss Poll said to my father, and that if anything could be arranged for dear Miss Matty, and here I broke down utterly, and had to be refreshed with a glass of a cowslip wine before I could check the crying which had been repressed for the last two or three days. The worst was all the ladies cried in concert. Even Miss Poll cried, who had said a hundred times that to betray a motion before anyone was a sign of weakness and want of self-control. She recovered herself into a slight degree of impatient anger directed against me as having set them all off, and moreover I think she was vexed that I could not make a speech back in return for hers, and if I had known beforehand what was to be said, and had a card on which to express the probable feelings that would rise in my heart, I would have tried to gratify her. As it was, Mrs. Forrester was the person to speak when we had recovered our composure. I don't mind among friends stating that I—no, I'm not poor exactly, but I don't think I'm what you may be called rich. I wish I were for dear Miss Matty's sake, but if you please, I'll write down in a sealed paper what I can give. I only wish it was more, my dear Mary. I do indeed. Now I saw why paper, pens, and ink were provided. Every lady wrote down the sum she could give annually, signed the paper, and sealed it mysteriously. If their proposal was acceded to, my father was to be allowed to open the papers under pledge of secrecy. If not, they were to be returned to their writers. When the ceremony had been gone through I rose to depart, but each lady seemed to wish to have a private conference with me. Mrs. Pohl kept me in the drawing-room to explain why, in Mrs. Jamison's absence, she had taken the lead in this movement, as she was pleased to call it, and also to inform me that she had heard from good sources that Mrs. Jamison was coming home directly in a state of hideous pleasure against her sister-in-law, who was forthwith to leave her house, and was, she believed, to return to Edinburgh that very afternoon. Of course this piece of intelligence could not be communicated before Mrs. Fitzadam, more especially as Miss Pohl was inclined to think that Lady Glenmire's engagement to Mr. Hodgins could not possibly hold against the blades of Mrs. Jamison's displeasure. A few hearty inquiries after Miss Maddie's health concluded my interview with Miss Pohl. On coming downstairs I found Mrs. Forster waiting for me at the entrance to the dining-parlor. She drew me in, and when the door was shut she tried two or three times to begin on subject, which was so unapproachable apparently that I begun to despair of our ever-getting to a clear understanding. At last, out it came, the poor old lady trembling all the time as if it were a great crime which she was exposing to daylight, in telling me how very, very little she had to live upon, a confession which she was brought to make from a dread, lest we should think that the small contribution named in her paper bore any proportion to her love and regard for Miss Maddie. And yet that sum which she so eagerly relinquished was, in truth, more than a twentieth part of what she had to live upon, and keep house, and a little serving-maid, all as became one born a-tierle. And when the whole income does not nearly amount to a hundred pounds, to give up a twentieth of it will necessitate many small, careful economies, and many pieces of self-denial, small and insignificant in the world's account, but bearing a different value in another account-book that I have heard of. She did so wish she was rich, she said, and this wish she kept repeating, with no thought of herself in it, only with a longing, yearning desire to be able to heap up Miss Maddie's measure of comforts. It was some time before I could console her enough to leave her, and then, on quitting the house, I was way-laid by Mrs. Fitzadam, who had also her confidence to make of pretty nearly the opposite direction. She had not liked to put down all that she could afford and was ready to give. She told me she thought she never could look Miss Maddie in the face if she presumed to be giving her so much as she should like to do. Miss Maddie, continued she, that I thought was such a fine young lady when I was nothing but a country girl, coming to market with eggs and butter and such like things. For my father, though well-to-do, would always make me go on as my mother had done before me, and I had to come into Cranford every Saturday and see after sales and prices and what not. And one day I remember I met Miss Maddie in the lane that leads to Combhurst. She was walking on the footpath, which you know is raised a good way above the road, and a gentleman rode beside her and was talking to her, and she was looking down at some prim roses she had gathered and pulling them all to pieces, and I do believe she was crying. But after she had passed she turned around and ran after me to ask, oh so kindly about my poor mother, who lay on her deathbed, and when I cried she took hold of my hand to comfort me, and the gentleman waiting for her all the time, and her poor heart very full of something, I am sure, and I thought it such an honor to be spoken to in that very pretty way by the rector's daughter who had visited at Arleigh Hall. I have loved her ever since, though perhaps I know right to do it, but if you can think of any way in which I might be allowed to give a little more without anyone knowing it, I should be so much obliged to you, my dear, and my brother would be delighted to doctor her for nothing, medicines, leeches, and all. I know that he and her ladyship, my dear, I little thought in the days I was telling you of, that I should ever come to be sister-in-law to a ladyship, would do anything for her. We all would. I told her I was quite sure of it, and promised all sorts of things in my anxiety to get home to Miss Maddie, who might well be wondering what had become of me, absent from her two hours without being able to account for it. She had taken very little note of time, however, as she had been occupied in numberless little arrangements preparatory to the great step of giving up her house. It was evidently a relief to her to be doing something in the way of retrenchment. For, as she said, whenever she paused to think, the recollection of the poor fellow with his bad five-pound note came over her, and she felt quite dishonest. Only if it made her so uncomfortable, what must it not be doing to the directors of the bank, who must know so much more of the misery consequent upon this failure? She almost made me angry by dividing her sympathy between those directors, whom she imagined overwhelmed by self-approach for the mismanagement of other people's affairs and those who were suffering like her. Indeed of the two she seemed to think poverty a lighter burden than self-approach, but I privately doubted if the directors would agree with her. Old hordes were taken out and examined as to their money value, which luckily was small, or else I don't know how Miss Maddie would have prevailed upon herself to part with such things as her mother's wedding-ring, the strange uncouth brooch with which her father had disfigured his shirt-frill, etc. However, we arranged things a little in order as to their precuniary estimation, and were all ready for my father when he came the next morning. I am not going to weary you with the details of all the business we went through, and one reason for not telling about them is that I did not understand what we were doing at the time and cannot recollect it now. Miss Maddie and I sat assenting to accounts and schemes and reports and documents, of which I do not believe we either of us understood a word, for my father was clear-headed and decisive, and a capital man of business, and if we made the slightest inquiry, or expressed the slightest want of comprehension, he had a sharp way of saying, eh, eh, it's as clear as daylight, what's your objection? And as we had not comprehended anything of what he had proposed, we found it rather difficult to shape our objections. In fact, we were never sure if we had any. So presently Miss Maddie got into a nervous acquiescent state and said yes, and certainly at every pause, whether required or not, that when I once joined in, as a chorus to a decidedly, pronounced by Miss Maddie in a trembling, dubious tone, my father fired around at me and asked, what there was to decide? And I am sure to this day I have never known. But injustice to him I must say he had come over from Drumble to help Miss Maddie when he could ill-spare the time, and when his own affairs were in a very anxious state. While Miss Mary was out of the room giving orders for luncheon, and sadly perplexed between her desire of honoring my father by a delicate, dainty meal, and her conviction that she had no right, now that all her money was gone, to indulge this desire, I told him of the meeting of the Cranford ladies at Miss Poles the day before. He kept brushing his hand before his eyes as I spoke, and when I went back to Martha's offer of the evening before, of receiving Miss Maddie as a lodger, he fairly walked away from me to the window, and began drumming his fingers upon it. Then he turned abruptly round and said, See, Mary, how a good, innocent life makes friends all around! Confounded! I could make a good lesson out of this if I were a parson, but as it is I can't get a tale to my sentences, only I'm sure you feel what I want to say. You and I will have a walk after lunch and talk a bit more about these plans. The lunch, a hot, savory mutton chop, and a little of the cold loin sliced and fried, was now brought in. Every morsel of this last dish was finished, to Martha's great gratification. Then my father bluntly told Miss Maddie he wanted to talk to me alone, and that he would stroll out and see some of the old places, and then I could tell her what plan we thought desirable. Just before we went out, she called me back and said, Remember, dear, I'm the only one left. I mean, there's no one to be hurt by what I do. I'm willing to do anything that's right and honest, and I don't think, if Deborah knows where she is, she'll care so very much if I'm not genteel. Because you see, she'll know all, dear. Only let me see what I can do, and pay the poor people as far as I'm able. I gave her a hearty kiss and ran after my father. The result of our conversation was this. If all parties were agreeable, Martha and Jem were to be married with as little delay as possible, and they were to live on in Miss Maddie's present abode. The sum which the Cranford ladies had agreed to contribute annually being sufficient to meet the greater part of the rent, and leave Martha free to appropriate what Miss Maddie should pay for her lodgings to any little extra comforts required. About the sale my father was dubious at first. He said the old rectory furniture, however carefully used and reverently treated, would fetch very little, and that little would be but as a drop in the sea of the depths of the town and county bank. But when I represented how Miss Maddie's tender conscious would be soothed by feeling that she had done what she could, he gave way, especially after I had told him the five-pound note adventure, and he had scolded me well for allowing it. I then alluded to my idea that she might add to her small income by selling tea, and to my surprise, for I had nearly given up the plan, my father grasped at it with all the energy of a tradesman. I think he reckoned his chickens before they were hatched, for he immediately ran up the profits of the sales that she could affect in Cranford to more than twenty pounds a year. The small dining parlor was to be converted into a shop without any of its degrading characteristics. A table was to be the counter, one window was to be retained unaltered, and the other changed into a glass door. I evidently rose in his estimation for having made this bright suggestion. I only hoped we should not both fall in Miss Maddie's. But she was patient and content with all our arrangements. She knew, she said, that we should do the best we could for her, and she only hoped, only stipulated, that she should pay every farthing that she could be said to owe, for her father's sake, who had been so respected in Cranford. My father and I had agreed to say as little as possible about the bank, indeed never to mention it again if it could be helped. Some of the plans were evidently a little perplexing to her, but she had seen me sufficiently snubbed in the morning, for want of comprehension to venture on too many inquiries now, and all passed over well with a hope on her part that no one would be hurried into marriage on her account. When we came to the proposal that she should sell tea, I could see it was rather a shock to her, not on account of any personal loss of gentility involved, but only because she distressed her own powers of action in a new line of life, and would timidly have preferred a little more privation to any exertion which she feared she was unfitted. However, when she saw my father was bent upon it, she sighed, and said she would try, and if she did not do well, of course she might give it up. One good thing about it was she did not think men ever bought tea, and it was of men particularly she was afraid. They had such sharp, loud ways with them, and did up accounts, and counted their change so quickly. Now, if she might only sell confets to children, she was sure she could please them.