good-for-nothing as Mrs. Fitz-Adam's Jopley,
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 Missus, if she didn't
know when she'd got a good servant—"

"But Martha! " said I, cutting in while
she wiped her eyes.

"Don't 'but 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 some one 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've a good stock of
clothes, and I'm not going to leave Miss
Matey. No! not if she gives me warning
every hour in the day!"

She put her arms akimbo, as much as 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 Matey 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 ha' begun with 'But,' as you did afore,
I'd not ha' listened to you. Now you may
go on."

"I know you would be a great loss to Miss
Matey, Martha—"

"I telled her so. A loss she'd never cease
to be sorry for," broke in 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 even be pressed for her own. I
tell you this, Martha, because I feel you are
like a friend to dear Miss Matey—but you
know she might not like to have it spoken
about."

Apparently this was even a blacker view
of the subject than Miss Matey 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 Matey wouldn't order
a pudding to-day? 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 you see she
eats it. Many a one has been comforted in
their sorrow by seeing a good dish come upon
th' table."

I was rather glad that Martha's energy
had taken the immediate and practical
direction of pudding-making, for it staved off the
quarrelsome discussion as to whether she
should or should not leave Miss Matey'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 tea-pot in which
her private store of money was deposited,
and took out what she wanted.

I found Miss Matey very quiet, and not a
little sad; but by and bye 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 Matey'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 caste; but at length I
put even this last clause on one side, and
wondered what in the world Miss Matey
could do.

Teaching was, of course, the first thing
that suggested itself. If Miss Matey 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! vous dirai-je, Maman" on
the piano; but that was long, long ago; that
faint shadow of musical acquirement had died
out years before. She 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 scollops 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 Ladies' Seminary, to
which all the tradespeople in Cranford sent
their daughters, professed to teach. Miss
Matey'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 Matey'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 piqued herself upon, as arts