in which she excelled, was making
candlelighters, or "spills" (as she preferred calling
them), of coloured 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
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 the 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 Matey's
favour. But would any one pay to have
their children taught these arts? or indeed
would Miss Matey sell, for filthy lucre, the
knack and 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,
with 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 Matey 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 to-day everything was attended to with
the most careful regard. The bread was cut
to the imaginary pattern of excellence that
existed in Miss Matey's mind, as being the
way which her mother had preferred; the
curtain was drawn so as to exclude the
deadbrick wall of a neighbour's stables, and yet
left so as to show every tender leaf of the
poplar which was bursting into spring
beauty. Martha's tone to Miss Matey was
just such as that good rough-spoken servant
usually kept sacred for little children, and
which I had never heard her use to any
grown-up person. I had forgotten to tell
Miss Matey 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 Matey'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 ever was
moulded. Martha's face gleamed with
triumph, as she set it down before Miss Matey
with an exultant "There!" Miss Matey
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 Matey 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 currant
eyes, being hoisted up to the place of honour.
on a mantel-piece, tickled my hysterical.
fancy, and I began to laugh, which rather
surprised Miss Matey.

"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 to 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-urn was
brought in, a new thought came into my
head. Why should not Miss Matey 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 Matey 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 Matey could not endure. No shopwindow
would be required. A small genteel
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 could
see it. Neither was tea a heavy article, so
as to tax Miss Matey'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
Matey 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's only Jem 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