to their pecuniary 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 Matey 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 never were sure if we
had any. So presently Miss Matey got into
a nervously acquiescent state, and said "Yes"
and "Certainly" at every pause, whether
required or not: but when I once joined in as
chorus to a "Decidedly" pronounced by Miss
Matey in a tremblingly dubious tone, my
father fired round at me and asked me "What
there was to decide?" And I am sure, to
this day, I have never known. But, in justice
to him, I must say, he had come over from
Drumble to help Miss Matey when he could
ill spare the time, and when his own aifairs
were in a very anxious state.

While Miss Matey was out of the room
giving orders for luncheon and sadly
perplexed between her desire of honouring 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 Cranford ladies
at Miss Pole's the day before. He kept
brushing his hand before his eyes as I spoke
—and when I went back to Martha's offer
the evening before, of receiving Miss Matey
as a lodger, he fairly walked away from me
to the window, and began drumming with
his fingers upon it. Then he turned abruptly
round, and said, "See, Mary, how a good
innocent life makes friends all around.
Confound it! I could make a good lesson out of
it if I were a parson, but as it is, I can't get
a tail 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 savoury mutton-chop,
and a little of the cold lion 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
Matey he wanted to talk to me alone, and that
we 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 sell what I can, 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 Matey'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 leaving Martha free to
appropriate what Miss Matey 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 debts of the Town and County
Bank. But when I represented how Miss
Matey's tender conscience 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 effect in Cranford to more than
twenty pounds a-year; the small dining
parlour 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 Matey'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 enquiries 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 distrusted her own powers