LITMIR.BIZ

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Bumble’s conduct on being left to himself was rather inexplicable. He opened the closet, counted the tea-spoons, weighed the sugar-tongs, closely inspected a silver milk-pot to ascertain that it was of the genuine metal; and, having satisfied his curiosity upon these points, put on his cocked-hat corner-wise, and danced with much gravity four distinct times round the table. Having gone through this very extraordinary performance, he took off the cocked-hat again, and, spreading himself before the fire with his back towards it, seemed to be mentally engaged in taking an exact inventory of the furniture.

      CHAPTER XXIV.

      TREATS OF A VERY POOR SUBJECT, BUT IS A SHORT ONE, AND MAY BE FOUND OF IMPORTANCE IN THIS HISTORY

      It was no unfit messenger of death that had disturbed the quiet of the matron’s room. Her body was bent by age, her limbs trembled with palsy, and her face, distorted into a mumbling leer, resembled more the grotesque shaping of some wild pencil than the work of Nature’s hand.

      Alas! how few of Nature’s faces there are to gladden us with their beauty! The cares, and sorrows, and hungerings of the world change them as they change hearts, and it is only when those passions sleep, and have lost their hold for ever, that the troubled clouds pass off, and leave heaven’s surface clear. It is a common thing for the countenances of the dead, even in that fixed and rigid state, to subside into the long-forgotten expression of sleeping infancy, and settle into the very look of early life; so calm, so peaceful do they grow again, that those who knew them in their happy childhood kneel by the coffin’s side in awe, and see the angel even upon earth.

      The old crone tottered along the passages and up the stairs, muttering some indistinct answers to the chidings of her companion; and being at length compelled to pause for breath, gave the light into her hand, and remained behind to follow as she might, while the more nimble superior made her way to the room where the sick woman lay.

      It was a bare garret-room, with a dim light burning at the farther end. There was another old woman watching by the bed, and the parish apothecary’s apprentice was standing by the fire, making a toothpick out of a quill.

      “Cold night, Mrs. Corney,” said this young gentleman, as the matron entered.

      “Very cold indeed, sir,” replied the mistress, in her most civil tones, and dropping a curtsey as she spoke.

      “You should get better coals out of your contractors,” said the apothecary’s deputy, breaking a lump on the top of the fire with the rusty poker; “these are not at all the sort of thing for a cold night.”

      “They’re the board’s choosing, sir,” returned the matron. “The least they could do would be to keep us pretty warm, for our places are hard enough.”

      The conversation was here interrupted by a moan from the sick woman.

      “Oh!” said the young man, turning his face towards the bed, as if he had previously quite forgotten the patient, “it’s all U. P. there, Mrs. Corney.”

      “It is, is it, sir?” asked the matron.

      “If she lasts a couple of hours, I shall be surprised,” said the apothecary’s apprentice, intent upon the toothpick’s point. “It’s a break-up of the system altogether. Is she dozing, old lady?”

      The attendant stooped over the bed to ascertain, and nodded in the affirmative.

      “Then perhaps she’ll go off in that way, if you don’t make a row,” said the young man. “Put the light on the floor, – she wont see it there.”

      The attendant did as she was bidden, shaking her head meanwhile to intimate that the woman would not die so easily; and having done so, resumed her seat by the side of the other nurse, who had by this time returned. The mistress, with an expression of impatience, wrapped herself in her shawl and sat at the foot of the bed.

      The apothecary’s apprentice, having completed the manufacture of the toothpick, planted himself in front of the fire and made good use of it for ten minutes or so, when, apparently growing rather dull, he wished Mrs. Corney joy of her job, and took himself off on tiptoe.

      When they had sat in silence for some time the two old women rose from the bed, and crouching over the fire, held out their withered hands to catch the heat. The flame threw a ghastly light on their shrivelled faces, and made their ugliness appear perfectly terrible, as in this position they began to converse in a low voice.

      “Did she say any more, Anny dear, while I was gone?” inquired the messenger.

      “Not a word,” replied the other. “She plucked and tore at her arms for a little time; but I held her hands, and she soon dropped off. She hasn’t much strength in her, so I easily kept her quiet. I ain’t so weak for an old woman, although I am on parish allowance; – no, no!”

      “Did she drink the hot wine the doctor said she was to have?” demanded the first.

      “I tried to get it down,” rejoined the other; “but her teeth were tight set, and she clenched the mug so hard that it was as much as I could do to get it back again. So I drank it, and it did me good.”

      Looking cautiously round to ascertain that they were not overheard, the two hags cowered nearer to the fire, and chuckled heartily.

      “I mind the time,” said the first speaker, “when she would have done the same, and made rare fun of it afterwards.”

      “Ay, that she would,” rejoined the other; “she had a merry heart. A many many beautiful corpses she laid out, as nice and neat as wax-work. My old eyes have seen them – ay, and these old hands touched them too; for I have helped her scores of times.”

      Stretching forth her trembling fingers as she spoke, the old creature shook them exultingly before her face, and fumbling in her pocket brought out an old time-discoloured tin snuff-box, from which she shook a few grains into the outstretched palm of her companion, and a few more into her own. While they were thus employed, the matron, who had been impatiently watching until the dying woman should awaken from her stupor, joined them by the fire, and sharply asked how long she was to wait.

      “Not long, mistress,” replied the second woman, looking up into her face. “We have none of us long to wait for Death. Patience, patience! he’ll be here soon enough for us all.”

      “Hold your tongue, you doting idiot!” said the matron, sternly. “You, Martha, tell me; has she been in this way before?”

      “Often,” answered the first woman.

      “But will never be again,” added the second one; “that is, she’ll never wake again but once – and mind, mistress, that wont be for long.”

      “Long or short,” said the matron, snappishly, “she wont find me here when she does, and take care, both of you, how you worry me again for nothing. It’s no part of my duty to see all the old women in the house die, and I wont – that’s more. Mind that, you impudent old harridans. If you make a fool of me again, I’ll soon cure you, I warrant you!”

      She was bouncing away, when a cry from the two women, who had turned towards the bed, caused her to look round. The sick woman had raised herself upright, and was stretching her arms towards them.

      “Who’s that?” she cried, in a hollow voice.

      “Hush, hush!” said one of the women, stooping over her – “lie down, lie down!”

      “I’ll never lie down again alive!” said the woman, struggling. “I will tell her! Come here – nearer. Let me whisper in your ear.”

      She clutched the matron by the arm, and forcing her into a chair by the bedside was about to speak, when looking round, she caught sight of the two old women bending forward in the attitude of eager listeners.

      “Turn them away,” said the woman, drowsily; “make haste – make haste!”

      The two old crones, chiming in together, began pouring out many piteous lamentations that the poor dear was too far gone to know her best friends, and uttering sundry protestations that they would never leave her, when the superior pushed them

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