yet it was hard upon her, very hard, that she
should be so troubled. 'We usen't to have our ways like that when I
was young,' she said, sobbing. What was to be the end of it? Was she
to be forced by circumstances to keep the girl always there, let the
girl's conduct be what it might? Nevertheless she acknowledged that
Ruby must be let in when she came back. Then, about nine o'clock, John
Crumb came; and the latter part of the evening was more melancholy
even than the first. It was impossible to conceal the truth from John
Crumb. Mrs Hurtle saw the poor man and told the story in Mrs Pipkin's
presence.

'She's headstrong, Mr Crumb,' said Mrs Hurtle.

'She is that, ma'am. And it was along wi' the baronite she went?'

'It was so, Mr Crumb.'

'Baro-nite! Well;--perhaps I shall catch him some of these days;--went
to dinner wi' him, did she? Didn't she have no dinner here?'

Then Mrs Pipkin spoke up with a keen sense of offence. Ruby Ruggles
had had as wholesome a dinner as any young woman in London,--a
bullock's heart and potatoes,--just as much as ever she had pleased to
eat of it. Mrs Pipkin could tell Mr Crumb that there was 'no starvation
nor yet no stint in her house.' John Crumb immediately produced a very
thick and admirably useful blue cloth cloak, which he had brought up
with him to London from Bungay, as a present to the woman who had been
good to his Ruby. He assured her that he did not doubt that her victuals
were good and plentiful, and went on to say that he had made bold to
bring her a trifle out of respect. It was some little time before Mrs
Pipkin would allow herself to be appeased;--but at last she permitted
the garment to be placed on her shoulders. But it was done after a
melancholy fashion. There was no smiling consciousness of the bestowal
of joy on the countenance of the donor as he gave it, no exuberance of
thanks from the recipient as she received it. Mrs Hurtle, standing by,
declared it to be perfect;--but the occasion was one which admitted of
no delight. 'It's very good of you, Mr Crumb, to think of an old woman
like me,--particularly when you've such a deal of trouble with a young
un'.'

'It's like the smut in the wheat, Mrs Pipkin, or the d'sease in the
'tatoes;--it has to be put up with, I suppose. Is she very partial,
ma'am, to that young baronite?' This question was asked of Mrs Hurtle.

'Just a fancy for the time, Mr Crumb,' said the lady.

'They never thinks as how their fancies may