I stood at the window with Ada, pretending to look at the housetops, and the blackened stack of chimneys, and the poor plants, and the birds in little cages belonging to the neighbours, when I found that Mrs. Blinder, from the shop below, had come in (perhaps it had taken her all this time to get upstairs) and was talking to my guardian.

“It’s not much to forgive ’em the rent, sir,” she said; “who could take it from them!”

“Well, well!” said my guardian to us two.  “It is enough that the time will come when this good woman will find that it was much, and that forasmuch as she did it unto the least of these—­This child,” he added after a few moments, “could she possibly continue this?”

“Really, sir, I think she might,” said Mrs. Blinder, getting her heavy breath by painful degrees.  “She’s as handy as it’s possible to be.  Bless you, sir, the way she tended them two children after the mother died was the talk of the yard!  And it was a wonder to see her with him after he was took ill, it really was!  ’Mrs. Blinder,’ he said to me the very last he spoke—­he was lying there —­’Mrs. Blinder, whatever my calling may have been, I see a angel sitting in this room last night along with my child, and I trust her to Our Father!’”

“He had no other calling?” said my guardian.

“No, sir,” returned Mrs. Blinder, “he was nothing but a follerers.  When he first came to lodge here, I didn’t know what he was, and I confess that when I found out I gave him notice.  It wasn’t liked in the yard.  It wasn’t approved by the other lodgers.  It is not a genteel calling,” said Mrs. Blinder, “and most people do object to it.  Mr. Gridley objected to it very strong, and he is a good lodger, though his temper has been hard tried.”

“So you gave him notice?” said my guardian.

“So I gave him notice,” said Mrs. Blinder.  “But really when the time came, and I knew no other ill of him, I was in doubts.  He was punctual and diligent; he did what he had to do, sir,” said Mrs. Blinder, unconsciously fixing Mr. Skimpole with her eye, “and it’s something in this world even to do that.”

“So you kept him after all?”

“Why, I said that if he could arrange with Mr. Gridley, I could arrange it with the other lodgers and should not so much mind its being liked or disliked in the yard.  Mr. Gridley gave his consent gruff—­but gave it.  He was always gruff with him, but he has been kind to the children since.  A person is never known till a person is proved.”

“Have many people been kind to the children?” asked Mr. Jarndyce.