As it was Miss Jenkyns refused to be mollified by Captain Brown’s efforts later to beguile her into conversation on some more pleasing subject.  She was inexorable.

Captain Brown endeavoured to make peace after this memorable dispute by a present to Miss Jenkyns of a wooden fire-shovel (his own making), having heard her say how much the grating of an iron one annoyed her.  She received the present with cool gratitude and thanked him formally.  When he was gone she bade me put it in the lumber-room, feeling probably that no present from a man who preferred Mr. Boz to Dr. Johnson could be less jarring than an iron fire-shovel.

Such was the state of affairs at the time when I left Cranford and went to Drumble.  I had, however, several correspondents who kept me au fait as to the proceedings of the inhabitants of the dear little town.

II.—­The Captain

My next visit to Cranford was in the summer.  There had been neither births, deaths, nor marriages since I was there last.  Everybody lived in the same house, and wore pretty near the same well-preserved, old-fashioned clothes.  The greatest event was that the Misses Jenkyns had purchased a new carpet for the drawing-room.  Oh, the busy work Miss Matty and I had in chasing the sunbeams as they fell in an afternoon right down on this carpet through the blindless windows!  We spread our newspapers over the places and sat down to our book or our work; and, lo! in a quarter of an hour the sun had moved and was blazing away in a fresh spot; and down again we went on our knees to alter the position of the newspapers.  One whole morning, too, we spent in cutting out and stitching together pieces of newspapers so as to form little paths to every chair, lest the shoes of visitors should defile the purity of the carpet.  Do you make paper paths for every guest to walk upon in London?

The literary dispute between Captain Brown and Miss Jenkyns continued.  She had formed a habit of talking at him.  And he retaliated by drumming his fingers, which action Miss Jenkyns felt and resented as disparaging to Dr. Johnson.

The poor captain!  I noticed on this visit that he looked older and more worn, and his clothes were very threadbare.  But he seemed as bright and cheerful as ever, unless he was asked about his daughter’s health.

One afternoon we perceived little groups in the street, all listening with faces aghast to some tale or other.  It was some time before Miss Jenkyns took the undignified step of sending Jenny out to inquire.

Jenny came back with a white face of terror.

“Oh, ma’am!  Oh, Miss Jenkyns, ma’am!  Captain Brown is killed by them nasty cruel railroads.”  And she burst into tears.

“How, where—­where?  Good God!  Jenny, don’t waste time in crying, but tell us something.”

Miss Matty rushed out into the street, and presently an affrighted carter appeared in the drawing-room and told the story.