In the van were the entire worldly possessions of James Ollerenshaw (except his houses, his investments, a set of bowls up at the bowling club, and the clothes he wore), and the entire worldly possessions of Helen Rathbone (except the clothes she wore).  If it be asked where was the twenty-six pounds so generously given to her by a loving uncle, the reply is that the whole sum, together with much else, was in the coffers of Ezra Brunt, the draper and costumier at Hanbridge; and the reply further is that Helen was in debt.  I have hitherto concealed Helen’s tendency to debts, but it was bound sooner or later to come out.  And here it is.

After an adventurous journey by bridge over the North Staffordshire Railway, and by bridge over the Shropshire Union Canal, and by bridge over the foaming cataract of the Shaws Brook, and down the fearful slants of Oldcastle-street, and through the arduous terrific denies of Oldcastle-road, the van had arrived at the portals of Wilbraham Hall.  It would have been easy, by opening wide the portals, to have introduced the van and the horses too into the hall of Wilbraham Hall.  But this course was not adopted.

Helen and Georgiana had preceded the van, and they both stood at the door to receive the goods.  Georgiana was in one of Georgiana’s aprons, and Helen also was in one of Georgiana’s aprons.  Uncle James had followed the van.  He had not let it out of his sight.  The old man’s attachment to even the least of his goods was touching, and his attachment to the greatest of his goods carried pathos into farce.  The greatest of his goods was, apparently, the full-rigged ship and tempestuous ocean in a glass box which had stood on the table in the front room of the other house for many years.  No one had suspected his esteem for that glass box and its contents.  He had not suspected it himself until the moment for packing it had come.  But he seemed to love it more than his bits of Spode china or his concertina; and, taking it with him, he had quitted with a softened regret the quantity of over-blown blue roses which, in their eternal bloom, had enlivened his existence during a longer period even than the ship and ocean.

The ship and ocean was the last thing put into the van and the first thing taken out, and James Ollerenshaw introduced the affair, hugged against his own breast, into the house of his descendants.  The remainder of the work of transference was relatively unimportant.  Two men accomplished it easily while the horses ate a late dinner.  And then the horses and the van and the men went off, and there was nothing left but a few wisps of straw and so forth, on the magnificent sweep of gravel, to indicate that they had ever been there.  And Uncle James, and Helen, and Georgiana felt rather forlorn and abandoned.  They stood in the hall and looked at each other a little blankly, like gipsies camping out in an abandoned cathedral.  An immense fire was burning in the immense fireplace