Mr Quiverful’s predecessor at the Hospital, old Mr Harding, whose halcyon days in Barchester had been passed before the coming of the Proudies, was in bed playing cat’s-cradle with Posy seated on the counterpane, when tidings of Mrs Proudie’s death were brought to him by Mrs Baxter.  ‘Oh, sir,’ said Mrs Baxter, seating herself on a chair by the bed-side.  Mr Harding liked Mrs Baxter to sit down, because he was almost sure on such occasions to have the advantage of a prolonged conversation.

‘What is it, Mrs Baxter?’

‘Oh, sir!’

‘Is anything the matter?’ And the old man attempted to raise himself in his bed.

‘You mustn’t frighten grandpa,’ said Posy.

’No, my dear; and there isn’t nothing to frighten him.  There isn’t indeed, Mr Harding.  They’re all well at Plumstead, and when I heard from the missus at Venice, everything was going on well.’

‘But what is it, Mrs Baxter?’

‘God forgive all her sins—­Mrs Proudie ain’t no more.’  Now there had been a terrible feud between the palace and the deanery for years, in carrying on which the persons of the opposed households were wont to express themselves with eager animosity.  Mrs Baxter and Mrs Draper never dared speak to each other.  The two coachmen each longed for an opportunity to take the other before the magistrate for some breach of the law of the road in driving.  The footmen abused each other, and the grooms occasionally fought.  The masters and mistresses contented themselves with simple hatred.  Therefore it was not surprising that Mrs Baxter in speaking of the death of Mrs Proudie, should remember first her sins.

‘Mrs Proudie dead!’ said the old man.

‘Indeed, she is, Mr Harding,’ said Mrs Baxter, putting both her hands together piously.  ’We’re just as grass, ain’t we, sir!  An dust and clay and flowers of the field?’ Whether Mrs Proudie had most partaken of the clayey nature or of the flowery nature, Mrs Baxter did not stop to consider.

‘Mrs Proudie dead!’ with a solemnity that was all her own.  ’Then she won’t scold the poor bishop any more.’

’No, my dear; she won’t scold anybody any more; and it will be a blessing for some, I must say.  Everybody is always so considerate in this house, Miss Posy, that we none of us know nothing about what that is.’

‘Dead!’ said Mr Harding again.  ’I think, if you please, Mrs Baxter, you shall leave me for little time, and take Miss Posy with you.’  He had been in the city of Barchester some fifty years, and here was one who might have been his daughter, who had come there scarcely ten years since, and who had now gone before him!  He had never loved Mrs Proudie.  Perhaps he had come as near to disliking Mrs Proudie as he had ever come to disliking any person.  Mrs Proudie had wounded him in every part that was most sensitive.  It would be long to tell, nor need it be told now, how she had ridiculed his cathedral