of the large kind which Miss Matty sold weighed that much), she always added one more by “way of make-weight,” as she called it, although the scale was handsomely turned before; and when I remonstrated against this, her reply was, “The little things like it so much!” There was no use in telling her that the fifth comfit weighed a quarter of an ounce, and made every sale into a loss to her pocket.  So I remembered the green tea, and winged my shaft with a feather out of her own plumage.  I told her how unwholesome almond-comfits were, and how ill excess in them might make the little children.  This argument produced some effect; for, henceforward, instead of the fifth comfit, she always told them to hold out their tiny palms, into which she shook either peppermint or ginger lozenges, as a preventive to the dangers that might arise from the previous sale.  Altogether the lozenge trade, conducted on these principles, did not promise to be remunerative; but I was happy to find she had made more than twenty pounds during the last year by her sales of tea; and, moreover, that now she was accustomed to it, she did not dislike the employment, which brought her into kindly intercourse with many of the people round about.  If she gave them good weight, they, in their turn, brought many a little country present to the “old rector’s daughter”; a cream cheese, a few new-laid eggs, a little fresh ripe fruit, a bunch of flowers.  The counter was quite loaded with these offerings sometimes, as she told me.

As for Cranford in general, it was going on much as usual.  The Jamieson and Hoggins feud still raged, if a feud it could be called, when only one side cared much about it.  Mr and Mrs Hoggins were very happy together, and, like most very happy people, quite ready to be friendly; indeed, Mrs Hoggins was really desirous to be restored to Mrs Jamieson’s good graces, because of the former intimacy.  But Mrs Jamieson considered their very happiness an insult to the Glenmire family, to which she had still the honour to belong, and she doggedly refused and rejected every advance.  Mr Mulliner, like a faithful clansman, espoused his mistress’ side with ardour.  If he saw either Mr or Mrs Hoggins, he would cross the street, and appear absorbed in the contemplation of life in general, and his own path in particular, until he had passed them by.  Miss Pole used to amuse herself with wondering what in the world Mrs Jamieson would do, if either she, or Mr Mulliner, or any other member of her household was taken ill; she could hardly have the face to call in Mr Hoggins after the way she had behaved to them.  Miss Pole grew quite impatient for some indisposition or accident to befall Mrs Jamieson or her dependents, in order that Cranford might see how she would act under the perplexing circumstances.