“It was Holbrook, that fine manly fellow who lived at Woodley, that I used to think would carry off my little Matty.  You would not think it now, I dare say, Mary; but this sister of mine was once a very pretty girl—­at least, I thought so, and so I’ve a notion did poor Holbrook.  What business had he to die before I came home to thank him for all his kindness to a good-for-nothing cub as I was?  It was that that made me first think he cared for you; for in all our fishing expeditions it was Matty, Matty, we talked about.  Poor Deborah!  What a lecture she read me on having asked him home to lunch one day, when she had seen the Arley carriage in the town, and thought that my lady might call.  Well, that’s long years ago; more than half a life-time, and yet it seems like yesterday!  I don’t know a fellow I should have liked better as a brother-in-law.  You must have played your cards badly, my little Matty, somehow or another—­wanted your brother to be a good go-between, eh, little one?” said he, putting out his hand to take hold of hers as she lay on the sofa.  “Why, what’s this? you’re shivering and shaking, Matty, with that confounded open window.  Shut it, Mary, this minute!”

I did so, and then stooped down to kiss Miss Matty, and see if she really were chilled.  She caught at my hand, and gave it a hard squeeze—­but unconsciously, I think—­for in a minute or two she spoke to us quite in her usual voice, and smiled our uneasiness away, although she patiently submitted to the prescriptions we enforced of a warm bed and a glass of weak negus.  I was to leave Cranford the next day, and before I went I saw that all the effects of the open window had quite vanished.  I had superintended most of the alterations necessary in the house and household during the latter weeks of my stay.  The shop was once more a parlour:  the empty resounding rooms again furnished up to the very garrets.

There had been some talk of establishing Martha and Jem in another house, but Miss Matty would not hear of this.  Indeed, I never saw her so much roused as when Miss Pole had assumed it to be the most desirable arrangement.  As long as Martha would remain with Miss Matty, Miss Matty was only too thankful to have her about her; yes, and Jem too, who was a very pleasant man to have in the house, for she never saw him from week’s end to week’s end.  And as for the probable children, if they would all turn out such little darlings as her god-daughter, Matilda, she should not mind the number, if Martha didn’t.  Besides, the next was to be called Deborah—­a point which Miss Matty had reluctantly yielded to Martha’s stubborn determination that her first-born was to be Matilda.  So Miss Pole had to lower her colours, and even her voice, as she said to me that, as Mr and Mrs Hearn were still to go on living in the same house with Miss Matty, we had certainly done a wise thing in hiring Martha’s niece as an auxiliary.