‘Are you dressed?’ she called out.

In this way Mrs. Mel tackled Old Tom.  He was told that should he consent to cover himself decently, she would come into his room and make his bed comfortable.  And in a voice that dispersed armies of innuendoes, she bade him take his choice, either to rest quiet or do her bidding.  Had Old Tom found his master at last, and in one of the hated sex?  Breathlessly Mrs. Hawkshaw waited his answer, and she was an astonished woman when it came.

‘Very well, ma’am.  Wait a couple of minutes.  Do as you like.’

On their admission to the interior of the chamber, Old Tom was exhibited in his daily garb, sufficiently subdued to be civil and explain the cause of his discomfort.  Lumps in his bed:  he was bruised by them.  He supposed he couldn’t ask women to judge for themselves—­they’d be shrieking—­but he could assure them he was blue all down his back.  Mrs. Mel and Mrs. Hawkshaw turned the bed about, and punched it, and rolled it.

‘Ha!’ went Old Tom, ’what’s the good of that?  That’s just how I found it.  Moment I got into bed geese began to put up their backs.’

Mrs. Mel seldom indulged in a joke, and then only when it had a proverbial cast.  On the present occasion, the truth struck her forcibly, and she said: 

‘One fool makes many, and so, no doubt, does one goose.’

Accompanied by a smile the words would have seemed impudent; but spoken as a plain fact, and with a grave face, it set Old Tom blinking like a small boy ten minutes after the whip.

‘Now,’ she pursued, speaking to him as to an old child, ’look here.  This is how you manage.  Knead down in the middle of the bed.  Then jump into the hollow.  Lie there, and you needn’t wake till morning.’

Old Tom came to the side of the bed.  He had prepared himself for a wretched night, an uproar, and eternal complaints against the house, its inhabitants, and its foundations; but a woman stood there who as much as told him that digging his fist into the flock and jumping into the hole—­ into that hole under his, eyes—­was all that was wanted! that he had been making a noise for nothing, and because he had not the wit to hit on a simple contrivance!  Then, too, his jest about the geese—­this woman had put a stop to that!  He inspected the hollow cynically.  A man might instruct him on a point or two:  Old Tom was not going to admit that a woman could.

’Oh, very well; thank you, ma’am; that’s your idea.  I’ll try it.  Good night.’

‘Good night,’ returned Mrs. Mel.  ‘Don’t forget to jump into the middle.’

‘Head foremost, ma’am?’

‘As you weigh,’ said Mrs. Mel, and Old Tom trumped his lips, silenced if not beaten.  Beaten, one might almost say, for nothing more was heard of him that night.

He presented himself to Mrs. Mel after breakfast next morning.

‘Slept well, ma’am.’

‘Oh! then you did as I directed you,’ said Mrs. Mel.