eading aloud, he came in to say
he was going to see after Tom Madison, and to ask if there were any
commands for Northwold, with his checked shooting-jacket pockets so
puffed out that his aunt began patting and inquiring. 'Provisions for
the House Beautiful,' he said, as forth came on the one side a long
rough brown yam. 'I saw it at a shop in London,' he said, 'and thought
the Faithfull sisters would like to be reminded of their West Indian
feasts.' And, 'to make the balance true,' he had in the other pocket a
lambswool shawl of gorgeous dyes, with wools to make the like, and the
receipt, in what he called 'female algebra,' the long knitting-pins
under his arm like a riding-whip. He explained that he thought it
would be a winter's work for Miss Salome to imitate it, and that she
would succour half-a-dozen families with the proceeds; and Mrs.
Ponsonby was pleased to hear him speak so affectionately of the two old
maiden sisters. They were the nieces of an old gentleman to whom the
central and handsomest house of Dynevor Terrace had been let. He had
an annuity which had died with him, and they inherited very little but
the furniture with which they had lived on in the same house, in hopes
of lodgers, and paying rent to Mrs. Frost when they had any. There was
a close friendship and perfect understanding between her and them, and,
as she truly assured them, full and constant rent could hardly have
done her as much good as their neighbourhood. Miss Mercy was the
Sister of Charity of all Northwold; Miss Salome, who was confined to
her chair by a complaint in her knee, knitted and made fancy-works, the
sale of which furnished funds for her charities. She was highly
educated, and had a great knowledge of natural history. Fitzjocelyn
had given their abode the name of the House Beautiful, as being
redolent of the essence of the Pilgrim's Progress; and the title was so
fully accepted by their friends, that the very postman would soon know
it. He lingered, discoursing on this topic, while Mary repacked his
parcels, and his aunt gave him a message to Jane Beckett, to send the
carpenter to No. 5 before Mary's visit of inspection; but she
prophesied that he would forget; and, in fact, it was no good augury
that he left the knitting-pins behind him on the table, and Mary was
only just in time to catch him with them at the front door.

'Thank you, Mary--you are the universal memory,' he said. 'What rest
you must give my fathe