treasure of chintz and print; and having heard some
bustle below, they carried home word that they believed Mr Hope had
been doing something to somebody which had made somebody faint; and
Sophia, shuddering, observed how horrid it must be to be a surgeon's
wife.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

WARNINGS.

Maria Young's lodging at the farrier's had one advantage over many
better dwellings;--it was pleasanter in Winter than in Summer. There
was little to find fault with in the tiny sitting-room after candles
were lighted. The fire burned clear in the grate; and when the screen
was up, there were no draughts. This screen was quite a modern
improvement. When Fanny and Mary Grey had experienced the pleasure of
surprising Sophia with a token of sisterly affection, in the shape of a
piece of India-rubber, and their mother with a token of filial
affection, in the form of a cotton-box, they were unwilling to stop, and
looked round to see whether they could not present somebody with a token
of some other sort of affection. Sophia was taken into their counsels;
and she, being aware of how Miss Young's candle flared when the wind was
high, devised this screen. The carpenter made the frame; Sydney covered
it with canvas and black paper for a ground; and the little girls pasted
on it all the drawings and prints they could muster. Here was the
Dargle, an everlasting waterfall, that looked always the same in the
sunny-coloured print. There was Morland's Woodcutter, with his tall
figure, his pipe, his dog, and his faggot, with the snow lying all
around him. Two or three cathedrals were interspersed; and, in the
midst of them, and larger than any of them, a silhouette of Mr Grey,
with the eyelash wonderfully like, and the wart upon his nose not to be
mistaken. Then there was Charles the First taking leave of his family;
and, on either side of this, an evening primrose in water-colours, by
Mary, and a head of Terror, with a square mouth and starting eyes, in
crayon, by Fanny. Mrs Grey produced some gay border which the
paper-hanger had left over when the attics were last furnished; and
Sydney cut out in white paper a huntsman with his whip in the air, a
fox, a gate, and two hounds. Mr Grey pleaded, that, having contributed
his face, he had done all that could be expected of him: nevertheless,
he brought home one day, on his return from market, a beautiful Stream
of Time, which made the children dance round their screen. It was