always stealing the milk put by for little Angel's supper"). And
now, having matched Greek with Greek, I must proceed to the tug of war.
It was the day before Christmas; such a cold east wind! such an inky
sky! such a blue-black look in people's faces, as they were driven out
more than usual, to complete their purchases for the next day's
festival.

Before leaving home that morning, Jenkins had given some money to his
wife to buy the next day's dinner.

"My dear, I wish for turkey and sausages. It may be a weakness, but I
own I am partial to sausages. My deceased mother was. Such tastes are
hereditary. As to the sweets--whether plum-pudding or mince-pies--I
leave such considerations to you; I only beg you not to mind expense.
Christmas comes but once a year."

And again he had called out from the bottom of the first flight of
stairs, just close to the Hodgsons' door ("such ostentatiousness," as
Mrs. Hodgson observed), "You will not forget the sausages, my dear?"

"I should have liked to have had something above common, Mary," said
Hodgson, as they too made their plans for the next day, "but I think
roast beef must do for us. You see, love, we've a family."

"Only one, Jem! I don't want more than roast beef, though, I'm sure.
Before I went to service, mother and me would have thought roast beef
a very fine dinner."

"Well, let's settle it then, roast beef and a plum-pudding; and now,
good-by. Mind and take care of little Tom. I thought he was a bit hoarse
this morning."

And off he went to his work.

Now, it was a good while since Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Hodgson had spoken
to each other, although they were quite as much in possession of the
knowledge of events and opinions as though they did. Mary knew that Mrs.
Jenkins despised her for not having a real lace cap, which Mrs. Jenkins
had; and for having been a servant, which Mrs. Jenkins had not; and the
little occasional pinchings which the Hodgsons were obliged to resort
to, to make both ends meet, would have been very patiently endured by
Mary, if she had not winced under Mrs. Jenkins's knowledge of such
economy. But she had her revenge. She had a child, and Mrs. Jenkins had
none. To have had a child, even such a puny baby as little Tom, Mrs.
Jenkins would have worn commonest caps, and cleaned grates, and drudged
her fingers to the bone. The great unspoken disappointment of her life
soured her temper, and turned her thoughts inward, and made her morbid
and sel