n some private
moments her regrets would be expressed. "Haven't you got enough
to eat, and a bed to lie on, and an old stocking full of money
somewhere? What more do you want?"

"A stocking full of money!" she would say, wiping her eyes; "there
ain't no such thing. And as for eating, of course, I eats as much as
I wants. I eats more than I wants, if you come to that."

"Then you're very greedy."

"But to think that you shouldn't have a man in a black coat to pour
out a glass of wine for you, sir!"

"I never drink wine, Mrs Baggett."

"Well, whisky. I suppose a fellow like that wouldn't be above pouring
out a glass of whisky for a gentleman;--though there's no knowing now
what those fellows won't turn up their noses at. But it's a come-down
in the world, Mr Whittlestaff."

"If you think I've come down in the world, you'd better keep it to
yourself, and not tell me. I don't think that I've come down."

"You bear up against it finely like a man, sir; but for a poor woman
like me, I do feel it." Such was Mrs Baggett and the record of her
life. But this little conversation took place before the coming of
Mary Lawrie.

CHAPTER II.

MR WHITTLESTAFF.

Mr Whittlestaff had not been a fortunate man, as fortune is
generally counted in the world. He had not succeeded in what he had
attempted. He had, indeed, felt but little his want of success in
regard to money, but he had encountered failure in one or two other
matters which had touched him nearly. In some things his life had
been successful; but these were matters in which the world does not
write down a man's good luck as being generally conducive to his
happiness. He had never had a headache, rarely a cold, and not a
touch of the gout. One little finger had become crooked, and he was
recommended to drink whisky, which he did willingly,--because it was
cheap. He was now fifty, and as fit, bodily and mentally, for hard
work as ever he had been. And he had a thousand a-year to spend, and
spent it without ever feeling the necessity of saving a shilling. And
then he hated no one, and those who came in contact with him always
liked him. He trod on nobody's corns, and was, generally speaking,
the most popular man in the parish. These traits are not generally
reckoned as marks of good fortune; but they do tend to increase the
amount of happiness which a man enjoys in this world. To tell of
his misfortunes a somewhat longer chronicle of his life would be
necessary