of that!' exclaimed their mother,
raising her voice to be heard. 'Miss Trent 'll think we have a
bear-garden down here. You must play quietly, or off you go to bed--I
mean it!'

The bonnet was taken forth and examined, with many ejaculations of
delight from its owner. The only article of attire upon which Mrs.
Poole ever spent a thought was her bonnet, a noteworthy instance of the
inconsequence of human nature, seeing that it was the rarest thing for
her to leave the house, save when she ran out at night to make
purchases, and then she always donned an object of straw, whose utility
was its only merit. Though as happy a woman as you could have found in
Lambeth, she seldom had a moment of leisure from getting-up to bedtime.
Her kind are very numerous. Such women pass through a whole summer
without an hour of rest in the sunshine, and often through a married
lifetime without going beyond the circle of neighbouring streets.

But the bonnet delighted her. She tried it on, and, having placed a
looking-glass on the table, went through the wonderful feat in which
women are so skilled, that of seeing the back of her head. Then, having
constrained Lydia to sit down, she pursued multifarious occupations,
talking the while.

'I hope you don't notice any bad smells in the house,' she said;
'there's Luke at his usual work, upstairs. What pleasure he can find in
that is more than I can understand. I know he's ruined my table with
his chemicals. There's Jacky with him, too. If I was Mr. Bunce I should
be afraid to have the boy taught such things. He'll set the house on
fire some day, will Master Jack, and burn himself and his little sister
to death.'

'But you see,' said Lydia, 'Mr. Ackroyd does keep to it. You didn't
think he'd persevere more than a week or two, and now it must be a good
three months.'

'Well, yes, it _does_ look as if it was going to be different from the
other things,' Mrs. Poole admitted, with a grudging laugh. 'Well, he
always had a liking for reading books of that kind. Let's hope he knows
his own mind at last. But then he can't never do anything in
moderation, can't Luke. He's got an idea into his head that he's going
to invent a new kind of candle--if you ever heard such a thing! 'Well,'
says I to him, last night, when he come talking to me about it, 'it's
what I call a come-down. Here a while ago you wasn't content with
nothing but setting the world upside down; now you'll be satisfied if
you can inve