ied Mrs. Morton, who, by the
way, spoke through her nose. "Pray Heaven he may be what he seems; but
what's bred in the bone comes out in the flesh."

"We must hope the best," said Mr. Morton, mildly; "and--put another lump
into the grog, my dear."

"It is a mercy, I'm thinking, that we didn't have the other little boy.
I dare say he has never even been taught his catechism: them people
don't know what it is to be a mother. And, besides, it would have been
very awkward, Mr. M.; we could never have said who he was: and I've no
doubt Miss Pryinall would have been very curious."

"Miss Pryinall be ----!" Mr. Morton checked himself, took a large
draught of the brandy and water, and added, "Miss Pryinall wants to have
a finger in everybody's pie."

"But she buys a deal of flannel, and does great good to the town; it was
she who found out that Mrs. Giles was no better than she should be."

"Poor Mrs. Giles!--she came to the workhouse."

"Poor Mrs. Giles, indeed! I wonder, Mr. Morton, that you, a married man
with a family, should say, poor Mrs. Giles!"

"My dear, when people who have been well off come to the workhouse, they
may be called poor:--but that's neither here nor there; only, if the boy
does come to us, we must look sharp upon Miss Pryinall."

"I hope he won't come,--it will be very unpleasant. And when a man has
a wife and family, the less he meddles with other folks and their little
ones, the better. For as the Scripture says, 'A man shall cleave to his
wife and--'"

Here a sharp, shrill ring at the bell was heard, and Mrs. Morton broke
off into:

"Well! I declare! at this hour; who can that be? And all gone to bed! Do
go and see, Mr. Morton."

Somewhat reluctantly and slowly, Mr. Morton rose; and, proceeding to the
passage, unbarred the door. A brief and muttered conversation followed,
to the great irritability of Mrs. Morton, who stood in the passage--the
candle in her hand.

"What is the matter, Mr. M.?"

Mr. Morton turned back, looking agitated.

"Where's my hat? oh, here. My sister is come, at the inn."

"Gracious me! She does not go for to say she is your sister?"

"No, no: here's her note-calls herself a lady that's ill. I shall be
back soon."

"She can't come here--she sha'n't come here, Mr. M. I'm an honest
woman--she can't come here. You understand--"

Mr. Morton had naturally a stern countenance, stern to every one but his
wife. The shrill tone to which he was so long accustomed jar