in case of Miss Matey's illness. I had expended
my own small store in buying all manner of
comfits and lozenges in order to tempt the little
people whom Miss Matey loved so much, to
come about her. Tea in bright green canisters
—and comfits in tumblers—Miss Matey and I
felt quite proud as we looked round us on the
evening before the shop was to be opened.
Martha had scoured the boarded floor to a
white cleanness, and it was adorned with a
brilliant piece of oil-cloth on which customers
were to stand before the table counter. The
wholesome smell of plaster and white–wash
pervaded the apartment. A very small
"Matilda Jenkyns, licensed to sell tea" was
hidden under the lintel of the new door, and
two boxes of tea with cabalistic inscriptions
all over them stood ready to disgorge their
contents into the canisters. Miss Matey, as I
ought to have mentioned before, had had some
scruples of conscience at selling tea when
there was already Mr. Wright in the town,
who included it among his numerous
commodities; and, before she could quite
reconcile herself to the adoption of her new
business, she had trotted down to his shop,
unknown to me, to tell him of the project
that was entertained and to inquire if it was
likely to injure his business. My father
called this idea of hers "great nonsense," and
"wondered how tradespeople were to get on
if there was to be a continual consulting of
each others' interests, which would put a stop
to all competition directly;" and perhaps it
would not have done in Drumble, but in
Cranford it answered very well; for not only
did Mr. Wright kindly put at rest all Miss
Matey's scruples, and fear of injuring his
business, but I have reason to know he
repeatedly sent customers to her, saying that
the teas he kept were of a common kind, but
that Miss Jenkyns had all the choice sorts.
And expensive tea is a very favourite luxury
with well-to-do tradespeople, and rich farmers'
wives, who turn up their noses at the Congou
and Souchong prevalent at many tables of
gentility, and will have nothing less than
Gunpowder and Pekoe for themselves.

But to return to Miss Matey. It was really
very pleasant to see how her unselfishness,
and simple sense of justice called out the
same good qualities in others. She never
seemed to think any one would impose upon
her, because she should be so grieved to do it
to them. I have heard her put a stop to the
asseverations of the man who brought her
coals, by quietly saying. "I am sure you would
be sorry to bring me wrong weight;" and if
the coals were short measure that time, I
don't believe they ever were again. People
would have felt as much ashamed of
presuming on her good faith as they would have
done on that of a child. But my father says,
"such simplicity might be very well in
Cranford, but would never do in the world;"
and I fancy the world must be very bad, for
with all my father's suspicion of every one
with whom he has dealings, and in spite of all
his many precautions, he lost upwards of a
thousand pounds by roguery only last year.

I just stayed long enough to establish Miss
Matey in her new mode of life, and to pack
up the library, which the rector had purchased.
He had written a very kind letter to Miss
Matey, saying, "how glad he should be to
take a library so well selected as he knew that
the late Mr. Jenkyns' must have been at any
valuation put upon them." And when she
agreed to this, with a touch of sorrowful
gladness that they would go back to the
rectory, and be arranged on the accustomed
walls once more, he sent word that he feared
that he had not room for them all, and
perhaps Miss Matey would kindly allow him
to leave some volumes on her shelves. But
Miss Matey said that she had her Bible, and
Johnson's Dictionary, and should not have
much time for reading she was afraid. Still
I retained a few books out of consideration
for the rector's kindness. The money which
he had paid, and that produced by the sale,
was partly expended, in the stock of tea, and
part of it was invested against a rainy day;
i. e. old age or illness. It was but a small
sum, it is true; and it occasioned a few
evasions of truth and white lies (all of which I
think very wrong indeed—in theory—
and would rather not put them in practice),
for we knew Miss Matey would be perplexed
as to her duty if she were aware of any little
reserve-fund being made for her while the
debts of the Bank remained unpaid. Moreover,
she had never been told of the way in
which her friends were contributing to pay
the rent. I should have liked to tell her
this; but the mystery of the affair gave a
piquancy to their deed of kindness which the
ladies were unwilling to give up; and at first
Martha had to shirk many a perplexed
question as to her ways and means of living
in such a house; but by and bye Miss Matey's
prudent uneasiness sank down into acquiescence
with the existing arrangement.

I left Miss Matey with a good heart. Her
sales of tea during the first two days had
surpassed my most sanguine expectations. The
whole country round seemed to be all out of
tea at once. The only alteration I could have
desired in Miss Matey's way of doing business
was, that she should not have so plaintively
entreated some of her customers not to buy
green tea—running it down as slow poison,
sure to destroy the nerves, and produce all
manner of evil. Their pertinacity in taking
it, in spite of all her warnings, distressed her
so much that I really thought she would
relinquish the sale of it, and so lose half her
custom; and I was driven to my wits' end
for instances of longevity entirely attributable
to a persevering use of green tea. But the
final argument, which settled the question,
was a happy reference of mine to the train
oil and tallow candles which the Esquimaux
not only enjoy but digest. After that she