through the town and wished to see the Rector of Cranford, 'who had
published that admirable Assize Sermon.' Peter said he was awfully
frightened himself when he saw how my father took it all in, and
even offered to copy out all his Napoleon Buonaparte sermons for
her--him, I mean--no, her, for Peter was a lady then. He told me
he was more terrified than he ever was before, all the time my
father was speaking. He did not think my father would have
believed him; and yet if he had not, it would have been a sad thing
for Peter. As it was, he was none so glad of it, for my father
kept him hard at work copying out all those twelve Buonaparte
sermons for the lady--that was for Peter himself, you know. He was
the lady. And once when he wanted to go fishing, Peter said,
'Confound the woman!'--very bad language, my dear, but Peter was
not always so guarded as he should have been; my father was so
angry with him, it nearly frightened me out of my wits: and yet I
could hardly keep from laughing at the little curtseys Peter kept
making, quite slyly, whenever my father spoke of the lady's
excellent taste and sound discrimination."

"Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks?" said I.

"Oh, no! Deborah would have been too much shocked. No, no one
knew but me. I wish I had always known of Peter's plans; but
sometimes he did not tell me. He used to say the old ladies in the
town wanted something to talk about; but I don't think they did.
They had the St James's Chronicle three times a week, just as we
have now, and we have plenty to say; and I remember the clacking
noise there always was when some of the ladies got together. But,
probably, schoolboys talk more than ladies. At last there was a
terrible, sad thing happened." Miss Matty got up, went to the