"I'm sure, the money she'd save us in housekeeping. Ha! what an eye she has for a joint! The butcher doesn't walk that could deceive dear mother. And then, again, for poultry! What a finger and thumb she has for a chicken! I never could market like her: it's a gift-- quite a gift. "And then you recollect her marrow-puddings? "YOU DON'T RECOLLECT 'EM? "Oh, fie! Caudle, how often have you flung her marrow puddings in my face, wanting to know why I couldn't make 'em? And I wouldn't pretend to do it after dear mother. I should think it presumption. Now, love, if she was only living with us--come, you're not asleep, Caudle--if she was only living with us, you could have marrow puddings every day. Now, don't fling yourself about and begin to swear at marrow puddings; you know you like 'em, dear. "What a hand, too, dear mother has for a pie crust! But it's born with some people. What do you say? "WHY WASN'T IT BORN WITH ME? "Now, Caudle, that's cruel--unfeeling of you; I wouldn't have uttered such a reproach to you for the whole world. Consider, dear; people can't be born as they like. "How often, too, have you wanted to brew at home! And I never could learn anything about brewing. But, ha! what ale dear mother makes! "YOU NEVER TASTED IT? "No, I know that. But I recollect the ale we used to have at home: and father would never drink wine after it. The best sherry was nothing like it. "YOU DARE SAY NOT? "No; it wasn't indeed, Caudle. Then, if dear mother was only with us, what money we should save in beer! And then you might always have your own nice pure, good, wholesome ale, Caudle; and what good it would do you! For you're not strong, Caudle. "And then dear mother's jams and preserves, love! I own it, Caudle; it has often gone to my heart that with cold meat you haven't always had a pudding. Now if mother was with us, in the matter of fruit puddings she'd make it summer all the year round. But I never could preserve--now mother does it, and for next to no money whatever. What nice dogs-in-a-blanket she'd make for the children! "WHAT'S DOGS-IN-A-BLANKET? "Oh, they're delicious--as dear mother makes 'em. "Now, you HAVE tasted her Irish stew, Caudle? You remember that? Come, you're not asleep--you remember that? And how fond you are of it! And I know I never have it made to please you! Well, what a relief to me it would be if dear mother was always at hand, that you might have a stew when you liked. What a load it would be off my mind. "Again, for pickles! Not at all like anybody else's pickles. Her red cabbage--why, it's as crisp as biscuit! And then her walnuts-- and her all-sorts! Eh, Caudle? You know how you love pickles; and how we sometimes tiff about 'em? Now if dear mother was here, a word would never pass between us. And I'm sure nothing would make me happier, for--you're not asleep, Caudle?--for I can't bear to quarrel, can I, love?