Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged, the contract was solemnly ratified in another tea-cupful of the peppermint mixture, which was rendered the more necessary by the flutter and agitation of the lady’s spirits. While it was being disposed of, she acquainted Mr. Bumble with the old woman’s decease. “Very good,” said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint “I’ll call at Sowerberry’s as I go home, and tell him to send to-morrow morning. Was it that as frightened you, love?” “It wasn’t anything particular, dear,” said the lady, evasively. “It must have been something, love,” urged Mr. Bumble. “Wont you tell your own B.?” “Not now,” rejoined the lady; “one of these days,—after we’re married, dear.” “After we’re married!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble. “It wasn’t any impudence from any of them male paupers as——” “No, no, love!” interposed the lady, hastily. “If I thought it was,” continued Mr. Bumble,—“if I thought any one of ’em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely countenance——” “They wouldn’t have dared to do it, love,” responded the lady. “They had better not!” said Mr. Bumble, clenching his fist. “Let me see any man, porochial, or extra-porochial, as would presume to do it, and I can tell him that he wouldn’t do it a second time!” Unembellished by any violence of gesticulation, this might have sounded as no very high compliment to the lady’s charms; but, as Mr. Bumble accompanied the threat with many warlike gestures, she was much touched with this proof of his devotion, and protested, with great admiration, that he was indeed a dove. The dove then turned up his coat-collar, and put on his cocked-hat, and having exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with his future partner, once again braved the cold wind of the night; merely pausing for a few minutes in the male paupers’ ward to abuse them a little, with the view of satisfying himself that he could fill the office of workhouse-master with needful acerbity. Assured of his qualifications, Mr. Bumble left the building with a light heart and bright visions of his future promotion, which served to occupy his mind until he reached the shop of the undertaker. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone out to tea and supper, and Noah Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon himself a greater amount of physical exertion than is necessary to a convenient performance of the two functions of eating and drinking, the shop was not closed, although it was past the usual hour of shutting-up. Mr. Bumble tapped with his cane on the counter several times; but, attracting no attention, and beholding a light shining through the glass-window of the little parlour, at the back of the shop, he made bold to peep in and see what was going forward; and, when he saw what _was_ going forward, he was not a little surprised.