With the cup of tea, came a discussion of the morrow's prospects, and of the ultimate destinies of the Teapot--the upshot of which was, that Mr. Jones was an enterprising public man, and destined to effect a salutary revolution in the whole neighbourhood. Such, at least, was the opinion of Mrs. Gray, warmly supported by Mary. Mr. Jones was silent, through modesty; Rachel, because she was already thinking of other things. They parted late, though the Teapot was to open early. There is a report that it opened with dawn, Mr. Jones not having been able to shut his eyes all night for excitement. But it is more important to record that, until its close, late on the following evening, the Teapot was not one moment empty. Mary had remained at home, to assist her father; and she went through the day with perfect composure; but Mr. Jones was fairly overpowered: the cup of his honours was too full; the sum of his joy was too great. He blundered, he stammered, he was excited, and looked foolish. Altogether, he did not feel happy, until the shop was shut, and all was fairly over. He then sat down, wiped his forehead, and declared, that since he was married to his dear little Mary's blessed mother, he had never gone through such a trying day--never. "It's a fine thing Mr. Jones has undertaken," gravely observed Mrs. Gray to Mrs. Brown. But Mrs. Brown was inclined to look at the shady side of the Tea-pot. "La bless you!" she kindly said, "it'll never do. I said so from the first, and I say so the last, it'll never do!" "Oh, yes it will!" grimly observed Jane; "it will do for Mr. Jones, Mrs. Brown." "I hope not, Jane," said Rachel, gravely; "and I would rather," she added, with some firmness, and venturing for once on a reproof, "I would rather you did not think so much of what evil may happen to others. Sufficient to any of us is it to look forward to our own share of evil days." She raised her voice as she began; but it sank low ere she concluded. Surprised at herself for having said so much, she did not look round, but resumed her work, a moment interrupted. The room remained deeply silent Jane was crimson. For once, Mrs. Gray thought her daughter had spoken sensibly; and for once, Mrs. Brown found nothing to say. CHAPTER X.