‘I declare mammy looks younger than Mrs. Crewe, who is only sixty-five,’ said Janet. ‘Mrs. Crewe will come to see you to-day, mammy, and tell you all about her troubles with the Bishop and the collation. She’ll bring her knitting, and you’ll have a regular gossip together.’ ‘The gossip will be all on one side, then, for Mrs. Crewe gets so very deaf, I can’t make her hear a word. And if I motion to her, she always understands me wrong.’ ‘O, she will have so much to tell you to-day, you will not want to speak yourself. You, who have patience to knit those wonderful counterpanes, mammy, must not be impatient with dear Mrs. Crewe. Good old lady! I can’t bear her to think she’s ever tiresome to people, and you know she’s very ready to fancy herself in the way. I think she would like to shrink up to the size of a mouse, that she might run about and do people good without their noticing her.’ ‘It isn’t patience I want, God knows; it’s lungs to speak loud enough. But you’ll be at home yourself, I suppose, this morning; and you can talk to her for me.’ ‘No, mammy; I promised poor Mrs. Lowme to go and sit with her. She’s confined to her room, and both the Miss Lowmes are out; so I’m going to read the newspaper to her and amuse her.’ ‘Couldn’t you go another morning? As Mr. Armstrong and that other gentleman are coming to dinner, I should think it would be better to stay at home. Can you trust Betty to see to everything? She’s new to the place.’ ‘O I couldn’t disappoint Mrs. Lowme; I promised her. Betty will do very well, no fear.’ Old Mrs. Dempster was silent after this, and began to sip her tea. The breakfast went on without further conversation for some time, Mr. Dempster being absorbed in the papers. At length, when he was running over the advertisements, his eye seemed to be caught by something that suggested a new thought to him. He presently thumped the table with an air of exultation, and, said turning to Janet,--‘I’ve a capital idea, Gypsy!’ (that was his name for his dark-eyed wife when he was in an extraordinarily good humour), ‘and you shall help me. It’s just what you’re up to.’ ‘What is it?’ said Janet, her face beaming at the sound of the pet name, now heard so seldom. ‘Anything to do with conveyancing?’ ‘It’s a bit of fun worth a dozen fees--a plan for raising a laugh against Tryan and his gang of hypocrites.’ ‘What is it? Nothing that wants a needle and thread, I hope, else I must go and tease mother.’ ‘No, nothing sharper than your wit--except mine. I’ll tell you what it is. We’ll get up a programme of the Sunday evening lecture, like a play-bill, you know--“Grand Performance of the celebrated Mountebank,” and so on. We’ll bring in the Tryanites--old Landor and the rest--in appropriate characters. Proctor shall print it, and we’ll circulate it in the town. It will be a capital hit.’