Mrs Tulliver’s thoughts had been temporarily diverted from the quarrel with Mrs Glegg by millinery and maternal cares, but now the great theme of the bonnet was thrown into perspective, and the children were out of the way, yesterday’s anxieties recurred. “It weighs on my mind so as never was,” she said, by way of opening the subject, “sister Glegg’s leaving the house in that way. I’m sure I’d no wish t’ offend a sister.” “Ah,” said aunt Pullet, “there’s no accounting for what Jane ’ull do. I wouldn’t speak of it out o’ the family, if it wasn’t to Dr Turnbull; but it’s my belief Jane lives too low. I’ve said so to Pullet often and often, and he knows it.” “Why, you said so last Monday was a week, when we came away from drinking tea with ’em,” said Mr Pullet, beginning to nurse his knee and shelter it with his pocket handkerchief, as was his way when the conversation took an interesting turn. “Very like I did,” said Mrs Pullet, “for you remember when I said things, better than I can remember myself. He’s got a wonderful memory, Pullet has,” she continued, looking pathetically at her sister. “I should be poorly off if he was to have a stroke, for he always remembers when I’ve got to take my doctor’s stuff; and I’m taking three sorts now.” “There’s the ‘pills as before’ every other night, and the new drops at eleven and four, and the ’fervescing mixture ‘when agreeable,’” rehearsed Mr Pullet, with a punctuation determined by a lozenge on his tongue. “Ah, perhaps it ’ud be better for sister Glegg if _she’d_ go to the doctor sometimes, instead o’ chewing Turkey rhubarb whenever there’s anything the matter with her,” said Mrs Tulliver, who naturally saw the wide subject of medicine chiefly in relation to Mrs Glegg. “It’s dreadful to think on,” said aunt Pullet, raising her hands and letting them fall again, “people playing with their own insides in that way! And it’s flying i’ the face o’ Providence; for what are the doctors for, if we aren’t to call ’em in? And when folks have got the money to pay for a doctor, it isn’t respectable, as I’ve told Jane many a time. I’m ashamed of acquaintance knowing it.” “Well, _we’ve_ no call to be ashamed,” said Mr Pullet, “for Doctor Turnbull hasn’t got such another patient as you i’ this parish, now old Mrs Sutton’s gone.” “Pullet keeps all my physic-bottles, did you know, Bessy?” said Mrs Pullet. “He won’t have one sold. He says it’s nothing but right folks should see ’em when I’m gone. They fill two o’ the long store-room shelves a’ready; but,” she added, beginning to cry a little, “it’s well if they ever fill three. I may go before I’ve made up the dozen o’ these last sizes. The pill-boxes are in the closet in my room,—you’ll remember that, sister,—but there’s nothing to show for the boluses, if it isn’t the bills.”