“Is it the last occupant’s furniture?” inquired my aunt.
“Yes, it is, ma’am,” said Mrs. Crupp.
“What’s become of him?” asked my aunt.
Mrs. Crupp was taken with a troublesome cough, in the midst of which she articulated with much difficulty. “He was took ill here, ma’am, and—ugh! ugh! ugh! dear me!—and he died!”
“Hey! What did he die of?” asked my aunt.
“Well, ma’am, he died of drink,” said Mrs. Crupp, in confidence. “And smoke.”
“Smoke? You don’t mean chimneys?” said my aunt.
“No, ma’am,” returned Mrs. Crupp. “Cigars and pipes.”
“ That’s not catching, Trot, at any rate,” remarked my aunt, turning to me.
“No, indeed,” said I.
In short, my aunt, seeing how enraptured I was with the premises, took them for a month, with leave to remain for twelve months when that time was out. Mrs. Crupp was to find linen, and to cook; every other necessary was already provided; and Mrs. Crupp expressly intimated that she should always yearn towards me as a son. I was to take possession the day after tomorrow, and Mrs. Crupp said, thank Heaven she had now found summun she could care for!
On our way back, my aunt informed me how she confidently trusted that the life I was now to lead would make me firm and self-reliant, which was all I wanted. She repeated this several times next day, in the