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He took up the piece with tenderness. “Where is it I’ve known this very bit?” Suddenly it came to him. “In the pew-opener’s front parlour!”
“No, in the pew-opener’s best bedroom: on the old chest of drawers, with those ducks of brass handles. I’ve got the handles too—I mean the whole thing; and the brass fender and fire-irons, and the chair her grandmother died in.”
Chivers rocked in the high wind of such transactions. “You did right to take this out, mum, when the fly went to the stables. Them flymen do be cruel rash with anything delicate.” Returning the pot to its niche, his nervousness tripped him—a false movement, a knock, a gasp, a shriek, a complete little crash. The pot lay on the pavement in several pieces, and Chivers stood blue with fear. “Mercy on us, mum—I’ve brought shame on my old grey hairs!”
She laughed through her own little shriek. “Oh, but the way you take it! You’re too quaint to live! The way you said that now—it’s just the very ‘type’! That’s all I want of you now—to be the very type. It’s what you are, you poor dear thing, for you can’t help it. There was a type in the train with me—the ‘awfully nice girl’ of all the English novels. She couldn’t help it either.” Her face, watching his fragments rattle in his hands, was a beneficent reflection of her manner. “By the way, the girl was coming right here. Has she come?”
Chivers crept solemnly back. “Miss Prodmore is here, mum. She’s having her tea.”
“Yes, that’s exactly it—they’re always having their tea!”
“With Mr. Prodmore—in the morning-room,” he supplemented. “Captain Yule’s in the garden.”
“Captain Yule?” She gave an “Oh!” “The new master? He had never—so much as seen the place.”
“Before today—his very own?” This too ended in a laugh. “Well, I hope he likes it!”
“I haven’t seen many, mum, that like it as much as you.”
She made a motion with her handsome head. “I should like it still better if it were my very own!”
“If it wasn’t against my duty I could wish it were! But the Captain, mum, is the lawful heir.”
“That’s another of your lovely old things—I adore your lawful heirs! He has come to take possession?”
“He’s a-taking of it now.”
“What does he do and how does he do it? Can’t I see?” Chivers looked blank. “There’s no grand fuss?”
“I scarce think him the gentleman to make any about anything.”
She had to resign herself. “Well, perhaps I like them better when they don’t!” She prepared to make way. “I also—have taken possession!”
Chivers rose to her. “It was you, mum, took it first!”
“Ah, but for a poor little hour! He’s for life.”
“For mine, mum, I do at least hope.”
She made the circuit of the place, picking up her jacket. “I shall think of you, here together.” Then abruptly: “Do you suppose he’ll be kind to you?”
His hand turned the matter over. “He has already been, mum.”
“Then be sure to be so to him!” The house-bell sounded. “Is that his bell?”
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