“It was right kind of you, Maggie,” Mrs. Clapham beamed; “it was right kind! Good luck doesn’t come every day o’ the week, and when it does, it’d be a queer sort as didn’t want everybody to hear!”
Steeped in a mutual kindness that had the warmth of an embrace, they drifted across the fast-drying floor and seated themselves by the small fire. Mrs. Tanner perched herself on the edge of the stiff rocker, while Mrs. Clapham sat in her late husband’s chair, bolt upright, her bare arms outstretched, her plump moist hands resting upon her knees. The big woman and the little beamed across at each other, thoroughly satisfied with a pleasant world.
“They’ll hear right enough—trust ’em for that! They’re agog about it, even now. Mrs. Simmons put her head out as I ran up and said ‘Hst! Any more about yon almshouse do?’—but of course I couldn’t tell her what I didn’t know myself!”
“Ay, she’s the sort to get up the night before, to make sure of a bit o’ gossip!” ... They had a hearty laugh together at this peculiarity of Mrs. Simmons’, exactly as if it wasn’t shared by everybody in the street. But anything was good enough to laugh at on this day that was to be laughter and pleasantness all through. Mrs. Simmons’ weakness did as well as anything else. “But there! I mustn’t be counting my chickens afore they’re hatched!” Mrs. Clapham said presently, trying to sober down. “Nice and silly I’ll look if I don’t get it, after all! Not but what I sort o’ feel in my bones as it’s going to be all right.”
Mrs. Tanner, at least, had no qualms about tempting Providence.
“Folks all say you’re the only person for it,” she repeated stoutly. “There’s a many wanted it, of course, but there’s nobody earned it same as you. You’d be fit to hide your face if you knew all the fine things I’ve heard tell of you these last few days, about you being that honest and straight-living and all that! What, I shouldn’t wonder if folks was that pleased they’d go sticking out flags!” she went on, her imagination running away with her,—“nay, but they won’t. They’ll be too put about over lossing your grand work.”
“Ay, well, I can’t say I shan’t be pleased to be missed. Folks always want to be told there’s nobody like ’em when their turn comes to step aside. I’m sure I’ve done my best for the place while I’ve been about it!” She chuckled happily, rubbing her hands backwards and forwards over the harding apron. “There’s not a floor can cry out at me as I’ve ever had occasion to scrub!... But I’m going back, all the same, and it’s about time I gave up. My knee’s been bothering me a deal lately, and my heart’s a bit jumpy an’ all. I did think of going to doctor about it, but I reckon it’s just old age. I’ll be right enough, likely, when I’m in my own spot, and no call to bother about the rent!”
“Ay, you’ve had a fairish hard life,” Mrs. Tanner agreed sympathetically, “and it’s no wonder it’s beginning to tell. Not but what you’d have found work for yourself wherever you were, that I’ll be bound! You’re the sort as always likes things a little hard. You’d never ha’ done with ’em soft.”
“I could ha’ done with ’em a bit easier like, all the same!” Mrs. Clapham rejoined humorously. “But you’re likely right. I can’t abide folks to be mooning around or lying about half their time. I like to see a bit of elbow-grease put into life, same as it might be a kitchen-table! I was brought up to think there was nowt like work, and I can’t say I’ve ever found anything better. My Tibbie’s a grand worker an’ all, and yon little Libby of hers shapes to frame the same way.... But folks can’t last for ever and that’s a fact; and I’ve always sworn as I’d end my days in them almshouses on Hermitage Hill.”
The eyes of the two women shone as they met and smiled. They leaned towards each other, a little breathless.