LECTURE XI - MRS. CAUDLE SUGGESTS THAT HER DEAR MOTHER SHOULD “COME AND LIVE WITH THEM.”
“Is your cold better to-night, Caudle? Yes; I thought it was. ’Twill be quite well to-morrow, I dare say. There’s a love! You don’t take care enough of yourself, Caudle, you don’t. And you ought, I’m sure, if only for my sake. For whatever I should do, if anything was to happen to you - but I think of it; no, I can’t bear to think of that. Still, you ought to take care of yourself; for you know you’re not strong, Caudle; you know you’re not.
“Wasn’t dear mother so happy with us to-night? Now, you needn’t go to sleep so suddenly. I say, wasn’t she so happy?
“You don’t know?
“How can you say you don’t know? You must have seen it. But she is always happier here than anywhere else. Ha! what a temper that dear soul has! I call it a temper of satin; it is so smooth, so easy, and so soft. Nothing puts her out of the way. And then, if you only knew how she takes your part, Caudle! I’m sure, if you had been her own son ten times over, she couldn’t be fonder of you. Don’t you think so, Caudle? Eh, love? Now, do answer.
“How can you tell?
“Nonsense, Caudle; you must have seen it. I’m sure nothing delights the dear soul so much as when she’s thinking how to please you.
“Don’t you remember Thursday night, the stewed oysters when you came home? That was all dear mother’s doings! ‘Margaret,’ says she to me, ‘it’s a cold night; and don’t you think dear Mr. Caudle would like something nice before he goes to bed?’ And that, Caudle, is how the oysters came about. Now, don’t sleep, Caudle: do listen to me for five minutes; ’tisn’t often I speak, goodness knows.
“And then, what a fuss she makes when you are out, if your slippers aren’t put to the fire for you.
“She’s very good?