“Now, you have tasted her Irish stew, Caudle? You remember that? Come, you’re not asleep - you remember that? And how fond you are of it! And I know I never have it made to please you! Well, what a relief to me it would be if dear mother was always at hand, that you might have a stew when you liked. What a load it would be off my mind.
“Again, for pickles! Not at all like anybody else’s pickles. Her red cabbage - why, it’s as crisp as biscuit! And then her walnuts - and her all-sorts! Eh, Caudle? You know how you love pickles; and how we sometimes tiff about ’em? Now if dear mother was here, a word would never pass between us. And I’m sure nothing would make me happier, for - you’re not asleep, Caudle? - for I can’t bear to quarrel, can I, love?
“The children, too, are so fond of her! And she’d be such a help to me with ’em! I’m sure, with dear mother in the house, I shouldn’t care a fig for measles, or anything of the sort. As a nurse, she’s such a treasure!
“And at her time of life, what a needle-woman! And the darning and mending for the children, it really gets quite beyond me now, Caudle. Now with mother at my hand, there wouldn’t be a stitch wanted in the house.
“And then, when you’re out late, Caudle - for I know you must be out late sometimes: I can’t expect you, of course, to be always at home - why then dear mother could sit up for you, and nothing would delight the dear soul half so much.
“And so, Caudle, love, I think dear mother had better come, don’t you? Eh, Caudle? Now, you’re not asleep, darling; don’t you think she’d better come? You say No?
“You say No again? You won’t have her, you say?
“You won’t, that’s flat?
“Caudle - Cau-Cau-dle - Cau - dle - ”
“Here Mrs. Caudle,” says her husband, “suddenly went into tears; and I went to sleep.”