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"So much the better for her," said the aged furmity-woman. "Ah, I saved her from a real bad marriage, and she's never been the one to thank me." "I say, what a good foundation for a skimmity-ride," said Nance. "True," said Mrs. Cuxsom, reflecting. "'Tis as good a ground for a skimmity-ride as ever I knowed; and it ought not to be wasted.
"Let him breathe let him breathe, Mother Cuxsom. He hain't got his second wind yet," said the master glazier. "Oh yes, but I have!" exclaimed the young man; and he at once rendered "O Nannie" with faultless modulations, and another or two of the like sentiment, winding up at their earnest request with "Auld Lang Syne."
Coming into the light at the bridge which stood at the end of High Street he beheld lounging thereon Mother Cuxsom and Nance Mockridge. "We be just going down Mixen Lane way, to look into Peter's Finger afore creeping to bed," said Mrs. Cuxsom. "There's a fiddle and tambourine going on there. Lord, what's all the world do ye come along too, Jopp 'twon't hinder ye five minutes."
To respect the dead is sound doxology; and I wouldn't sell skellintons leastwise respectable skellintons to be varnished for 'natomies, except I were out o' work. But money is scarce, and throats get dry. Why SHOULD death rob life o' fourpence? I say there was no treason in it." "Well, poor soul; she's helpless to hinder that or anything now," answered Mother Cuxsom.
Newson, a mere skellinton, has got another husband to keep her, while a woman of your tonnage have not." "I have not. Nor another to beat me....Ah, yes, Cuxsom's gone, and so shall leather breeches!" "Yes; with the blessing of God leather breeches shall go." "'Tisn't worth my old while to think of another husband," continued Mrs. Cuxsom. "And yet I'll lay my life I'm as respectable born as she."
Henchard was dead just dead that very hour. At the town-pump there were gathered when he passed a few old inhabitants, who came there for water whenever they had, as at present, spare time to fetch it, because it was purer from that original fount than from their own wells. Mrs. Cuxsom, who had been standing there for an indefinite time with her pitcher, was describing the incidents of Mrs.
"One that stands high in this town. I'd like to shame her! Upon my life, 'twould be as good as a play to read her love-letters, the proud piece of silk and wax-work! For 'tis her love-letters that I've got here." "Love letters? then let's hear 'em, good soul," said Mother Cuxsom. "Lord, do ye mind, Richard, what fools we used to be when we were younger?
"And now he's worth ever so much a minute," murmured Longways. "When a man is said to be worth so much a minute, he's a man to be considered!" Turning, he saw a circular disc reticulated with creases, and recognized the smiling countenance of the fat woman who had asked for another song at the Three Mariners. "Well, Mother Cuxsom," he said, "how's this? Here's Mrs.
"And dostn't mind how mother would sing, Christopher?" continued Mrs. Cuxsom, kindling at the retrospection; "and how we went with her to the party at Mellstock, do ye mind? at old Dame Ledlow's, farmer Shinar's aunt, do ye mind? she we used to call Toad-skin, because her face were so yaller and freckled, do ye mind?" "I do, hee-hee, I do!" said Christopher Coney.
Jopp in his time of distress had often stood here; so had Mother Cuxsom, Christopher Coney, and poor Abel Whittle. The miserables who would pause on the remoter bridge were of a politer stamp.
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