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Updated: June 16, 2025
Later in the evening Harriet went to call upon her friend Mrs. Sprowl. Something of an amusing kind seemed to be going forward in front of the house. On drawing near and pressing into the crowd of loitering people, she beheld a spectacle familiar to her, and one which brought a smile to her face.
When next she visited Litany Lane, Ida learnt that "pore Mrs. Casty," after a quarrel with her friend Mrs. Sprowl, had fallen downstairs in a fit and broken her neck. Waymark lived on in the Isle of Wight, until a day when there came to him a letter from Miss Bygrave.
On their last Thursday at Tarpaulin Uncle Tom Sprowl came in on the smack with Captain Higgins. He had boarded the Calista at York Island. Everybody, including Nemo and Oso, was glad to see Uncle Tom. His rheumatism was fully cured and he was spry and chipper.
"Yes, I've had somebody to follow her and watch her. There's Waymark goes to see her often, and I shouldn't wonder if she half keeps him; he's just that kind of fellow." "You haven't caught no one else going there?" asked Mrs. Sprowl, with another of her intense winks.
"Straight or not, you won't get no change over this counter, so there you've the straight tip. Now sling yer 'ook, Slimy, an' get it somewhere else." "If you've any accusion to make " "Hold yer noise! What's he ordered, Liz?" "Pot o' old six," answered the girl. "Got sixpence, Slimy?" "No, I ain't, Mrs. Sprowl," muttered the creature. "I've got arf a suvrin." "Then go an' get change for it.
"Deacon Clues, Deacon Clues, I redd you no to believe a word that Mr Pawkie's saying, for that was the very way my friend that's no more laid himself out to be fleeched to tak what he was greenan for; so get him intill the council when ye can: we a' ken he'll be a credit to the place," and "so here's to the health of Bailie Pawkie that is to be," cried Mrs Sprowl.
"I can't make her out quite," said Harriet, reflecting, with her head on one side. "I've been at her lodgings tonight, and, whilst she was out of the room, I happened to get sight of a lot of pawn-tickets, for gold chains and sealskins, and I don't know what." "Spouted 'em all when she threw up the job, I s'pose," suggested Mrs. Sprowl. "You're sure she does go to work?"
Why so still, Jim? Something on your mind, eh?" Jim's forehead was wrinkled. "Wait!" was all he deigned. Back in his room, after supper, he unbosomed himself: "A week ago I had a letter from Uncle Tom Sprowl. He lives in Stonington, on Deer Isle, east of Penobscot Bay; but most of the time he fishes and lobsters from Tarpaulin Island, ten miles south of Isle au Haut.
"Did you on a certain occasion go to the person in whose employ the prisoner was, and, by means of certain representations with regard to the prisoner's antecedents, become the cause of her dismissal?" "I did. I told all I knew about her, and I consider I'd a right to do so." Mrs. Sprowl was not to be robbed of her self-assurance by any array of judicial dignity. "What led you to do this?"
Personal fault with Ida she had one at all to find; the sole cause of her dismissal was the information given by Mrs. Sprowl. Perhaps she had acted hastily and unkindly, but she had young girls working in the laundry, and it behoved her to be careful of them. Julian's part in the trial had been limited to an examination as to his knowledge of Ida's alleged thefts.
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