"But if you talk o' my being provided for beyond what I could expect, I beg leave to tell you as I'd a right to expect a many things as I don't find.

And as to my being like a mad dog, it's well if you're not cried shame on by the county for your treatment of me, for it's what I can't bear, and I won't bear----" Here Mrs.Glegg's voice intimated that she was going to cry, and breaking off from speech, she rang the bell violently.
"Sally," she said, rising from her chair, and speaking in rather a choked voice, "light a fire up-stairs, and put the blinds down.

Mr.
Glegg, you'll please to order what you'd like for dinner.

I shall have gruel." Mrs.Glegg walked across the room to the small book-case, and took down Baxter's "Saints' Everlasting Rest," which she carried with her up-stairs.

It was the book she was accustomed to lay open before her on special occasions,--on wet Sunday mornings, or when she heard of a death in the family, or when, as in this case, her quarrel with Mr.
Glegg had been set an octave higher than usual.
But Mrs.Glegg carried something else up-stairs with her, which, together with the "Saints' Rest" and the gruel, may have had some influence in gradually calming her feelings, and making it possible for her to endure existence on the ground-floor, shortly before tea-time.