She shook her head weakly, and rubbed her hands.
"Oh! Aunt Dagon, it's dreadful to see him.

He don't seem himself.

He does nothing but sit at the table and drum with his fingers; and in the night he lies awake, thinking.

And, oh dear!" she said, giving way to a sudden burst of grief, "he doesn't scold at any thing." Mrs.Dagon listened and reflected.
"My dear," she asked, "has he settled any thing upon you ?" "Nothing," replied Mrs.Newt.
"Aunt Dagon," said May, who sat by, looking at the old lady, "we are now poor people.

We shall sell this house, and go and live in a small way out of sight." "Fiddle, diddle! my dear," returned Mrs.Dagon, warmly; "you'll do no such thing.