"You dare say not?
"No; it wasn't indeed, Caudle. Then, if dear mother was only with us, what money we should save in beer! And then you might always have your own nice pure, good, wholesome ale, Caudle; and what good it would do you! For you're not strong, Caudle.
"And then dear mother's jams and preserves, love! I own it, Caudle; it has often gone to my heart that with cold meat you haven't always had a pudding. Now if mother was with us, in the matter of fruit puddings she'd make it summer all the year round. But I never could preserve—now mother does it, and for next to no money whatever. What nice dogs-in-a-blanket she'd make for the children!
"What's dogs-in-a-blanket?
"Oh, they're delicious—as dear mother makes 'em.
"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
