spasms. Mr. Bumble rushed to the closet, and, snatching a pint green-glass bottle from the shelf thus incoherently indicated, filled a tea-cup with its contents, and held it to the lady's lips.
"I'm better now," said Mrs. Comey, falling back after drinking half of it.
Mr. Bumble raised his eyes piously to the ceiling in thankfulness, and, bringing them down again to the brim of the cup, lifted it to his nose.
"Peppermint," explained Mrs. Corney in a faint voice, smiling gently on the beadle as she spoke. "Try it; there's a little—a little something else in it."
Mr. Bumble tasted the medicine with a doubtful look; smacked his lips, took another taste, and put the cup down empty.
"It is very comforting," said Mrs. Comey.
"Very much so, indeed, ma'am," said the beadle. As he spoke, he drew a chair beside the matron, and tenderly inquired what had happened to distress her.
