Chapter II: Mother Crampton

MOTHER CRAMPTON had passed her seventy-seventh birthday, and it seemed probable she would live to be ninety or more, for her steps were elastic and her eyes bright. She was a well-known inhabitant of Dixtown, having rented the same two rooms for more than thirty years. She kept a small shop, and sold boxes of beautiful shells, which were collected from the neighbouring sands by a gentleman who had seen better days, and who earned in this manner a bare subsistence for himself and daughter.

Mother Crampton was diminutive in stature, but neat and trim in person. She wore a dress of coarse material, and a dark brown woollen apron. Sometimes both dress and apron were patched in many places, and not always with the same-coloured stuff; but the stitches were so small, and the turnings so even, they but served to show how thrifty she was, and what her still nimble fingers were able to perform. They moved quickly, too, when the old dame knitted her black stockings. How she managed to walk about in her heavy, thick leather boots was a question that she decided by many ominous shakes of the head, and a long explanation about the needs-be of women so far advanced in life as she was trying to keep clear of rheumatism.

Though Mother Crampton's face was wrinkled, and the lines in it deep-set, she was pleasant-looking and intelligent, with a placid expression which denoted a mind at rest. She was very peaceful and contented, because she trusted in God, and had found the joy of believing in Jesus for many a long year; nor was she ashamed to confess her Saviour before men.

We have said that Mother Crampton rented two rooms. That on the ground-floor was her shop and parlour, overhead was her bedroom, which was somewhat encumbered by a full-sized four-post bed, covered with a patchwork quilt, sewn by herself.

The lower room had a curious medley of furniture of all sorts in it. The kitchen fireplace was let into a recess. The three shelves over it were filled with pans, irons, candlesticks, and a great variety of cooking utensils. Near to this recess there was a small wooden cupboard, in which four dozen cups and saucers, six earthenware teapots, and as many small jugs and sugar-basins, were kept.

Opposite to it stood a chest of drawers, which held the good dame's Sunday clothes, and all the linen and wearing apparel she possessed, except her black silk bonnet, which was carefully pinned up in a pocket-handkerchief and deposited in a square box under her bed. A great variety of articles were displayed on the top of the chest of drawers, which was protected from scratches by a green baize cloth. Among them was an old Bible, full of quaint pictures, and a shell-house which served for a barometer. It contained two wooden figures fastened together by catgut. "Let my old woman appear," said Mother Crampton, "and I'm sure the weather will be fine; and the rain will fall if her husband shows himself."

A small, round, wooden table was placed next to the drawers. On it were piled, one above the other, four boxes filled with shells, which were carefully wrapped in paper to protect them from the dust. By their side stood a large pair of scales. A corner cupboard, the door of which always remained open, was fixed close to the window, and contained a reserve stock of goods and eatables of various sorts. A second wooden table was placed in the window, which was kept tolerably clear in the morning, so that the boxes of shells might be displayed to customers, or the scales stand on it while some article was weighed out. Every afternoon it was covered with cups and saucers, for many tired fishwomen had tea ere they returned to their homes, which in some instances were several miles distant from Dixtown, and involved a longer row than to Norton Island. Mother Crampton earned many halfpence by entertaining these prawn-sellers. She provided the crockery, hot water, and milk, for which they paid one penny per head. Usually each visitor brought her own tea and sugar.

Three shelves extended across the shop-window. The highest held two wide-necked bottles, one filled with starch, and the other with pepper. A paper which covered the centre pane of glass announced that blacking might be purchased within; while a second notice invited strangers to inspect the boxes of shells.

The lowest shelf was much wider than the other two; it contained packets of blacklead, bottles of ink, a cup of oatmeal, onions, pipes, lumps of salt, lucifers, a few prawns, and sometimes a bunch of parsley or mint. The walls of the room were adorned with brown paper bags filled with spearmint, sage, and other dried herbs, while three portraits, cut out of black paper, and intended to be likenesses of dear friends, hung over the chest of drawers.

Mother Crampton was very busy about three o'clock on the day after our story commences. She folded up her work at half-past two, set the cups and saucers on the wooden table, put the kettle on the fire, and took a loaf of bread and a small piece of butter out of the corner cupboard. Whoever ate a thick slice of bread and butter paid an extra halfpenny, and at the same rate for every additional slice.

The kettle was singing and hissing when Mrs. Gillies entered, looking very much heated.

"How do you do, mother?" she said. "I'm glad to sit down a bit; it's been very hot to-day."

"Have you had a good morning's trade?" asked the old dame. "You haven't many prawns left, I see."

"I've been uncommon lucky, considering I came over later than usual," answered Mrs. Gillies; "and, what's better, I've got rid of all my stale fish. I put a tidy lot at the bottom of my basket, and a young lady on the terrace bought them all."

"Did you pass them off as fresh?"

Mrs. Gillies laughed. "Of course I did, mother. I said too, 'You may trust me, Miss.' All's fair in Dixtown; no one takes advantage of the other."

"And she believed you, and bought your prawns! O neighbour! When will you learn to do unto others as you would be done by?"

"I've my living to get, and a large family to feed and clothe; it won't do to be too particular," answered Mrs. Gillies.

"You may prosper, or think you prosper, by falsehood," said the dame; "but it will never last. Honesty is the best policy, both for this world and the next."

"Don't preach, mother," replied Mrs. Gillies, good-humouredly. "I've had a capital day's trade, and I'm very happy; besides, I'm too hot to listen to a sermon."

"Neighbour, neighbour! I wish you wouldn't talk like that. Remember that your actions are known to God, and that you will one day have to render an account to Him of all your false dealings."

"Hush, hush! good mother; you're too much of a saint for me. Now, listen. I've some news for you. Our Tom's going to live with Miss Pringle, and I hope you'll give him a kind word now and then."

Dame Crampton was about to answer, when two other women entered the room, and the conversation became more general. There was a strong smell of tea very soon, and many confidences were exchanged in the next quarter of an hour, to which the old mother listened with a grave face. She could not jest with her customers over what she considered dishonest dealings. Sometimes she ventured to remonstrate, but her words were not much heeded; still she persisted in bearing her testimony to what she believed to be the truth.