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Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
206
“I’ll
never
leave
her!
No;
I
won’t.
I
telled
her
so,
and
said
I
could
not
think
how
she
could
find
in
her
heart
to
give
me
warning.
I
could
not
have
had
the
face
to
do
it,
if
I’d
been
her.
I
might
ha’
been
just
as
good
for
nothing
as
Mrs
Fitz-Adam’s
Rosy,
who
struck
for
wages
after
living
seven
years
and
a
half
in
one
place.
I
said
I
was
not
one
to
go
and
serve
Mammon
at
that
rate;
that
I
knew
when
I’d
got
a
good
missus,
if
she
didn’t
know
when
she’d
got
a
good
servant”—
“But,
Martha,”
said
I,
cutting
in
while
she
wiped
her
eyes.
“Don’t,
‘but
Martha’
me,”
she
replied
to
my
deprecatory
tone.
“Listen
to
reason”—
“I’ll
not
listen
to
reason,”
she
said,
now
in
full
possession
of
her
voice,
which
had
been
rather
choked
with
sobbing.
“Reason
always
means
what
someone
else
has
got
to
say.
Now
I
think
what
I’ve
got
to
say
is
good
enough
reason;
but
reason
or
not,
I’ll
say
it,
and
I’ll
stick
to
it.
I’ve
money
in
the
Savings
Bank,
and
I’ve
a
good
stock
of
clothes,
and
I’m
not
going
to
leave
Miss
Matty.
No,
not
if
she
gives
me
warning
every
hour
in
the
day!”
She
put
her
arms
akimbo,
as
much
as
to
say
she
defied
me;
and,
indeed,
I
could
hardly
tell
how
to
begin
to
remonstrate
with
her,
so
much
did
I
feel
that
Miss
Matty,
in
her
increasing
infirmity,
needed
the
attendance
of
this
kind
and
faithful
woman.
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