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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
72
Her
letters
back
to
her
husband
(treasured
as
fondly
by
him
as
if
they
had
been
M.
T.
Ciceronis
Epistolæ)
were
more
satisfactory
to
an
absent
husband
and
father
than
his
could
ever
have
been
to
her.
She
told
him
how
Deborah
sewed
her
seam
very
neatly
every
day,
and
read
to
her
in
the
books
he
had
set
her;
how
she
was
a
very
“forrard,”
good
child,
but
would
ask
questions
her
mother
could
not
answer,
but
how
she
did
not
let
herself
down
by
saying
she
did
not
know,
but
took
to
stirring
the
fire,
or
sending
the
“forrard”
child
on
an
errand.
Matty
was
now
the
mother’s
darling,
and
promised
(like
her
sister
at
her
age),
to
be
a
great
beauty.
I
was
reading
this
aloud
to
Miss
Matty,
who
smiled
and
sighed
a
little
at
the
hope,
so
fondly
expressed,
that
“little
Matty
might
not
be
vain,
even
if
she
were
a
bewty.”
“I
had
very
pretty
hair,
my
dear,”
said
Miss
Matilda;
“and
not
a
bad
mouth.”
And
I
saw
her
soon
afterwards
adjust
her
cap
and
draw
herself
up.
But
to
return
to
Mrs
Jenkyns’s
letters.
She
told
her
husband
about
the
poor
in
the
parish;
what
homely
domestic
medicines
she
had
administered;
what
kitchen
physic
she
had
sent.
She
had
evidently
held
his
displeasure
as
a
rod
in
pickle
over
the
heads
of
all
the
ne’er-do-wells.
She
asked
for
his
directions
about
the
cows
and
pigs;
and
did
not
always
obtain
them,
as
I
have
shown
before.
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