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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
83
“Well!
he
went
to
her
room,
it
seems,
and
dressed
himself
in
her
old
gown,
and
shawl,
and
bonnet;
just
the
things
she
used
to
wear
in
Cranford,
and
was
known
by
everywhere;
and
he
made
the
pillow
into
a
little—
you
are
sure
you
locked
the
door,
my
dear,
for
I
should
not
like
anyone
to
hear—
into—
into
a
little
baby,
with
white
long
clothes.
It
was
only,
as
he
told
me
afterwards,
to
make
something
to
talk
about
in
the
town;
he
never
thought
of
it
as
affecting
Deborah.
And
he
went
and
walked
up
and
down
in
the
Filbert
walk—
just
half-hidden
by
the
rails,
and
half-seen;
and
he
cuddled
his
pillow,
just
like
a
baby,
and
talked
to
it
all
the
nonsense
people
do.
Oh
dear!
and
my
father
came
stepping
stately
up
the
street,
as
he
always
did;
and
what
should
he
see
but
a
little
black
crowd
of
people—
I
daresay
as
many
as
twenty—
all
peeping
through
his
garden
rails.
So
he
thought,
at
first,
they
were
only
looking
at
a
new
rhododendron
that
was
in
full
bloom,
and
that
he
was
very
proud
of;
and
he
walked
slower,
that
they
might
have
more
time
to
admire.
And
he
wondered
if
he
could
make
out
a
sermon
from
the
occasion,
and
thought,
perhaps,
there
was
some
relation
between
the
rhododendrons
and
the
lilies
of
the
field.
My
poor
father!
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