“no, man, it can’t,” cried the old gentleman with a perplexed expression, “because the dirty things are already sold and the money is invested in botallack shares, to sell which and pay back the cash in the present depressed state of things would be utter madness. but hush! here comes my better half, and although she is a dear good soul, with an unusual amount of wisdom for her size, it would be injudicious to prolong the lectures of the night into the early hours of morning.”

as he spoke little mrs donnithorne’s round good-looking face appeared like the rising sun in the doorway, and her cheery voice welcomed oliver to breakfast.

“thank you, aunt,” said oliver, “but i have already breakfasted more than an hour ago, and am on my way to visit my patients. indeed, i have to blame myself for calling at so early an hour, and would not have done so but for the irresistible attraction of a newly discovered voice, which—”

“come, come, youngster,” interrupted mr donnithorne, “be pleased to bear in remembrance that the voice is connected with a pair of capital ears, remarkable for their sharpness, if not their length, and at no great distance off, i warrant.”

“you do rose injustice,” observed mrs donnithorne, as the voice at that moment broke out into a lively carol in the region of the kitchen, whither its owner had gone to superintend culinary matters. “but tell me, oliver, have you heard of the accident to poor batten?”

“yes, i saw him yesterday,” replied the doctor, “just after the accident happened, and i am anxious about him. i fear, though i am not quite certain, that his eyesight is destroyed.”

“dear! dear!—oh, poor man,” said mrs donnithorne, whose sympathetic heart swelled, while her blue eyes instantly filled with tears. “it is so very sad, oliver, for his delicate wife and four young children are entirely dependent upon him and his two sons—and they found it difficult enough to make the two ends meet, even when they were all in health; for it is hard times among the miners at present, as you know, oliver; and now—dear, dear, it is very, very sad.”

little mrs donnithorne said nothing more at that time, but her mind instantly reverted to a portly basket which she was much in the habit of carrying with her on her frequent visits to the poor and the sick—for the good lady was one of those whose inclinations as well as principles lead them to “consider the poor.”

it must not be imagined, however, that the poor formed a large class of the community in st. just. the miners of that district, and indeed all over cornwall, were, and still are, a self-reliant, independent, hard-working race, and as long as tough thews and sinews, and stout and willing hearts, could accomplish anything, they never failed to wrench a subsistence out of the stubborn rocks which contain the wealth of the land. begging goes very much against the grain of a cornishman, and the lowest depth to which he can sink socially, in his own esteem, is that of being dependent on charity.

in some cases this sentiment is carried too far, and has degenerated into pride; for, when god in his wisdom sees fit, by means of disabling accident or declining health, to incapacitate a man from labour, it is as honourable in him to receive charity as it is (although not always sufficiently esteemed so) a high privilege and luxury of the more fortunate to give.

worthy mrs donnithorne’s charities were always bestowed with such delicacy that she managed, in some mysterious way, to make the recipients feel as though they had done her a favour in accepting them. and yet she was not a soft piece of indiscriminating amiability, whose chief delight in giving lay in the sensations which the act created within her own breast. by no means. none knew better than she when and where to give money, and when to give blankets, bread, or tea. she was equally sharp to perceive the spirit that rendered it advisable for her to say, “i want you to do me a favour—there’s a good woman now, you won’t refuse me, etcetera,” and to detect the spirit that called forth the sharp remark, accompanied with a dubious smile and a shake of her fat forefinger, “there now, see that you make better use of it this time, else i shall have to scold you.”

having received a message for poor mrs batten, the miner’s wife, the doctor left the cottage, and proceeded to pay his visits. let us accompany him.