She had become very deaf;
yet she was uneasy and jealous if she were not informed of all
the family thoughts, plans, and proceedings, which often had
(however private in their details) to be shouted to her at the
full pitch of the voice. But she always heard Leonard perfectly.
His clear and bell-like voice, which was similar to his mother's
till sorrow had taken the ring out of it, was sure to be heard by
the old servant, though every one else had failed. Sometimes,
however, she "got her hearing sudden," as she phrased it, and was
alive to every word and noise, more particularly when they did
not want her to hear; and at such times she resented their
continuance of the habit of speaking loud as a mortal offence.
One day, her indignation at being thought deaf called out one of
the rare smiles on Leonard's face; she saw it, and said, "Bless
thee, lad; if it but amuses thee, they may shout through a ram's
horn to me, and I'll never let on I'm not deaf. It's as good a
use as I can be of," she continued to herself, "if I can make
that poor lad smile a bit."
If she expected to be everybody's confidant, she made Leonard
hers. "There!" said she, when she came home from her marketing
one Saturday night, "look here, lad! Here's forty-two pound,
seven shillings and twopence! It's a mint of money, isn't it? I
took it all in sovereigns for fear of fire."
"What is it all for, Sally?" said he.
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