Mr Flintwinch informed him that his mother had recovered her equanimity now, and that he need not fear her again alluding to what had passed in the morning.

'And don't you lay offences at your father's door, Mr Arthur,' added Jeremiah, 'once for all, don't do it! Now, we have done with the subject.' Mr Flintwinch had been already rearranging and dusting his own particular little office, as if to do honour to his accession to new dignity.

He resumed this occupation when he was replete with beef, had sucked up all the gravy in the baking-dish with the flat of his knife, and had drawn liberally on a barrel of small beer in the scullery.

Thus refreshed, he tucked up his shirt-sleeves and went to work again; and Mr Arthur, watching him as he set about it, plainly saw that his father's picture, or his father's grave, would be as communicative with him as this old man.
'Now, Affery, woman,' said Mr Flintwinch, as she crossed the hall.

'You hadn't made Mr Arthur's bed when I was up there last.