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He had retired to private prayer in his chamber, and Mr. and
Mrs. Earnshaw were engaging Missy’s attention by sundry gay
trifles bought for her to present to the little Lintons, as an
acknowledgment of their kindness.
They had invited them to spend the morrow at Wuthering
Heights, and the invitation had been accepted, on one condition:
Mrs. Linton begged that her darlings might be kept carefully apart
from that “naughty swearing boy.”
Under these circumstances I remained solitary. I smelt the rich
scent of the heating spices; and admired the shining kitchen
utensils, the polished clock, decked in holly, the silver mugs
ranged on a tray ready to be filled with mulled ale for supper; and,
above all, the speckless purity of my particular care--the scoured
and well-swept floor.
I gave due inward applause to every object, and then I
remembered how old Earnshaw used to come in when all was
tidied, and call me a cant lass, and slip a shilling into my hand as a
Christmas-box; and from that I went on to think of his fondness for
Heathcliff, and his dread lest he should suffer neglect after death
had removed him; and that naturally led me to consider the poor
lad’s situation now, and from singing I changed my mind to crying.
It struck me soon, however, there would be more sense in
endeavouring to repair some of his wrongs than shedding tears
over them. I got up and walked into the court to seek him.
He was not far; I found him smoothing the glossy coat of the
new pony in the stable, and feeding the other beasts, according to
“Make haste, Heathcliff!” I said, “the kitchen is so comfortable;
and Joseph is upstairs: make haste, and let me dress you smart