who were comparing notes of admiration at the workhouse-master’s humility.

‘You thought they were talking too much?’ said Mrs. Bumble. ‘What business is it of yours?’

‘Why, my dear — ‘ urged Mr. Bumble submissively.

‘What business is it of yours?’ demanded Mrs. Bumble, again.

‘It’s very true, you’re matron here, my dear,’ submitted Mr. Bumble; ‘but I thought you mightn’t be in the way just then.’

‘I’ll tell you what, Mr. Bumble,’ returned his lady. ‘We don’t want any of your interference. You’re a great deal too fond of poking your nose into things that don’t