They made them
sometimes.
The premises of Mr Mould were hard of hearing to the boisterous noises
in the great main streets, and nestled in a quiet corner, where the City
strife became a drowsy hum, that sometimes rose and sometimes fell and
sometimes altogether ceased; suggesting to a thoughtful mind a stoppage
in Cheapside. The light came sparkling in among the scarlet runners,
as if the churchyard winked at Mr Mould, and said, 'We understand
each other;' and from the distant shop a pleasant sound arose of
coffin-making with a low melodious hammer, rat, tat, tat, tat, alike
promoting slumber and digestion.
'Quite the buzz of insects,' said Mr Mould, closing his eyes in a
perfect luxury. 'It puts one in mind of the sound of animated nature in
the agricultural districts. It's exactly like the woodpecker tapping.'
'The woodpecker tapping the hollow ELM tree,' observed Mrs Mould,
adapting the words of the popular melody to the description of wood
commonly used in the trade.
'Ha, ha!' laughed Mr Mould. 'Not at all bad, my dear. We shall be glad
to hear from you again, Mrs M.
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