The kettle began it! Don't tell me what Mrs.Peerybingle said. I know better. Mrs. Peery-bingle may leave it on record to the end of timethat she couldn't say which of them began it; but,I say the kettle did. I ought to know, I hope! Thekettle began it, full five minutes by the little waxy-faced Dutch clock in the corner, before the Cricketuttered a chirp.

As if the clock hadn't finished striking, and theconvulsive little Haymaker at the top of it, jerkingaway right and left with a scythe in front of aMoorish Palace, hadn't mowed down half an acre ofimaginary grass before the Cricket joined in at all!

Why, I am not naturally positive. Every oneknows that. I wouldn't set my own opinion againstthe opinion of Mrs. Peerybingle, unless I were quitesure, on any account whatever. Nothing should in-duce me. But, this is a question of fact. And thefact is, that the kettle began it, at least five minutesbefore the Cricket gave any sign of being in exist-ence. Contradict me, and I'll say ten.

Let me narrate exactly how it happened. I shouldhave proceeded to do so in my very first word, butfor this plain consideration -- if I am to tell a storyI must begin at the beginning; and how is it pos-sible to begin at the beginning, without beginningat the kettle?

It appeared as if there were a sort of match, ortrial of skill, you must understand, between the kettleand the Cricket. And this is what led to it, andhow it came about.

Mrs. Peerybingle, going out into the raw twilight,and clicking over the wet stones in a pair of pattensthat worked innumerable rough impressions of thefirst proposition in Euclid all about the yard -- Mrs,Peerybingle filled the kettle at the water-butt. Pres-ently returning, less the pattens (and a good dealless, for they were tall and Mrs. Peerybingle wasbut short), she set the kettle on the fire. In doingwhich she lost her temper, or mislaid it for an instant;for, the water being uncomfortably cold, and in thatslippy, slushy, sleety sort of state wherein it seemsto penetrate through every kind of substance, pat-ten rings included -- had laid hold of Mrs. Peery-bingle's toes, and even splashed her legs. And whenwe rather plume ourselves (with reason too) uponoue legs, and keep ourselves particularly neat in pointof stockings, we find this for the moment, hard tobear.

Besides, the kettle was aggravating and obstinate.It wouldn't allow itself to be adjusted on the topbar; it wouldn't hear of accommodating itself kindlyto the knobs of coal; it would lean forward with adrunken air, and dribble, a very Idiot of a kettle,on the hearth. It was quarrelsome, and hissed andspluttered morosely at the fire. To sum up all, thelid, resisting Mrs. Peerybingle's fingers, first of allturned topsy-turvy, and then, with an ingenious per-tinacity deserving of a better cause, dived sidewaysin -- down to the very bottom of the kettle. Andthe hull of the Royal George has never made half themonstrous resistance to coming out of the water,which the lid of that kettle employed against Mrs.Peerybingle, before she got it up again.

It looked sullen and pig-headed enough; even then;carrying its handle with an air of defiance. and cock-ing its spout pertly and mockingly at Mrs. Peery-bingle, as if it said, 'I won't boil. Nothing shallinduce me!'

But Mrs. Peerybingle, with restored good humour,dusted her chubby little hands aginst each other,and sat down before the kettle, laughing. Mean-time, the jolly blaze uprose and fell, flashing andgleaming on the little Haymaker at the top of theDutch clock, until one might have thought he stoodstock still before the Moorish Palace, and nothingwas in motion but the flame.

He was on the move, however; and had his spasms,two to the second, all right and regular. But, hissufferings when the clock was going to strike, werefrightful to behold; and, when a Cuckoo looked outof a trap-door in the Palace, and gave note six times,it shook him, each time, like a spectral voice or likea something wiry, plucking at his legs.

It was not until a violent commotion and a whir-ing noise among the weights and ropes below himhad quite subsided, that this terrified Haymaker be-came himself again. Nor was he startled withoutreason; for these rattling, bony skeletons of clocksare very disconcerting in their operation, and I won-der very much how any set of men, but most of allhow Dutchmen, can have had a liking to invent them.There is a popular belief that Dutchmen love broadcases and much clothing for their own lower selves;and they might know better than to leave their clocksso very lank and unprotected, surely.

Now.it was, you observe, that the kettle began tospend the evening. Now it was, that the kettle, grow-ing mellow and musical, began to have irrepressiblegurglings in its throat, and to indulge in short vocalsnorts, which it checked in the bud, as if it hadn'tquite made up its mind yet, to be good company.Now it was, that after two or three such vain at-tempts to stifle its convivial sentiments, it threw offall moroseness, all reserve, and burst into a stream ofsong so cosy and hilarious, as never maudlin night-ingale yet formed the least idea of.So plain too! Bless you, you might have under-stood it like a book -- better than some books you andI could name, perhaps. With its warm breath gush-ing forth in a light cloud which merrily and grace-fully ascended a few feet, then hung about the chim-ney-corner as its own domestic Heaven, it trolled itssong with that strong energy of cheerfulness, that itsiron body hummed and stirred upon the fire; and thelid itself, the recently rebellious lid -- such is the influ-ence of a bright example -- performed a sort of jig, andclattered like a deaf and dumb young cymbal thathad never known the use of its twin brother.

That this song of the kettle's was a song of invita-tion and welcome to somebody out of doors: to some-body at that moment coming on, towards the snugsmall home and the crisp fire: there is no doubt what-ever Mrs. Peerybingle knew it, perfectly, as she satmusing before the hearth. It's a dark night, sangthe kettle, and the rotten leaves are lying by the way;and above, all is mist and darkness, and below, allis mire and clay; and there's only one relief in allthe sad and murky air; and I don't know that it isone, for it's nothing but a glare; of deep and angrycrimson, where the sun and wind together, set a brandupon the clouds for being guilty of such weather;and the wildest open country is a long dull streakof black; and there's hoar-frost on the finger-postand thaw upon the track; and the ice it isn't water,and the water isn't free; and you couldn't say thatanything is what it ought to be; but he's coming,coming, coming! --

And here, if you like, the Cricket DID chime in!with a Chirrup, Chirrup, Chirrup of such magnitude,by way of chorus; with a voice so astoundingly dis-proportionate to its size, as compared with the kettle;(size! you couldn't see it!) that if it had then andthere burst itself like an overcharged gun, if it hadfallen a victim on the spot, and chirruped its littlebody into fifty pieces, it would have seemed a naturaland inevitable consequence, for which it had ex-pressly laboured.

The kettle had had the last of its solo performance.It persevered with undiminished ardour; but theCricket took first fiddle and kept it. Good Heaven,how it chirped! Its shrill, sharp, piercing voice re-sounded through the house, and seemed to twinkle inthe outer darkness like a star. There was an inde-scribable little trill and tremble in it, at its loudest,which suggested its being carried off its legs, andmade to leap again, by its own intense enthusiasm.Yet they went very well together, the Cricket andthe kettle. The burden of the song was still thesame; and louder, louder, louder still, they sang itin their emulation.

The fair little listener -- for fair she was, andyoung: though something of what is called the dump-ling shape; but I don't myself object to that -- lighteda candle, glanced at the Haymaker on the top of theclock, who was getting in a pretty average crop ofminutes; and looked out of the window, where shesaw nothing, owing to the darkness, but her own faceimaged in the glass. And my opinion is (and sowould yours have been), that she might have lookeda long way, and seen nothing half so agreeable.When she came back, and sat down in her formerseat, the Cricket and the kettle were still keeping itup, with a perfect fury of competition. The kettle'sweak side clearly being, that he didn't know whenhe was beat.

There was all the excitement of a race about it.Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricket a mile ahead. Hum,hum, hum -- m -- m! Kettle making play in the dis-tance, like a great top. Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricketround the corner. Hum, hum, hum -- m -- m! Ket-tle sticking to him in his own way; no idea of giv-ing in. Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricket fresher thanever. Hum, hum, hum -- m -- m! Kettle slow andsteady. Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricket going in to fin-ish him. Hum, hum, hum -- m -- m! Kettle not to befinished. Until at last they got so jumbled together,in the hurry-skurry, helter-skelter, of the match, thatwhether the kettle chirped and the Cricket hummed,or the Cricket chirped and the kettled hummed, orthey both chirped and both hummed, it would havetaken a clearer head than yours or mine to have de-cided with anything like certainty. But, of this,there is no doubt: that, the kettle and the Cricket, atone and the same moment, and by some power ofamalgamation best known to themselves, sent, each,his fireside song of comfort streaming into a ray of thecandle that shone out through the wondow, and a longway down the lane. And this light, bursting on acertain person who, on the instant, approached to-wards it through the gloom, expressed the whole thingto him, literally in a twinkling, and cried, 'Welcomehome, old fellow! Welcome home, my boy!'

This end attained, the kettle, being dead beat,boiled over, and was taken off the fire. Mrs. Peery-bingle then went running to the door, where, whatwith the wheels of a cart, the tramp of a horse, thevoice of a man, the tearing in and out of an exciteddog, and the surprising and mysterious appearanceof a baby, there was soon the very What's-his-nameto pay.

Where the baby came from, or how Mrs. Peery-bingle got hold of it in that flash of time, I don'tknow. But a live baby there was, in Mrs. Peery-bingle's arms; and a pretty tolerable amount of prideshe seemed to have in it, when she was drawn gentlyto the fire, by a sturdy figure of a man, much tallerand much older than herself, who had to stoop a longway down, to kiss her. But she was worth thetrouble. Six foot six, with the lumbago, might havedone it.

'Oh goodness, John!' said' Mrs. P. 'What a stateyou are in with the weather!'

He was something the worse for it, undeniably.The thick mist hung in clots upon his eyelashes likecandied thaw; and between the fog and fire together,there were rainbows in his very whiskers.

'Why, you see, Dot,' John made answer, slowly,as he unrolled a shawl from about his throat; andwarmed his hands; 'It -- it an't exactly summerweather. So, no wonder.'

'I wish you wouldn't call me Dot, John. I don'tlike it,' said Mrs. Peerybingle: pouting in a way thatclearly showed she did like it, very much.

'Why what else are you?' returned John, lookingdown upon her with a smile, and giving her waist aslight a squeeze as his huge hand and arm could give.'A dot and' -- here he glanced at the baby -- 'a dot andcarry -- I won't say it, for fear I should spoil it; butI was very near a joke. I don't know as ever I wasnearer.'

He was often near to something or other veryclever, by his own account: this lumbering, slow hon-est John; this John so heavy, but so light of spirit;so rough upon the surface, but so gentle at the core;so dull without, so quick within, so stolid, but so good!Oh Mother Nature, give thy children the true poetryof heart that hid itself in this poor Carrier's breast --he was but a Carrier by the way -- and we can bearto have them talking prose, and leading lives of prose;and bear to bless thee for their company!

It was pleasant to see Dot, with her little figure,and her baby in her arms: a very doll of a baby:glancing with a coquettish thoughtfulness at the fire,and inclining her delicate little head just enough onone side to let it rest in an odd, half-natural, half-affected, wholly nestling and agreeable manner, onthe great rugged figure of the Carrier. It was pleas-ant to see him, with his tender awkwardness, endeav-ouring to adapt his rude support to her slight need,and make his burly middle-age a leaning-staff notinappropriate to her blooming youth. It was pleasantto observe how Tilly Slowboy, waiting in the back-ground for the baby, took especial cognizance (thoughin her earliest teens) of this grouping; and stood withher mouth and eyes wide open, and her head thrustforward, taking it in as if it were air. Nor was itless agreeable to observe how John the Carrier, refer-ence being made by Dot to the aforesaid baby, checkedhis hand when on the point of touching the infant,as if he thought he might crack it; and bending down,surveyed it from a safe distance, with a kind ofpuzzled pride, such as an amiable mastiff might besupposed to show, if he found himself, one day, thefather of a young canary.

'An't he beautiful, John? Don't he look preciousin his sleep?'

'Very precious,' said John. 'Very much so. Hegenerally is asleep, an't he?'

'Lor, John! Good gracious no!'

'Oh,' said John, pondering. 'I thought his eyes wasgenerally shut. Halloa!'

'Goodness, John, how you startle one!'

'It an't right for him to turn 'em up in that way!'said the astonished Carrier, 'is it? See how he's wink-ing with both of 'em at once! And look at his mouth!Why he's gasping like a gold and silver fish!'

'You don't deserve to be a father, you don't,' saidDot, with all the dignity of an experienced matron.'But how should you know what little complaintschildren are troubled with, John! You wouldn't somuch as know their names, you stupid fellow.' Andwhen she had turned the baby over on her left arm,and had slapped its back as a restorative, she pinchedher husband's ear, laughing.

'No,' said John, pulling off his outer coat. 'It'svery true, Dot. I don't know much about it. I onlyknow that I've been fighting pretty stiffly with thewind to-night. It's been blowing north-east, straightinto the cart, the whole way home.'

'Poor old man, so it has!' cried Mrs. Peerybingle,instantly becoming very active. 'Here! Take theprecious darling, Tilly, while I make myself of someuse. Bless it, I could smother it with kissing it, Icould! Hie then, good dog! Hie Boxer, boy! Onlylet me make the tea first, John; and then I'll helpyou with the parcels, like a busy bee. "How doththe little" -- and all the rest of it, you know, John.Did you ever learn "how doth the little," when youwent to school, John?'

'Not to quite know it,' John returned. 'I was verynear it once. But I should only have spoilt it, Idare say.'

'Ha ha,' laughed Dot. She had the blithest littlelaugh you ever heard. 'What a dear old darling ofa dunce you are, John, to be sure!'

Not at all disputing this position, John went outto see that the boy with the lantern, which had beendancing to and fro before the door and window,like a Will of the Wisp, took due care of the horse;who was fatter than you would quite believe, if Igave you his measure, and so old that his birthdaywas lost in the mists of antiquity. Boxer, feelingthat his attentions were due to the family in general,and must be impartially distributed, dashed in andout with bewildering inconstancy; now, describing acircle of short barks round the horse, where he wasbeing rubbed down at the stable-door; now, feigningto make savage rushes at his mistress, and facetiouslybringing himself to sudden stops; now, eliciting ashriek from Tilly Slowboy, in the low nursing-chairnear the fire, by the unexpected application of hismoist nose to her countenance; now, exhibiting anobtrusive interest in the baby; now, going round andround upon the hearth, and lying down as if he hadestablished himself for the night; now, getting upagain, and. taking that nothing of a fag-end of atail of his, out into the weather, as if he had justremembered an appointment, and was off, at a roundtrot, to keep it.

'There! There's the teapot, ready on the hob!' saidDot; as briskly busy as a child at play at keepinghouse. 'And there's the cold knuckle of ham; andthere's the butter; and there's the crusty loaf, andall! Here's the clothes-basket for the small parcels,John, if you've got any there -- where are you, John?Don't let the dear child fall under the grate, Tilly,whatever you do!'

It may be noted of Miss Slowboy, in spite of herrejecting the caution with some vivacity, that she hada rare and surprising talent for getting this babyinto difficulties: and had several times imperilled itsshort life, in a quiet way peculiarly her own. Shewas of a spare and straight shape, this young lady,insomuch that her garments appeared to be in con-stant danger of sliding off those sharp pegs, her shoul-ders, on which they were loosely hung. Her costumewas remarkable for the partial development, on allpossible occasions, of some flannel vestment of asingular structure; also for affording glimpses, inthe region of the back, of a corset, or pair of stays,in colour a dead-green. ,Being always in a state ofgaping admiration at everything, and absorbed, be-sides, in the perpetual contemplation of her mistress'sperfections and the baby's, Miss Slowboy, in her littleerrors of judgment, may be said to have done equalhonour to her head and to her heart; and though thesedid less honour to the baby's head, which they werethe occasional means of bringing into contact withdeal doors, dressers, stair-rails, bedposts, and otherforeign substances, still they were the honest resultsof Tilly Slowboy's constant astonishment at findingherself so kindly treated, and installed in such a com-fortable home. For, the maternal and paternal Slow-boy were alike unknown to Fame, and Tilly had beenbred by public charity, a foundling; which word,though only differing from fondling by one vowel'slength, is very different in meaning, and expressesquite another thing.

To have seen little Mrs. Peerybingle come backwith her husband, tugging at the clothes-basket, andmaking the most strenuous exertions to do nothingat all (for he carried it), would have amused youalmost as much as it amused him. It may have enter-tained the Cricket too, for anything I know; but,certainly, it now began to chirp again vehemently.

'Heyday!' said John, in his slow way. 'It's mer-rier than ever, to-night, I think.'

'And it's sure to bring us good fortune, John! Italways has done so. To have a Cricket on theHearth, is the luckiest thing in all the world!'

John looked at her as if he had very nearly gotthe thought into his head, that she was his Cricketin chief, and he quite agreed with her. But, it wasprobably one of his narrow escapes, for he saidnothing.

'The first time I heard its cheerful little note, John,was on that night when you brought me home --when you brought me to my new home here; itslittle mistress. Nearly a year ago. You recollect,John?'

O yes. John remembered. I should think so!

'Its chirp was such a welcome to me! It seemedso full of promise and encouragement. It seemedto say, you would be kind and gentle with me, andwould not expect (I had a fear of that, John, then)to find an old head on the shoulders of your foolishlittle wife.'

John thoughtfully patted one of the shoulders, andthen the head, as though he would have said No, no;he had had no such expectation; he had been quitecontent to take them as they were. And really hehad reason. They were very comely.

'It spoke the truth, John, when it seemed to sayso; for you have ever been, I am sure, the best, themost considerate, the most affectionate of husbandsto me. This has been a happy home, John; and Ilove the Cricket for its sake!'

'Why so do I then,' said the Carrier. 'So do I,Dot.'

'I love it for the many times I have heard it, andthe many thoughts its harmless music has given me.Sometimes, in the twilight, when I have felt a littlesolitary and down-hearted, John -- before baby washere to keep me company and make the house gay-- when I have thought how lonely you would be ifI should die; how lonely I should be if I could knowthat you had lost me, dear; its Chirp, Chirp, Chirpupon the hearth, has seemed to tell me of anotherlittle voice, so sweet, so very dear to me, before whosecoming sound my trouble vanished like a dream.And when I used to fear -- I did fear once, John.I was very young you know -- that ours might proveto be an ill-assorted marriage, I being such a child,and you more like my guardian than my husband;and that you might not, however hard you tried, beable to learn to love me, as you hoped and prayedyou might; its Chirp, Chirp, Chirp has cheered meup again, and filled me with new trust and confidence.I was thinking of these things to-night, dear, whenI sat expecting you; and I love the Cricket for theirsake!'

'And so do I,' repeated John. 'But Dot? I hopeand pray that I might learn to love you? How youtalk! I had learnt that, long before I brought youhere, to be the Cricket's little mistress, Dot!'

She laid her hand, an instant. on his arm, andlooked up at him with an agitated face, as if shewould have told him something. Next moment shewas down upon her knees before the basket, speakingin a sprightly voice, and busy with the parcels.

'There are not many of them to-night, John, butI saw some goods behind the cart, just now; andthough they give more trouble, perhaps, still theypay as well; so we have no reason to grumble, havewe? Besides, you have been delivering, I dare say,as you came along?'

'Oh yes,' John said. 'A good many.'

'Why what's this round box? Heart alive, John,it's a wedding-cake!'

'Leave a woman alone to find out that,' said John,admiringly. 'Now a man would never have thoughtof it. Whereas, it's my belief that if you was topack a wedding-cake up in a tea-chest, or a turn-upbedstead, or a pickled salmon keg, or any unlikelything, a woman would be sure to find it out directly.Yes; I called for it at the pastry-cook's.'

'And it weighs I don't know what -- whole hundred-weights!' cried Dot, making a great demonstration oftrying to lift it. 'Whose is it, John? Where is itgoing?'

'Read the writing on the other side,' said John.

'Why, John! My Goodness, John!'

'Ah! who'd have thought it!' John returned.

'You never mean to say,' pursued Dot, sitting onthe floor and shaking her head at him, 'that it's Gruffand Tackleton the toy-maker!'

John nodded.

Mrs. Peerybingle nodded also, fifty times at least.Not in assent -- in dumb and pitying amazement;screwing up her lips the while with all their littleforce (they were never made for screwing up; I amclear of that), and looking the good Carrier throughand through, in her abstraction. Miss Slowboy, inthe mean time, who had a mechanical power of repro-ducing scraps of current conversation for the delecta-tion of the baby, with all the sense struck out ofthem, and all the nouns changed into the plural num-ber, inquired aloud of that young creature, Was itGruffs and Tackletons the toymakers then, andWould it call at Pastry-cooks for wedding-cakes, andDid its mothers know the boxes when its fathersbrought them homes; and so on.

'And that is really to come about!' said Dot. 'Whyshe and I were girls at school together, John.'

He might have been thinking of her, or nearlythinking of her, perhaps, as she was in that sameschool time. He looked upon her with a thoughtfulpleasure, but he made no answer.

'And he's as old! As unlike her! -- Why, how manyyears older than you, is Gruff and Tackleton, John?'

'How many more cups of tea shall I drink to-nightat one sitting, than Gruff and Tackleton ever tookin four, I wonder!' replied John, good-humoredly,as he drew a chair to the round table, and beganat the cold ham. 'As to eating, I eat but little; but,that little I enjoy, Dot.'

Even this, his usual sentiment at meal times, oneof his innocent delusions (for his appetite was al-ways obstinate, and flatly contradicted him), awokeno smile in the face of his little wife, who stood amongthe parcels, pushing the cake-box slowly from herwith her foot, and never once looked, though hereyes were cast down too, upon the dainty shoe shegenerally was so mindful of. Absorbed in thought,she stood there, heedless alike of the tea and John(although he called to her, and rapped the table withhis knife to startle her), until he rose and touchedher on the arm; when she looked at him for a mo-ment, and hurried to her place behind the teaboard,laughing at her negligence. But, not as she hadlaughed before. The manner and the music werequite changed.

The Cricket, too, had stopped. Somehow the roomwas not so cheerful as it had been. Nothing like it.

'So, these are all the parcels, are they, John?' shesaid, breaking a long silence, which the honest Car-rier had devoted to the practical illustration of onepart of his favourite sentiment -- certainly enjoyingwhat he ate, if it couldn't be admitted that he atebut little. 'So these are all the parcels; are they,John?'

'That's all,' said John. 'Why -- no -- I --' layingdown his knife and fork, and taking a long breath.'I declare -- I've clean forgotten the old gentleman!'

'The old gentleman?'

'In the cart,' said John. 'He was asleep, amongthe straw, the last time I saw him. I've very nearlyremembered him, twice, since I came in; but, he wentout of my head again. Holloa! Yahip there! Rouseup! That's my hearty!'

John said these latter words outside the door,whither he had hurried with the candle in his hand.

Miss Slowboy, conscious of some mysterious ref-erence to The Old Gentleman, and connecting in hermystified imagination certain associations of a re-ligious nature with the phrase, was so disturbed, thathastily rising from the low chair by the fire to seekprotection near the skirts of her mistress, and cominginto contact as she crossed the doorway with an an-cient Stranger, she instinctively made a charge orbutt at him with the only offensive instrument withinher reach. This instrument happening to be the baby,great commotion and alarm ensued, which the sagacityof Boxer rather tended to increase; for, that good dog,more thoughtful than its master, had, it seemed, beenwatching the old gentleman in his sleep, lest he shouldwalk off with a few young poplar trees that were tiedup behind the cart, and he still attended on him veryclosely, worrying his gaiters in fact, and making deadsets at the buttons.

'You're such an undeniable good sleeper, sir,' saidJohn, when tranquillity was restored; in the meantime the old gentleman had stood, bareheaded andmotionless, in the centre of the room; 'that I havehalf a mind to ask you where the other six are --only that would be a joke, and I know I should spoilit. Very near though,' murmured the Carrier, witha chuckle; 'very near!'

The Stranger, who had long white hair, good fea-tures, singularly bold and well defined for an oldman, and dark, bright, penetrating eyes, looked roundwith a smile, and saluted the Carrier's wife by gravelyinclining his head.

His garb was very quaint and odd -- a long, longway behind the time. Its hue was brown, all over.In his hand he held a great brown club or walking-stick; and striking this upon the floor, it fell asunder,and became a chair. On which he sat down, quitecomposedly.

'There!' said the Carrier, turning to his wife.'That's the way I found him, sitting by the roadside!Upright as a milestone. And almost as deaf.'

'Sitting in the open air, John!'

'In the open air,' replied the Carrier, 'just at dusk."Carriage Paid," he said; and gave me eighteen-pence. Then he got in. And there he is.'

'He's going, John, I think!'

Not at all. He was only going to speak.

'If you please, I was to be left till called for,' saidthe Stranger, mildly 'Don't mind me.'

With that, he took a pair of spectacles from oneof his large pockets, and a book from another, andleisurely began to read. Making no more of Boxerthan if he had been a house lamb!

The Carrier and his wife exchanged a look of per-plexity. The Stranger raised his head; and glancingfrom the latter to the former, said,

'Your daughter, my good friend?'

'Wife,' returned John.

'Niece?' said the Stranger.

'Wife,' roared John.

'Indeed?' observed the Stranger. 'Surely? Veryyoung!'

He quietly turned over, and resumed his reading.But, before he could have read two lines he againinterrupted himself to say:

'Baby, yours?'

John gave him a gigantic nod; equivalent to ananswer in the affirmative, delivered through a speak-ing trumpet.

'Girl?'

'Bo-o-oy!' roared John.

'Also very young, eh?'

Mrs. Peerybingle instantly struck in. 'Two monthsand three da-ays! Vaccinated just six weeks ago-o!Took very fine-ly! Considered, by the doctor, a re-markably beautiful chi-ild! Equal to the general runof children at five months o-old! Takes notice, in away quite won-der-ful! May seem impossible toyou, but feels his legs al-ready!'

Here the breathless little mother, who had beenshrieking these short sentences into the old man's ear.until her pretty face was crimsoned, held up the Babybefore him as a stubborn and triumphant fact; whileTilly Slowboy, with a melodious cry of 'Ketcher,Ketcher' -- which sounded like some unknown words,adapted to a popular Sneeze -- performed some cow-like gambols round that all-unconscious Innocent.

'Hark! He's called for, sure enough,' said John.'There's somebody at the door. Open it, Tilly.'

Before she could reach it, however, it was openedfrom without, being a primitive sort of door, witha latch, that any one could lift if he chose -- and agood many people did choose, for all kinds of neigh-bours liked to have a cheerful word or two with theCarrier, though he was no great talker himself. Be-ing opened, it gave admission to a little, meagre,thoughtful, dingy-faced man, who seemed to havemade himself a great-coat from the sack-cloth cover-ing of some old box; for, when he turned to shutthe door, and keep the weather out, he disclosedupon the back of that garment, the inscription G & Tin large black capitals. Also the word GLASS inbold characters.

'Good-evening John!' said the little man. 'Good-evening Mum. Good-evening Tilly. Good-eveningUnbeknown! How's Baby Mum? Boxer's prettywell I hope?'

'All thriving, Caleb,' replied Dot. 'I am sure youneed only look at the dear child, for one, to knowthat.'

'And I'm sure I need only look at you for another,'said Caleb.

He didn't look at her though; he had a wander-ing and thoughtful eye which seemed to be alwaysprojecting itself into some other time and place, nomatter what he said; a description which will equallyapply to his voice.

'Or at John for another,' said Caleb. 'Or at Tilly,as far as that goes. Or certainly at Boxer.'

'Busy just now, Caleb?' asked the Carrier.

'Why, pretty well, John,' he returned, with the dis-traught air of a man who was casting about for thePhilosopher's stone, at least. 'Pretty much so.There's rather a run on Noah's Arks at present. Icould have wished to improve upon the Family, but Idon't see how it's to be done at the price. It wouldbe a satisfaction to one's mind, to make it clearerwhich was Shems and Hams, and which was Wives.Flies an't on that scale neither, as compared with ele-phants you know! Ah! well! Have you got any-thing in the parcel line for me, John?'

The Carrier put his hand into a pocket of the coathe had taken off; and brought out, carefully pre-served in moss and paper, a tiny flower-pot.

'There it is!' he said, adjusting it with great care.'Not so much as a leaf damaged. Full of buds!'

Caleb's dull eye brightened, as he took it andthanked him.

'Dear, Caleb,' said the Carrier. 'Very dear at thisseason.'

'Never mind that. It would be cheap to me, what-ever it cost,' returned the little man. 'Anything else,John?'

'A small box,' replied the Carrier. 'Here you are!'

' "For Caleb Plummer," ' said the little man, spell-ing out the direction. ' "With Cash." With Cash,John. I don't think it's for me.'

'With Care,' returned the Carrier, looking over hisshoulder. 'Where do you make out cash?'

'Oh! To be sure!' said Caleb. 'It's all right.With care! Yes, yes; that's mine. It might havebeen with cash, indeed, if my dear Boy in the GoldenSouth Americas had lived, John. You loved himlike a son; didn't you? You needn't say did. Iknow, of course. "Caleb Plummer. With care."Yes, yes, it's all right. It's a box of dolls' eyes formy daughter's work. I wish it was her own sight ina box, John.'

'I wish it was, or could be!' cried the Carrier.

'Thank 'ee,' said the little man. 'You speak veryhearty. To think that she should never see the Dolls-- and them a-staring at her, so bold, all day long!That's where it cuts. What's the damage, John?'

'I'll damage you,' said John, 'if you inquire. Dot!Very near?

'Well! it's like you to say so,' observed the littleman. 'It's your kind way. Let me see. I thinkthat's all.'

'I think not,' said the Carrier. 'Try again.'

'Something for our Governor, eh?' said Caleb, afterpondering a little while. 'To be sure. That's whatI came for; but my head's so running on them Arksand things! He hasn't been here, has he?'

'Not he,' returned the Carrier. 'He's too busy,courting.'

'He's coming round though,' said Caleb; 'for hetold me to keep on the near side of the road goinghome, and it was ten to one he'd take me up. I hadbetter go, by the bye. -- You couldn't have the good-ness to let me pinch Boxer's tail, Mum, for half amoment, could you?'

'Why, Caleb! what a question!'

'Oh never mind, Mum,' said the little man. 'Hemightn't like it perhaps. There's a small order justcome in, for barking dogs; and I should wish to go asclose to Natur' as I could, for sixpence. That's all.Never mind, Mum.'

It happened opportunely, that Boxer, without re-ceiving the proposed stimulus, began to bark withgreat zeal. But, as this implied the approach of somenew visitor, Caleb, postponing his study from thelife to a more convenient season, shouldered theround box, and took a hurried leave. He might havespared himself the trouble, for he met the visitor uponthe threshold.

'Oh! You are here, are you? Wait a bit. I'lltake you home. John Peerybingle, my service toyou. More of my service to your pretty wife. Hand-somer every day! Better too, if possible! Andyounger,' mused the speaker, in a low voice; 'that'sthe Devil of it!'

'I should be astonished at your paying compli-ments, Mr. Tackleton,' said Dot, not with the bestgrace in the world; 'but for your condition.''You know all about it then?'

'I have got myself to believe it, somehow,' said Dot.

'After a hard struggle, I suppose?'

'Very.'

Tackleton the Toy-merchant, pretty generallyknown as Gruff and Tackleton -- for that was thefirm, though Gruff had been bought out long ago;only leaving his name, and as some said his nature,according to its Dictionary meaning, in the business-- Tackleton the Toy-merchant, was a man whosevocation had been quite misunderstood by his Parentsand Guardians. If they had made him a MoneyLender, or a sharp Attorney, or a Sheriff's Officer,or a Broker, he might have sown his discontented oatsin his youth, and, after having had the full run ofhimself in ill-natured transactions, might have turnedout amiable, at last, for the sake of a little freshnessand novelty. But, cramped and chafing in the peace-able pursuit of toy-making, he was a domestic Ogre,who had been living on children all his life, and wastheir implacable enemy. He despised all toys;wouldn't have bought one for the world; delighted,in his malice, to insinuate grim expressions into thefaces of brown-paper farmers who drove pigs tomarket, bellmen who advertised lost lawyers' con-sciences, moveable old ladies who darned stockings orcarved pies; and other like samples of his stock-in-trade. In appalling masks; hideous, hair, red-eyedJacks in Boxes; Vampire Kites; demoniacal Tum-blers who wouldn't lie down, and were perpetuallyflying forward, to stare infants out of countenance;his soul perfectly revelled. They were his only relief,and safety-valve. He was great in such inventions.Anything suggestive of a Pony-nightmare, was de-licious to him. He had even lost money (and hetook to that toy very kindly) by getting up Goblinslides for magic-lanterns, whereon the Powers ofDarkness were depicted as a sort of supernaturalshell-fish, with human faces. In intensifying the por-traiture of Giants, he had sunk quite a little capital;and, though no painter himself, he could indicate, forthe instruction of his artists, with a piece of chalk,a certain furtive leer for the countenances of thosemonsters, which was safe to destroy the peace of mindof any young gentleman between the ages of six andeleven, for the whole Christmas or MidsummerVacation.

What he was in toys, he was (as most men are) inother things. You may easily suppose, therefore,that within the great green cape, which reached downto the calves of his legs, there was buttoned up to thechin an uncommonly pleasant fellow; and that he wasabout as choice a spirit, and as agreeable a compan-ion, as ever stood in a pair of bull-headed lookingboots with mahogany-coloured tops.

Still, Tackleton, the toy-merchant, was going to bemarried. In spite of all this, he was going to bemarried. And to a young wife too, a beautiful youngwife.

He didn't look much like a bridegroom, as he stoodin the Carrier's kitchen, with a twist in his dry face,and a screw in his body, and his hat jerked over thebridge of his nose, and his hands tucked down into thebottoms of his pockets, and his whole sarcastic ill-conditioned self peering out of one little corner of onelittle eye, like the concentrated essence of any numberof ravens. But, a Bridegroom he designed to be.

'In three days' time. Next Thursday. The lastday of the first month in the year. That's my wed-ding day,' said Tackleton.

Did I mention that he had always one eye wideopen, and one eye nearly shut; and that the one eyenearly shut, was always the expressive eye? I don tthink I did.

'That's my wedding-day!' said Tackleton, rattlinghis money.

'Why, it's our wedding-day too,' exclaimed theCarrier.

'Ha ha!' laughed Tackleton. 'Odd! You're justsuch another couple. Just!'

The indignation of Dot at this presumptuous asser-tion is not to be described. What next? His imagina-tion would compass the possibility of just such an-other Baby, perhaps. The man was mad.

'I say! A word with you,' murmured Tackleton,nudging the Carrier with his elbow, and taking hima little apart. 'You'll come to the wedding? We'rein the same boat, you know.'

'How in the same boat?' inquired the Carrier.

'A little disparity, you know'; said Tackleton, withanother nudge. 'Come and spend an evening withus, beforehand.'

'Why?' demanded John, astonished at this pressinghospitality.

'Why?' returned the other. 'That's a new wayof receiving an invitation. Why, for pleasure --sociability, you know, and all that!'

'I thought you were never sociable,' said John, inhis plain way.

'Tchah! It's of no use to be anything but freewith you I see,' said Tackleton. 'Why, then, thetruth is you have a -- what tea-drinking people call asort of a comfortable appearance together, you andyour wife. We know better, you know. but --'

'No, we don't know better,' interposed John. 'Whatare you talking about?'

'Well! We don't know better, then,' said Tackle-ton. 'We'll agree that we don't. As you like; whatdoes it matter? I was going to say, as you have thatsort of appearance, your company will produce afavourable effect on Mrs. Tackleton that will be.And, though I don't think your good lady's veryfriendly to me, in this matter, still she can't help her-self from falling into my views, for there's a com-pactness and cosiness of appearance about her thatalways tells, even in an indifferent case. You'll sayyou'll come?'

'We have arranged to keep our Wedding-Day (asfar as that goes) at home,' said John. 'We havemade the promise to ourselves these six months. Wethink, you see, that home --'

'Bah! what's home?' cried Tackleton. 'Four wallsand a ceiling! (why don't you kill that Cricket! Iwould! I always do. I hate their noise). Thereare four walls and a ceiling at my house. Come tome!'

'You kill your Crickets, eh?' said John.

'Scrunch 'em, sir,' returned the other, setting hisheel heavily on the floor. 'You'll say you'll come?It's as much your interest as mine, you know, that thewomen should persuade each other that they're quietand contented and couldn't be better off. I knowtheir way. Whatever one woman says, anotherwoman is determined to clinch, always. There's thatspirit of emulation among 'em, sir, that if your wifesays to my wife, "I'm the happiest woman in theworld, and mine's the best husband in the world, andI dote on him," my wife will say the same to yours,or more, and half believe it.'

'Do you mean to say she don't, then?' asked theCarrier.

'Don't!' cried Tackleton, with a short, sharp laugh.'Don't what?'The Carrier had some faint idea of adding, 'doteupon you.' But, happening to meet the half-closedeye, as it twinkled upon him over the turned-up collarof the cape, which was within an ace of poking it out,he felt it such an unlikely part and parcel of anythingto be doted on, that he substituted, 'that she don'tbelieve it?'

'Ah you dog! You're joking,' said Tackleton.

But the Carrier, though slow to understand the fulldrift of his meaning, eyed him in such a serious man-ner, that he was obliged to be a little more explana-tory.

'I have the humour,' said Tackleton: holding up thefingers of his left hand, and tapping the forefinger,to imply 'there I am, Tackleton to wit': 'I have thehumour, sir, to marry a young wife, and a prettywife': here he rapped his little finger, to express theBride; not sparingly, but sharply; with a sense ofpower. 'I'm able to gratify that humour and I do.It's my whim. But -- now look there!'

He pointed to where Dot was sitting, thoughtfully,before the fire; leaning her dimpled chin upon herhand, and watching the bright blaze. The Carrierlooked at her, and then at him, and then at her, andthen at him again.

'She honours and obeys, no doubt, you know,' saidTackleton; 'and that, as I am not a man of sentiment,is quite enough for me. But do you think there'sanything more in it?'

'I think,' observed the Carrier, 'that I should chuckany man out of window, who said there wasn't.'

'Exactly so,' returned the other with an unusualalacrity of assent. 'To be sure! Doubtless youwould. Of course. I'm certain of it. Good-night.Pleasant dreams!'

The Carrier was puzzled, and made uncomfortableand uncertaln, in spite of himself. He couldn't helpshowing it, in his manner.

'Good-night, my dear friend!' said Tackleton, com-passionately. 'I'm off. We're exactly alike, inreality, I see. You won't give us to-morrow evening?Well! Next day you go out visiting, I know. I'llmeet you there, and bring my wife that is to beIt'll do her good. You re agreeable? Thank 'ee.What's that!'

It was a loud cry from the Carrier's wife. a loudsharp, sudden cry, that made the room ring, likeglass vessel. She had risen from her seat, and stoodlike one transfixed by terror and surprise. TheStranger had advanced towards the fire to warm him-selft and stood within a short stride of her chair. Butquite still.

'Dot!' cried the Carrier. 'Mary! Darling! What'sthe matter?'

They were all about her in a moment. Caleb, whohad been dozing on the cake-box, in the first imper-fect recovery of his suspended presence of mind, seizedMiss Slowboy by the hair of her head, but immediatelyapologised.

'Mary!' exclaimed the Carrier, supporting her inhis arms. 'Are you ill! What is it? Tell me, dear!'

She only answered by beating her hands togetherand falling into a wild fit of laughter. Then, sink-ing from his grasp upon the ground, she covered herface with her apron, and wept bitterly. And thenshe laughed again, and then she cried again, and thenshe said how cold it was, and suffered him to lead herto the fire, where she sat down as before. The oldman standing, as before, quite still

'I'm better, John,' she said. 'I'm quite well now-- I --'

'John!' But John was on the other side of her,Why turn her face towards the strange old gentle-man, as if addressing him! Was her brain wander-ing?

'Only a fancy, John dear -- a kind of shock -- asomething coming suddenly before my eyes -- I don'tknow what it was. It's quite gone, quite gone.'

'I'm glad it's gone,' muttered Tackleton, turningthe expressive eye all round the room. 'I wonderwhere it's gone, and what it was. Humph. Caleb,come here! Who's that with the grey hair?'

'I don't know, sir,' returned Caleb in a whisper.

'Never see him before, in all my life. A beautifulfigure for a nut-cracker; quite a new model. With ascrew-jaw opening down into his waistcoat, he'd belovely.'

'Not ugly enough,' said Tackleton.

'Or for a firebox, either,' observed Caleb, in deepcontemplation, 'what a model! Unscrew his head toput the matches in; turn him heels up'ards for thelight; and what a firebox for a gentleman's mantel-shelf, just as he stands!'

'Not half ugly enough,' said Tackleton. 'Nothingin him at all! Come! Bring that box! All rightnow, I hope!'

'Oh quite gone! Quite gone!' said the little woman,waving him hurriedly away. 'Good-night!

'Good-night,' said Tackleton. 'Good-night, JohnPeerybingle! Take care how you carry that box,Caleb. Let it fall, and I'll murder you! Dark aspitch, and weather worse than ever, eh? Good-night!'

So, with another sharp look round the room, he wentout at the door; followed by Caleb with the wedding-cake on his head.

The Carrier had been so much astounded by hislittle wife, and so busily engaged in soothing andtending her, that he had scarcely been conscious ofthe Stranger's presence, until now, when he againstood there, their only guest.

'He don't belong to them, you see,' said John. 'Imust give him a hint to go.'

'I beg your pardon, friend,' said the old gentlemanadvancing to him; 'the more so, as I fear your wifehas not been well; but the Attendant whom my in-firmity,' he touched his ears and shook his head, 'ren-ders almost indispensable, not having arrived, I fearthere must be some mistake. The bad night whichmade the shelter of your comfortable cart (may Inever have a worse!) so acceptable, is still as bad asever. Would you, in your kindness, suffer me to renta bed here?'

'Yes, yes,' cried Dot. 'Yes! Certainly!'

'Oh!' said the Carrier, surprised by the rapidity ofthis consent. 'Well! I don't object; but still I'm notquite sure that --'

'Hush!' she interrupted. 'Dear Johnl'

'Why, he's stone deaf,' urged John.

'I know he is, but -- Yes, sir, certainly. Yes! cer-tainly! I'll make him up a bed, directly, John.'

As she hurried off to do it, the flutter of her spirits,and the agitation of her manner, were so strange, thatthe Carrier stood looking after her, quite confounded.

'Did its mothers make it up a Bed then!' criedMiss Slowboy to the Baby; 'and did its hair growbrown and curly, when its caps was lifted off, andfrighten it, a precious Pets, a-sitting by the fires!'

With that unaccountable attraction of the mind totrifles, which is often incidental to a state of doubtand confusion, the Carrier, as he walked slowly toand fro, found himself mentally repeating even theseabsurd words, many times. So many times that hegot them by heart, and was still conning them overand over, like a lesson, when Tilly, after administer-ing as much friction to the little bald head with herhand as she thought wholesome (according to thepractice of nurses), had once more tied the Baby'scap on.

'And frighten it a precious pets, a-sitting by thefires. What frightened Dot, I wonder!' mused theCarrier, pacing to and fro.

He scouted, from his heart, the insinuations of theToy-merchant, and yet they filled him with a vague,indefinite uneasiness. For, Tackleton was quick andsly; and he had that painful sense, himself of being aman of slow perception, that a broken hint was al-ways worrying to him. He certainly had no inten-tion in his mind of linking anything that Tackletonhad said, with the unusual conduct of his wife, butthe two subjects of reflection came into his mind to-gether, and he could not keep them asunder.

The bed was soon made ready; and the visitor, de-clining all refreshment but a cup of tea, retired.Then, Dot quite well again, she said, quite wellagain -- arranged the great chair in the chimney-corner for her husband; filled his pipe and gave ithim; and took her usual little stool beside him on thehearth.

She always would sit on that little stool. I thinkshe must have had a kind of notion that it was acoaxing, wheedling, little stool.

She was, out and out, the very best filler of a pipe,I should say, in the four quarters of the globe. Tosee her put that chubby little finger in the bowl, andthen blow down the pipe to clear the tube, and, whenshe had done so, affect to think that there was reallysomething in the tube, and blow a dozen times, andhold it to her eye like a telescope, with a most provok-ing twist in her capital little face, as she looked downit, was quite a brilliant thing. As to the tobacco, shewas perfect mistress of the subject; and her lightingof the pipe, with a wisp of paper, when the Carrierhad it in his mouth -- going so very near his nose, andyet not scorching it -- was Art, high Art.

And the Cricket and the kettle, turning up again,acknowledged it! The bright fire, blazing up again,acknowledged it! The little Mower on the clock inhis unheeded work acknowledged it. The Carrier, inhis smoothing forehead and expanding face, acknowl-edged it, the readiest of all.

And as he soberly and thoughtfully puffed at hisold pipe, and as the Dutch clock ticked, and as thered fire gleamed, and as the Cricket chirped; thatGenius of his Hearth and Home (for such the Cricketwas) came out, in fairy shape, into the room, andsummoned many forms of Home about him. Dotsof all ages, and all sizes, filled the chamber. Dotswho were merry children, running on before himgathering flowers, in the fields; coy Dots, half shrink-ing from, half yielding to, the pleading of his ownrough image; newly-married Dots, alighting at thedoor, and taking wondering possession of the house-hold keys; motherly Little Dots, attended by fictitiousSlowboys, bearing babies to be christened; matronlyDots, still young and blooming, watching Dots ofdaughters, as they danced at rustic balls; fat Dots,encircled and beset by troops of rosy grand-children;withered Dots, who leaned on sticks, and tottered asthey crept along. Old Carriers too, appeared, withblind old Boxers lying at their feet; and newer cartswith younger drivers ('Peerybingle Brothers' on thetilt'); and sick old Carriers, tended by the gentlesthands; and graves of dead and gone old Carriers,green in the churchyard. And as the Cricket showedhim all these things -- he saw them plainly, though hiseyes were fixed upon the fire -- the Carrier's heart grewlight and happy, and he thanked his Household Godswith all his might, and cared no more for Gruff andTackleton than you do.

But, what was that young figure of a man, whichthe same Fairy Cricket set so near Her stool, andwhich remained there, singly and alone? Why did itlinger still, so near her, with its arm upon the chim-ney-piece, ever repeating 'Married! and not to me!'

O Dot! O failing Dot! There is no place for itin all your husband's visions; why has its shadowfallen on his hearth!