The square in which the counting-house of the brothers Cheeryblewas situated, although it might not wholly realise the very sanguineexpectations which a stranger would be disposed to form on hearingthe fervent encomiums bestowed upon it by Tim Linkinwater, was,nevertheless, a sufficiently desirable nook in the heart of a busy townlike London, and one which occupied a high place in the affectionateremembrances of several grave persons domiciled in the neighbourhood,whose recollections, however, dated from a much more recent period,and whose attachment to the spot was far less absorbing, than were therecollections and attachment of the enthusiastic Tim.

And let not those whose eyes have been accustomed to the aristocraticgravity of Grosvenor Square and Hanover Square, the dowager barrennessand frigidity of Fitzroy Square, or the gravel walks and garden seatsof the Squares of Russell and Euston, suppose that the affections ofTim Linkinwater, or the inferior lovers of this particular locality, hadbeen awakened and kept alive by any refreshing associations with leaves,however dingy, or grass, however bare and thin. The city square has noenclosure, save the lamp-post in the middle: and no grass, but theweeds which spring up round its base. It is a quiet, little-frequented,retired spot, favourable to melancholy and contemplation, andappointments of long-waiting; and up and down its every side theAppointed saunters idly by the hour together wakening the echoes withthe monotonous sound of his footsteps on the smooth worn stones, andcounting, first the windows, and then the very bricks of the tall silenthouses that hem him round about. In winter-time, the snow will lingerthere, long after it has melted from the busy streets and highways. Thesummer's sun holds it in some respect, and while he darts his cheerfulrays sparingly into the square, keeps his fiery heat and glare fornoisier and less-imposing precincts. It is so quiet, that you canalmost hear the ticking of your own watch when you stop to cool inits refreshing atmosphere. There is a distant hum--of coaches, not ofinsects--but no other sound disturbs the stillness of the square. Theticket porter leans idly against the post at the corner: comfortablywarm, but not hot, although the day is broiling. His white apron flapslanguidly in the air, his head gradually droops upon his breast, hetakes very long winks with both eyes at once; even he is unable towithstand the soporific influence of the place, and is gradually fallingasleep. But now, he starts into full wakefulness, recoils a step or two,and gazes out before him with eager wildness in his eye. Is it a job, ora boy at marbles? Does he see a ghost, or hear an organ? No; sightmore unwonted still--there is a butterfly in the square--a real, livebutterfly! astray from flowers and sweets, and fluttering among the ironheads of the dusty area railings.

But if there were not many matters immediately without the doors ofCheeryble Brothers, to engage the attention or distract the thoughts ofthe young clerk, there were not a few within, to interest and amuse him.There was scarcely an object in the place, animate or inanimate, whichdid not partake in some degree of the scrupulous method and punctualityof Mr Timothy Linkinwater. Punctual as the counting-house dial, which hemaintained to be the best time-keeper in London next after the clockof some old, hidden, unknown church hard by, (for Tim held the fabledgoodness of that at the Horse Guards to be a pleasant fiction, inventedby jealous West-enders,) the old clerk performed the minutest actionsof the day, and arranged the minutest articles in the little room, in aprecise and regular order, which could not have been exceeded if it hadactually been a real glass case, fitted with the choicest curiosities.Paper, pens, ink, ruler, sealing-wax, wafers, pounce-box, string-box,fire-box, Tim's hat, Tim's scrupulously-folded gloves, Tim's othercoat--looking precisely like a back view of himself as it hung againstthe wall--all had their accustomed inches of space. Except the clock,there was not such an accurate and unimpeachable instrument in existenceas the little thermometer which hung behind the door. There was not abird of such methodical and business-like habits in all the world, asthe blind blackbird, who dreamed and dozed away his days in a largesnug cage, and had lost his voice, from old age, years before Tim firstbought him. There was not such an eventful story in the whole rangeof anecdote, as Tim could tell concerning the acquisition of that verybird; how, compassionating his starved and suffering condition, he hadpurchased him, with the view of humanely terminating his wretched life;how he determined to wait three days and see whether the bird revived;how, before half the time was out, the bird did revive; and how hewent on reviving and picking up his appetite and good looks until hegradually became what--'what you see him now, sir,'--Tim would say,glancing proudly at the cage. And with that, Tim would utter a melodiouschirrup, and cry 'Dick;' and Dick, who, for any sign of life he hadpreviously given, might have been a wooden or stuffed representation ofa blackbird indifferently executed, would come to the side of the cagein three small jumps, and, thrusting his bill between the bars, turn hissightless head towards his old master--and at that moment it would bevery difficult to determine which of the two was the happier, the birdor Tim Linkinwater.

Nor was this all. Everything gave back, besides, some reflection of thekindly spirit of the brothers. The warehousemen and porters were suchsturdy, jolly fellows, that it was a treat to see them. Among theshipping announcements and steam-packet lists which decorated thecounting-house wall, were designs for almshouses, statements ofcharities, and plans for new hospitals. A blunderbuss and two swordshung above the chimney-piece, for the terror of evil-doers, but theblunderbuss was rusty and shattered, and the swords were broken andedgeless. Elsewhere, their open display in such a condition would haverealised a smile; but, there, it seemed as though even violent andoffensive weapons partook of the reigning influence, and became emblemsof mercy and forbearance.

Such thoughts as these occurred to Nicholas very strongly, on themorning when he first took possession of the vacant stool, and lookedabout him, more freely and at ease, than he had before enjoyed anopportunity of doing. Perhaps they encouraged and stimulated him toexertion, for, during the next two weeks, all his spare hours, late atnight and early in the morning, were incessantly devoted to acquiringthe mysteries of book-keeping and some other forms of mercantileaccount. To these, he applied himself with such steadiness andperseverance that, although he brought no greater amount of previousknowledge to the subject than certain dim recollections of two or threevery long sums entered into a ciphering-book at school, and relieved forparental inspection by the effigy of a fat swan tastefully flourishedby the writing-master's own hand, he found himself, at the end of afortnight, in a condition to report his proficiency to Mr Linkinwater,and to claim his promise that he, Nicholas Nickleby, should now beallowed to assist him in his graver labours.

It was a sight to behold Tim Linkinwater slowly bring out a massiveledger and day-book, and, after turning them over and over, andaffectionately dusting their backs and sides, open the leaves here andthere, and cast his eyes, half mournfully, half proudly, upon the fairand unblotted entries.

'Four-and-forty year, next May!' said Tim. 'Many new ledgers since then.Four-and-forty year!'

Tim closed the book again.

'Come, come,' said Nicholas, 'I am all impatience to begin.'

Tim Linkinwater shook his head with an air of mild reproof. Mr Nicklebywas not sufficiently impressed with the deep and awful nature of hisundertaking. Suppose there should be any mistake--any scratching out!

Young men are adventurous. It is extraordinary what they will rush upon,sometimes. Without even taking the precaution of sitting himself downupon his stool, but standing leisurely at the desk, and with a smileupon his face--actually a smile--there was no mistake about it; MrLinkinwater often mentioned it afterwards--Nicholas dipped his peninto the inkstand before him, and plunged into the books of CheerybleBrothers!

Tim Linkinwater turned pale, and tilting up his stool on the two legsnearest Nicholas, looked over his shoulder in breathless anxiety.Brother Charles and brother Ned entered the counting-house together; butTim Linkinwater, without looking round, impatiently waved his hand as acaution that profound silence must be observed, and followed the nib ofthe inexperienced pen with strained and eager eyes.

The brothers looked on with smiling faces, but Tim Linkinwater smilednot, nor moved for some minutes. At length, he drew a long slow breath,and still maintaining his position on the tilted stool, glanced atbrother Charles, secretly pointed with the feather of his pen towardsNicholas, and nodded his head in a grave and resolute manner, plainlysignifying 'He'll do.'

Brother Charles nodded again, and exchanged a laughing look with brotherNed; but, just then, Nicholas stopped to refer to some other page,and Tim Linkinwater, unable to contain his satisfaction any longer,descended from his stool, and caught him rapturously by the hand.

'He has done it!' said Tim, looking round at his employers and shakinghis head triumphantly. 'His capital B's and D's are exactly like mine;he dots all his small i's and crosses every t as he writes it. Therean't such a young man as this in all London,' said Tim, clappingNicholas on the back; 'not one. Don't tell me! The city can't producehis equal. I challenge the city to do it!'

With this casting down of his gauntlet, Tim Linkinwater struck the desksuch a blow with his clenched fist, that the old blackbird tumbled offhis perch with the start it gave him, and actually uttered a feeblecroak, in the extremity of his astonishment.

'Well said, Tim--well said, Tim Linkinwater!' cried brother Charles,scarcely less pleased than Tim himself, and clapping his hands gentlyas he spoke. 'I knew our young friend would take great pains, and I wasquite certain he would succeed, in no time. Didn't I say so, brotherNed?'

'You did, my dear brother; certainly, my dear brother, you said so, andyou were quite right,' replied Ned. 'Quite right. Tim Linkinwater isexcited, but he is justly excited, properly excited. Tim is a finefellow. Tim Linkinwater, sir--you're a fine fellow.'

'Here's a pleasant thing to think of!' said Tim, wholly regardless ofthis address to himself, and raising his spectacles from the ledger tothe brothers. 'Here's a pleasant thing. Do you suppose I haven't oftenthought of what would become of these books when I was gone? Do yousuppose I haven't often thought that things might go on irregular anduntidy here, after I was taken away? But now,' said Tim, extending hisforefinger towards Nicholas, 'now, when I've shown him a little more,I'm satisfied. The business will go on, when I'm dead, as well as it didwhen I was alive--just the same--and I shall have the satisfaction ofknowing that there never were such books--never were such books! No, nornever will be such books--as the books of Cheeryble Brothers.'

Having thus expressed his sentiments, Mr Linkinwater gave vent toa short laugh, indicative of defiance to the cities of London andWestminster, and, turning again to his desk, quietly carried seventy-sixfrom the last column he had added up, and went on with his work.

'Tim Linkinwater, sir,' said brother Charles; 'give me your hand, sir.This is your birthday. How dare you talk about anything else till youhave been wished many happy returns of the day, Tim Linkinwater? Godbless you, Tim! God bless you!'

'My dear brother,' said the other, seizing Tim's disengaged fist, 'TimLinkinwater looks ten years younger than he did on his last birthday.'

'Brother Ned, my dear boy,' returned the other old fellow, 'I believethat Tim Linkinwater was born a hundred and fifty years old, andis gradually coming down to five-and-twenty; for he's younger everybirthday than he was the year before.'

'So he is, brother Charles, so he is,' replied brother Ned. 'There's nota doubt about it.'

'Remember, Tim,' said brother Charles, 'that we dine at half-past fivetoday instead of two o'clock; we always depart from our usual custom onthis anniversary, as you very well know, Tim Linkinwater. Mr Nickleby,my dear sir, you will make one. Tim Linkinwater, give me your snuff-boxas a remembrance to brother Charles and myself of an attached andfaithful rascal, and take that, in exchange, as a feeble mark of ourrespect and esteem, and don't open it until you go to bed, and neversay another word upon the subject, or I'll kill the blackbird. A dog! Heshould have had a golden cage half-a-dozen years ago, if it would havemade him or his master a bit the happier. Now, brother Ned, my dearfellow, I'm ready. At half-past five, remember, Mr Nickleby! TimLinkinwater, sir, take care of Mr Nickleby at half-past five. Now,brother Ned.'

Chattering away thus, according to custom, to prevent the possibilityof any thanks or acknowledgment being expressed on the other side, thetwins trotted off, arm-in-arm; having endowed Tim Linkinwater with acostly gold snuff-box, enclosing a bank note worth more than its valueten times told.

At a quarter past five o'clock, punctual to the minute, arrived,according to annual usage, Tim Linkinwater's sister; and a great to-dothere was, between Tim Linkinwater's sister and the old housekeeper,respecting Tim Linkinwater's sister's cap, which had been dispatched,per boy, from the house of the family where Tim Linkinwater's sisterboarded, and had not yet come to hand: notwithstanding that it hadbeen packed up in a bandbox, and the bandbox in a handkerchief, and thehandkerchief tied on to the boy's arm; and notwithstanding, too, thatthe place of its consignment had been duly set forth, at full length,on the back of an old letter, and the boy enjoined, under pain of divershorrible penalties, the full extent of which the eye of man could notforesee, to deliver the same with all possible speed, and not to loiterby the way. Tim Linkinwater's sister lamented; the housekeeper condoled;and both kept thrusting their heads out of the second-floor window tosee if the boy was 'coming'--which would have been highly satisfactory,and, upon the whole, tantamount to his being come, as the distance tothe corner was not quite five yards--when, all of a sudden, and when hewas least expected, the messenger, carrying the bandbox with elaboratecaution, appeared in an exactly opposite direction, puffing and pantingfor breath, and flushed with recent exercise; as well he might be; forhe had taken the air, in the first instance, behind a hackney coach thatwent to Camberwell, and had followed two Punches afterwards and had seenthe Stilts home to their own door. The cap was all safe, however--thatwas one comfort--and it was no use scolding him--that was another;so the boy went upon his way rejoicing, and Tim Linkinwater's sisterpresented herself to the company below-stairs, just five minutes afterthe half-hour had struck by Tim Linkinwater's own infallible clock.

The company consisted of the brothers Cheeryble, Tim Linkinwater, aruddy-faced white-headed friend of Tim's (who was a superannuated bankclerk), and Nicholas, who was presented to Tim Linkinwater's sister withmuch gravity and solemnity. The party being now completed, brother Nedrang for dinner, and, dinner being shortly afterwards announced, ledTim Linkinwater's sister into the next room, where it was set forth withgreat preparation. Then, brother Ned took the head of the table, andbrother Charles the foot; and Tim Linkinwater's sister sat on the lefthand of brother Ned, and Tim Linkinwater himself on his right: and anancient butler of apoplectic appearance, and with very short legs, tookup his position at the back of brother Ned's armchair, and, waving hisright arm preparatory to taking off the covers with a flourish, stoodbolt upright and motionless.

'For these and all other blessings, brother Charles,' said Ned.

'Lord, make us truly thankful, brother Ned,' said Charles.

Whereupon the apoplectic butler whisked off the top of the soup tureen,and shot, all at once, into a state of violent activity.

There was abundance of conversation, and little fear of its everflagging, for the good-humour of the glorious old twins dreweverybody out, and Tim Linkinwater's sister went off into a long andcircumstantial account of Tim Linkinwater's infancy, immediately afterthe very first glass of champagne--taking care to premise that she wasvery much Tim's junior, and had only become acquainted with the factsfrom their being preserved and handed down in the family. This historyconcluded, brother Ned related how that, exactly thirty-five years ago,Tim Linkinwater was suspected to have received a love-letter, and howthat vague information had been brought to the counting-house of hishaving been seen walking down Cheapside with an uncommonly handsomespinster; at which there was a roar of laughter, and Tim Linkinwaterbeing charged with blushing, and called upon to explain, denied that theaccusation was true; and further, that there would have been any harm init if it had been; which last position occasioned the superannuated bankclerk to laugh tremendously, and to declare that it was the very bestthing he had ever heard in his life, and that Tim Linkinwater might saya great many things before he said anything which would beat THAT.

There was one little ceremony peculiar to the day, both the matter andmanner of which made a very strong impression upon Nicholas. The clothhaving been removed and the decanters sent round for the first time, aprofound silence succeeded, and in the cheerful faces of the brothersthere appeared an expression, not of absolute melancholy, but of quietthoughtfulness very unusual at a festive table. As Nicholas, struckby this sudden alteration, was wondering what it could portend, thebrothers rose together, and the one at the top of the table leaningforward towards the other, and speaking in a low voice as if he wereaddressing him individually, said:

'Brother Charles, my dear fellow, there is another association connectedwith this day which must never be forgotten, and never can be forgotten,by you and me. This day, which brought into the world a most faithfuland excellent and exemplary fellow, took from it the kindest and verybest of parents, the very best of parents to us both. I wish thatshe could have seen us in our prosperity, and shared it, and had thehappiness of knowing how dearly we loved her in it, as we did when wewere two poor boys; but that was not to be. My dear brother--The Memoryof our Mother.'

'Good Lord!' thought Nicholas, 'and there are scores of people of theirown station, knowing all this, and twenty thousand times more, whowouldn't ask these men to dinner because they eat with their knives andnever went to school!'

But there was no time to moralise, for the joviality again became verybrisk, and the decanter of port being nearly out, brother Ned pulled thebell, which was instantly answered by the apoplectic butler.

'David,' said brother Ned.

'Sir,' replied the butler.

'A magnum of the double-diamond, David, to drink the health of MrLinkinwater.'

Instantly, by a feat of dexterity, which was the admiration of all thecompany, and had been, annually, for some years past, the apoplecticbutler, bringing his left hand from behind the small of his back,produced the bottle with the corkscrew already inserted; uncorked it ata jerk; and placed the magnum and the cork before his master with thedignity of conscious cleverness.

'Ha!' said brother Ned, first examining the cork and afterwards fillinghis glass, while the old butler looked complacently and amiably on, asif it were all his own property, but the company were quite welcome tomake free with it, 'this looks well, David.'

'It ought to, sir,' replied David. 'You'd be troubled to find such aglass of wine as is our double-diamond, and that Mr Linkinwater knowsvery well. That was laid down when Mr Linkinwater first come: that winewas, gentlemen.'

'Nay, David, nay,' interposed brother Charles.

'I wrote the entry in the cellar-book myself, sir, if you please,' saidDavid, in the tone of a man, quite confident in the strength of hisfacts. 'Mr Linkinwater had only been here twenty year, sir, when thatpipe of double-diamond was laid down.'

'David is quite right, quite right, brother Charles,' said Ned: 'are thepeople here, David?'

'Outside the door, sir,' replied the butler.

'Show 'em in, David, show 'em in.'

At this bidding, the older butler placed before his master a small trayof clean glasses, and opening the door admitted the jolly porters andwarehousemen whom Nicholas had seen below. They were four in all, and asthey came in, bowing, and grinning, and blushing, the housekeeper, andcook, and housemaid, brought up the rear.

'Seven,' said brother Ned, filling a corresponding number of glasseswith the double-diamond, 'and David, eight. There! Now, you're all ofyou to drink the health of your best friend Mr Timothy Linkinwater, andwish him health and long life and many happy returns of this day, bothfor his own sake and that of your old masters, who consider him aninestimable treasure. Tim Linkinwater, sir, your health. Devil take you,Tim Linkinwater, sir, God bless you.'

With this singular contradiction of terms, brother Ned gave TimLinkinwater a slap on the back, which made him look, for the moment,almost as apoplectic as the butler: and tossed off the contents of hisglass in a twinkling.

The toast was scarcely drunk with all honour to Tim Linkinwater, whenthe sturdiest and jolliest subordinate elbowed himself a littlein advance of his fellows, and exhibiting a very hot and flushedcountenance, pulled a single lock of grey hair in the middle of hisforehead as a respectful salute to the company, and delivered himselfas follows--rubbing the palms of his hands very hard on a blue cottonhandkerchief as he did so:

'We're allowed to take a liberty once a year, gen'lemen, and if youplease we'll take it now; there being no time like the present, and notwo birds in the hand worth one in the bush, as is well known--leastwaysin a contrairy sense, which the meaning is the same. (A pause--thebutler unconvinced.) What we mean to say is, that there neverwas (looking at the butler)--such--(looking at the cook)noble--excellent--(looking everywhere and seeing nobody) free,generous-spirited masters as them as has treated us so handsomethis day. And here's thanking of 'em for all their goodness as is soconstancy a diffusing of itself over everywhere, and wishing they maylive long and die happy!'

When the foregoing speech was over--and it might have been much moreelegant and much less to the purpose--the whole body of subordinatesunder command of the apoplectic butler gave three soft cheers; which, tothat gentleman's great indignation, were not very regular, inasmuch asthe women persisted in giving an immense number of little shrill hurrahsamong themselves, in utter disregard of the time. This done, theywithdrew; shortly afterwards, Tim Linkinwater's sister withdrew; inreasonable time after that, the sitting was broken up for tea andcoffee, and a round game of cards.

At half-past ten--late hours for the square--there appeared a littletray of sandwiches and a bowl of bishop, which bishop coming on the topof the double-diamond, and other excitements, had such an effectupon Tim Linkinwater, that he drew Nicholas aside, and gave him tounderstand, confidentially, that it was quite true about the uncommonlyhandsome spinster, and that she was to the full as good-looking as shehad been described--more so, indeed--but that she was in too much of ahurry to change her condition, and consequently, while Tim was courtingher and thinking of changing his, got married to somebody else. 'Afterall, I dare say it was my fault,' said Tim. 'I'll show you a printI have got upstairs, one of these days. It cost me five-and-twentyshillings. I bought it soon after we were cool to each other. Don'tmention it, but it's the most extraordinary accidental likeness you eversaw--her very portrait, sir!'

By this time it was past eleven o'clock; and Tim Linkinwater's sisterdeclaring that she ought to have been at home a full hour ago, a coachwas procured, into which she was handed with great ceremony by brotherNed, while brother Charles imparted the fullest directions to thecoachman, and besides paying the man a shilling over and above his fare,in order that he might take the utmost care of the lady, all but chokedhim with a glass of spirits of uncommon strength, and then nearlyknocked all the breath out of his body in his energetic endeavours toknock it in again.

At length the coach rumbled off, and Tim Linkinwater's sister being nowfairly on her way home, Nicholas and Tim Linkinwater's friend tooktheir leaves together, and left old Tim and the worthy brothers to theirrepose.

As Nicholas had some distance to walk, it was considerably past midnightby the time he reached home, where he found his mother and Smike sittingup to receive him. It was long after their usual hour of retiring, andthey had expected him, at the very latest, two hours ago; but the timehad not hung heavily on their hands, for Mrs Nickleby had entertainedSmike with a genealogical account of her family by the mother's side,comprising biographical sketches of the principal members, and Smike hadsat wondering what it was all about, and whether it was learnt froma book, or said out of Mrs Nickleby's own head; so that they got ontogether very pleasantly.

Nicholas could not go to bed without expatiating on the excellences andmunificence of the brothers Cheeryble, and relating the great successwhich had attended his efforts that day. But before he had said a dozenwords, Mrs Nickleby, with many sly winks and nods, observed, that shewas sure Mr Smike must be quite tired out, and that she positively mustinsist on his not sitting up a minute longer.

'A most biddable creature he is, to be sure,' said Mrs Nickleby, whenSmike had wished them good-night and left the room. 'I know you'llexcuse me, Nicholas, my dear, but I don't like to do this before a thirdperson; indeed, before a young man it would not be quite proper, thoughreally, after all, I don't know what harm there is in it, except thatto be sure it's not a very becoming thing, though some people say it isvery much so, and really I don't know why it should not be, if it'swell got up, and the borders are small-plaited; of course, a good dealdepends upon that.'

With which preface, Mrs Nickleby took her nightcap from between theleaves of a very large prayer-book where it had been folded up small,and proceeded to tie it on: talking away in her usual discursive manner,all the time.

'People may say what they like,' observed Mrs Nickleby, 'but there'sa great deal of comfort in a nightcap, as I'm sure you would confess,Nicholas my dear, if you would only have strings to yours, and wear itlike a Christian, instead of sticking it upon the very top of your headlike a blue-coat boy. You needn't think it an unmanly or quizzical thingto be particular about your nightcap, for I have often heard your poordear papa, and the Reverend Mr What's-his-name, who used to read prayersin that old church with the curious little steeple that the weathercockwas blown off the night week before you were born,--I have often heardthem say, that the young men at college are uncommonly particular abouttheir nightcaps, and that the Oxford nightcaps are quite celebratedfor their strength and goodness; so much so, indeed, that the young mennever dream of going to bed without 'em, and I believe it's admitted onall hands that THEY know what's good, and don't coddle themselves.'

Nicholas laughed, and entering no further into the subject of thislengthened harangue, reverted to the pleasant tone of the littlebirthday party. And as Mrs Nickleby instantly became very curiousrespecting it, and made a great number of inquiries touching what theyhad had for dinner, and how it was put on table, and whether it wasoverdone or underdone, and who was there, and what 'the Mr Cherrybles'said, and what Nicholas said, and what the Mr Cherrybles said when hesaid that; Nicholas described the festivities at full length, and alsothe occurrences of the morning.

'Late as it is,' said Nicholas, 'I am almost selfish enough to wishthat Kate had been up to hear all this. I was all impatience, as I camealong, to tell her.'

'Why, Kate,' said Mrs Nickleby, putting her feet upon the fender, anddrawing her chair close to it, as if settling herself for a longtalk. 'Kate has been in bed--oh! a couple of hours--and I'm very glad,Nicholas my dear, that I prevailed upon her not to sit up, for I wishedvery much to have an opportunity of saying a few words to you. I amnaturally anxious about it, and of course it's a very delightful andconsoling thing to have a grown-up son that one can put confidence in,and advise with; indeed I don't know any use there would be in havingsons at all, unless people could put confidence in them.'

Nicholas stopped in the middle of a sleepy yawn, as his mother began tospeak: and looked at her with fixed attention.

'There was a lady in our neighbourhood,' said Mrs Nickleby, 'speakingof sons puts me in mind of it--a lady in our neighbourhood when we livednear Dawlish, I think her name was Rogers; indeed I am sure it was if itwasn't Murphy, which is the only doubt I have--'

'Is it about her, mother, that you wished to speak to me?' said Nicholasquietly.

'About HER!' cried Mrs Nickleby. 'Good gracious, Nicholas, my dear, howCAN you be so ridiculous! But that was always the way with your poordear papa,--just his way--always wandering, never able to fix histhoughts on any one subject for two minutes together. I think I see himnow!' said Mrs Nickleby, wiping her eyes, 'looking at me while I wastalking to him about his affairs, just as if his ideas were in a stateof perfect conglomeration! Anybody who had come in upon us suddenly,would have supposed I was confusing and distracting him instead ofmaking things plainer; upon my word they would.'

'I am very sorry, mother, that I should inherit this unfortunateslowness of apprehension,' said Nicholas, kindly; 'but I'll do my bestto understand you, if you'll only go straight on: indeed I will.'

'Your poor pa!' said Mrs Nickleby, pondering. 'He never knew, till itwas too late, what I would have had him do!'

This was undoubtedly the case, inasmuch as the deceased Mr Nickleby hadnot arrived at the knowledge. Then he died. Neither had Mrs Nicklebyherself; which is, in some sort, an explanation of the circumstance.

'However,' said Mrs Nickleby, drying her tears, 'this has nothing todo--certainly nothing whatever to do--with the gentleman in the nexthouse.'

'I should suppose that the gentleman in the next house has as little todo with us,' returned Nicholas.

'There can be no doubt,' said Mrs Nickleby, 'that he IS a gentleman,and has the manners of a gentleman, and the appearance of a gentleman,although he does wear smalls and grey worsted stockings. That maybe eccentricity, or he may be proud of his legs. I don't see why heshouldn't be. The Prince Regent was proud of his legs, and so was DanielLambert, who was also a fat man; HE was proud of his legs. So was MissBiffin: she was--no,' added Mrs Nickleby, correcting, herself, 'I thinkshe had only toes, but the principle is the same.'

Nicholas looked on, quite amazed at the introduction of this new theme.Which seemed just what Mrs Nickleby had expected him to be.

'You may well be surprised, Nicholas, my dear,' she said, 'I am sure Iwas. It came upon me like a flash of fire, and almost froze my blood.The bottom of his garden joins the bottom of ours, and of course I hadseveral times seen him sitting among the scarlet-beans in his littlearbour, or working at his little hot-beds. I used to think he staredrather, but I didn't take any particular notice of that, as we werenewcomers, and he might be curious to see what we were like. But when hebegan to throw his cucumbers over our wall--'

'To throw his cucumbers over our wall!' repeated Nicholas, in greatastonishment.

'Yes, Nicholas, my dear,' replied Mrs Nickleby in a very serious tone;'his cucumbers over our wall. And vegetable marrows likewise.'

'Confound his impudence!' said Nicholas, firing immediately. 'What doeshe mean by that?'

'I don't think he means it impertinently at all,' replied Mrs Nickleby.

'What!' said Nicholas, 'cucumbers and vegetable marrows flying at theheads of the family as they walk in their own garden, and not meantimpertinently! Why, mother--'

Nicholas stopped short; for there was an indescribable expression ofplacid triumph, mingled with a modest confusion, lingering betweenthe borders of Mrs Nickleby's nightcap, which arrested his attentionsuddenly.

'He must be a very weak, and foolish, and inconsiderate man,' saidMrs Nickleby; 'blamable indeed--at least I suppose other people wouldconsider him so; of course I can't be expected to express any opinion onthat point, especially after always defending your poor dear papa whenother people blamed him for making proposals to me; and to be sure therecan be no doubt that he has taken a very singular way of showing it.Still at the same time, his attentions are--that is, as far as it goes,and to a certain extent of course--a flattering sort of thing; andalthough I should never dream of marrying again with a dear girl likeKate still unsettled in life--'

'Surely, mother, such an idea never entered your brain for an instant?'said Nicholas.

'Bless my heart, Nicholas my dear,' returned his mother in a peevishtone, 'isn't that precisely what I am saying, if you would only let mespeak? Of course, I never gave it a second thought, and I am surprisedand astonished that you should suppose me capable of such a thing. AllI say is, what step is the best to take, so as to reject these advancescivilly and delicately, and without hurting his feelings too much,and driving him to despair, or anything of that kind? My goodness me!'exclaimed Mrs Nickleby, with a half-simper, 'suppose he was to go doinganything rash to himself. Could I ever be happy again, Nicholas?'

Despite his vexation and concern, Nicholas could scarcely help smiling,as he rejoined, 'Now, do you think, mother, that such a result would belikely to ensue from the most cruel repulse?'

'Upon my word, my dear, I don't know,' returned Mrs Nickleby; 'really,I don't know. I am sure there was a case in the day before yesterday'spaper, extracted from one of the French newspapers, about a journeymanshoemaker who was jealous of a young girl in an adjoiningvillage, because she wouldn't shut herself up in an air-tightthree-pair-of-stairs, and charcoal herself to death with him; and whowent and hid himself in a wood with a sharp-pointed knife, and rushedout, as she was passing by with a few friends, and killed himself first,and then all the friends, and then her--no, killed all the friendsfirst, and then herself, and then HIMself--which it is quite frightfulto think of. Somehow or other,' added Mrs Nickleby, after a momentarypause, 'they always ARE journeyman shoemakers who do these things inFrance, according to the papers. I don't know how it is--something inthe leather, I suppose.'

'But this man, who is not a shoemaker--what has he done, mother, whathas he said?' inquired Nicholas, fretted almost beyond endurance, butlooking nearly as resigned and patient as Mrs Nickleby herself. 'Youknow, there is no language of vegetables, which converts a cucumber intoa formal declaration of attachment.'

'My dear,' replied Mrs Nickleby, tossing her head and looking at theashes in the grate, 'he has done and said all sorts of things.'

'Is there no mistake on your part?' asked Nicholas.

'Mistake!' cried Mrs Nickleby. 'Lord, Nicholas my dear, do you suppose Idon't know when a man's in earnest?'

'Well, well!' muttered Nicholas.

'Every time I go to the window,' said Mrs Nickleby, 'he kisses one hand,and lays the other upon his heart--of course it's very foolish of himto do so, and I dare say you'll say it's very wrong, but he does it veryrespectfully--very respectfully indeed--and very tenderly, extremelytenderly. So far, he deserves the greatest credit; there can be no doubtabout that. Then, there are the presents which come pouring over thewall every day, and very fine they certainly are, very fine; we had oneof the cucumbers at dinner yesterday, and think of pickling the restfor next winter. And last evening,' added Mrs Nickleby, with increasedconfusion, 'he called gently over the wall, as I was walking in thegarden, and proposed marriage, and an elopement. His voice is as clearas a bell or a musical glass--very like a musical glass indeed--but ofcourse I didn't listen to it. Then, the question is, Nicholas my dear,what am I to do?'

'Does Kate know of this?' asked Nicholas.

'I have not said a word about it yet,' answered his mother.

'Then, for Heaven's sake,' rejoined Nicholas, rising, 'do not, for itwould make her very unhappy. And with regard to what you should do, mydear mother, do what your good sense and feeling, and respect for myfather's memory, would prompt. There are a thousand ways in which youcan show your dislike of these preposterous and doting attentions. Ifyou act as decidedly as you ought and they are still continued, andto your annoyance, I can speedily put a stop to them. But I should notinterfere in a matter so ridiculous, and attach importance to it, untilyou have vindicated yourself. Most women can do that, but especiallyone of your age and condition, in circumstances like these, which areunworthy of a serious thought. I would not shame you by seeming totake them to heart, or treat them earnestly for an instant. Absurd oldidiot!'

So saying, Nicholas kissed his mother, and bade her good-night, and theyretired to their respective chambers.

To do Mrs Nickleby justice, her attachment to her children would haveprevented her seriously contemplating a second marriage, even if shecould have so far conquered her recollections of her late husband as tohave any strong inclinations that way. But, although there was no eviland little real selfishness in Mrs Nickleby's heart, she had a weak headand a vain one; and there was something so flattering in being sought(and vainly sought) in marriage at this time of day, that she couldnot dismiss the passion of the unknown gentleman quite so summarily orlightly as Nicholas appeared to deem becoming.

'As to its being preposterous, and doting, and ridiculous,' thought MrsNickleby, communing with herself in her own room, 'I don't see that,at all. It's hopeless on his part, certainly; but why he should be anabsurd old idiot, I confess I don't see. He is not to be supposed toknow it's hopeless. Poor fellow! He is to be pitied, I think!'

Having made these reflections, Mrs Nickleby looked in her littledressing-glass, and walking backward a few steps from it, triedto remember who it was who used to say that when Nicholas wasone-and-twenty he would have more the appearance of her brother than herson. Not being able to call the authority to mind, she extinguishedher candle, and drew up the window-blind to admit the light of morning,which had, by this time, begun to dawn.

'It's a bad light to distinguish objects in,' murmured Mrs Nickleby,peering into the garden, 'and my eyes are not very good--I wasshort-sighted from a child--but, upon my word, I think there's anotherlarge vegetable marrow sticking, at this moment, on the broken glassbottles at the top of the wall!'