The old gentleman, the old lady, the pony, and the chaise, came up the street in perfect unanimity, until they arrived within some half-a-dozen doors of the notary’s house, when the pony, deceived by a brass-plate beneath a tailor’s knocker, came to a halt, and maintained by a sturdy silence, that that was the house they wanted.
“Now, sir, will you have the goodness to go on; this is not the place,” said the old gentleman.
The pony looked with great attention into a fireplug which was near him, and appeared to be quite absorbed in contemplating it.
“Oh dear, such a naughty Whisker!” cried the old lady. “After being so good too, and coming along so well! I am quite ashamed of him. I don’t know what we are to do with him, I really don’t.”
The pony having thoroughly satisfied himself as to the nature and properties of the fireplug, looked into the air after his old enemies the flies, and as there happened to be one of them tickling his ear at that moment he shook his head and whisked his tail, after which he appeared full of thought but quite comfortable and collected. The old gentleman having exhausted his powers of persuasion, alighted to lead him, whereupon the pony, perhaps because he held this to be a sufficient concession, perhaps because he happened to catch sight of the other brass-plate, or perhaps because he was in a spiteful humour, darted off with the old lady and stopped at the right house, leaving the old gentleman to come panting on behind.
It was then that Kit presented himself at the pony’s head, and touched his hat with a smile.
“Why, bless me,” cried the old gentleman, “the lad is here! My dear, do you see?”
“I said I’d be here, sir,” said Kit, patting Whisker’s neck. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant ride, sir. He’s a very nice little pony.”
“My dear,” said the old gentleman. “This is an uncommon lad; a good lad, I’m sure.”
“I am sure he is,” rejoined the old lady. “A very good lad, and I am sure he is a good son.”
Kit acknowledged these expressions of confidence by touching his hat again and blushing very much. The old gentleman then handed the old lady out, and after looking at him with an approving smile they went into the house—talking about him as they went, Kit could not help feeling. Presently Mr. Witherden, smelling very hard at the nosegay, came to the window and looked at him, and after that Mr. Abel came and looked at him, and after that the old gentleman and lady came and looked at him again, and after that they all came and looked at him together, which Kit, feeling very much embarrassed by, made a pretence of not observing. Therefore he patted the pony more and more; and this liberty the pony most handsomely permitted.
The faces had not disappeared from the window many moments, when Mr. Chuckster in his official coat, and with his hat hanging on his head just as it had happened to fall from its peg, appeared upon the pavement, and telling him he was wanted inside, bade him go in and he would mind the chaise the while. In giving him this direction Mr. Chuckster remarked that he wished he might be blessed if he could make out whether he (Kit) was “precious raw” or “precious deep,” but intimated by a distrustful shake of the head, that he inclined to the latter opinion.
Kit entered the office in a great tremor, for he was not used to going among strange ladies and gentlemen, and the tin boxes and bundles of dusty papers had in his eyes an awful and venerable air. Mr. Witherden too was a bustling gentleman who talked loud and fast, and all eyes were upon him, and he was very shabby.
“Well boy,” said Mr. Witherden, “you came to work out that shilling;—not to get another, hey?”
“No indeed sir,” replied Kit, taking courage to look up. “I never thought of such a thing.”
“Father alive?” said the notary.
“Dead sir.”
“Mother?”
“Yes sir.”
“Married again—eh?”
Kit made answer, not without some indignation, that she was a widow with three children, and that as to her marrying again, if the gentleman knew her he wouldn’t think of such a thing. At this reply Mr. Witherden buried his nose in the flowers again, and whispered behind the nosegay to the old gentleman that he believed the lad was as honest a lad as need be.
“Now,” said Mr. Garland when they had made some further inquiries of him, “I am not going to give you anything—”
“Thank you sir,” Kit replied; and quite seriously too, for this announcement seemed to free him from the suspicion which the notary had hinted.
“—But,” resumed the old gentleman, “perhaps I may want to know something more about you, so tell me where you live and I’ll put it down in my pocketbook.”
Kit told him, and the old gentleman wrote down the address with his pencil. He had scarcely done so, when there was a great uproar in the street, and the old lady hurrying to the window cried that Whisker had run away, upon which Kit darted out to the rescue, and the others followed.
It seemed that Mr. Chuckster had been standing with his hands in his pockets looking carelessly at the pony, and occasionally insulting him with such admonitions as “Stand still,”—“Be quiet,”—“Woa-a-a,” and the like, which by a pony of spirit cannot be borne. Consequently, the pony being deterred by no considerations of duty or obedience, and not having before him the slightest fear of the human eye, had at length started off, and was at that moment rattling down the street—Mr. Chuckster, with his hat off and a pen behind his ear, hanging on in
