"At Mr. Snelly's wedding, twenty years since."
"'Gad! you'd make a good Turk, ma'am--don't mistake me--it's only they drink no wine. You've found life an up-hill business, then, hey?"
Mrs. Rumble sighed profoundly, shook her head, and said,--
"Ha, ha, ha! to be sure, why not? then you're a bit _tired_, I dare say; what do you think of death?"
"An ugly fellow, hey? I don't like the smell of him, ma'am."
"Oh! sure and certain hope--yes, the resurrection, hey?"
"Yes, sir, there's only one thing troubles me--them poor little children. I wouldn't care how soon I went if they was able to do for themselves."
"They do that very early in London--girls especially; and you're giving them such an excellent training--Sunday school--eh--and Church Catechism, I see. The righteous are never forsaken, my excellent mother used to tell me; and if the Catechism does not make little Miss what's-her-name righteous, I'm afraid the rosy little rogue has a spice of the devil in her."
"Amen, of course. I'm sure they're all right--I hope they are--for I'll whip 'em both; I give you fair warning, on my honour, I will, if they give me the least trouble."
"I'll be very careful, sir, and keep them out of the way," said the alarmed Sarah Rumble.
"Oh! I don't care about _that_; _let_ 'em run about, as long as they're good; I've no objection in life to children--quite the contrary--plump little rogues--I like 'em--only, egad! if they're naughty, I'll turn 'em up, mind."
Miss Rumble looked at him with as much alarm as if the threat had been to herself.
He was grinning at her in return, and nodded once or twice sharply.
"Yes, ma'am, lollypops and sugar-candy when they're good; but, egad! when they're naughty, ma'am, you'll hear 'em squalling."
"'Gad, I forgot how cold this d----d town is. I say, you'll keep a fire in my bed-room, please; lay on enough to carry me through the night, do you mind?"
"And poke this fire up, and put some more wood, or coal, on it; I don't expect to be ever warm again--in _this_ world, eh?--ha, ha, ha! I remember our gardener, when we were boys, telling me a story of a preacher in a hard frost, telling his congregation that hell was a terribly cold place, lest if he described what good fires they kept there they'd all have been wishing to get into it. Did you ever know any one, ma'am, of my name, _Dingwell_, before, eh? Where were you born?"