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' “ Servant, sir," said Mr. Omer.
you, sir?" . .
“You can shake hands with me, Mr. Omer, if you
please," said 1, putting out my own. “ You were very
good-natured to me once, when I am afraid I didn’t
show that I thought so.”
“ ‘Vas I tlioug.i‘I ” returned the old man. “ I'm glad
to hear it, but 1 don’t remember when. Are you sure it
was me 7 ”
“ Quite."
“ I think my memory has got as short as my breath,”
said Mr. Omer, looking at me and shaking his head;
“ for I don’t remember you.”
“ Don't you remember your coming to the coach to
meet me, and my having breakfast here, and our riding
out to Blunderstone together : you, and I, and Mrs. J or-
am, and Mr. Joram too-wlio wasn’t her husband then ?”
“VVhy, Lord bless my soull” exclaimed Mr. Omer,
after being thrown by his surprise into a fit of coughing,
“you don't say sol Minnie, my dear, you recollect?!
Dear me, yes-tlie party was a lady, I tliink?”
“My mother,” I rejoined. '
“ To-vbee-sure,” said Mr. Oiner, touching my waist-
coat with his forefinger, “and there was a little child
tool There was two parties. The little party was laid
along with the other party. Over at Blunderstone it
was, of course. Dear me I And how have you been
since ? ” -
Very well, I thanked him. as I hoped he had been too.
7 “Oh 1 nothing to grumble at, you know,” said Mr.
Omer. “ I find my breath gets short, but it seldom gets
longer as a. man gets older. I take it as it comes, and
make the most of it. That’s the best way, ain’t it?”
Mr. Omer coughed again, in consequence of laughing,
and was assisted out of his fit by his daughter, who now
stood close beside us, dancing her smallest child on the
counter. x
' “ Dear me I ” said Mr. Omer. “ Yes, to be sure. Two
parties! VVhy, in that very ride, if you’ll believe me,
the day was named for my Minnie to marry Joram. ‘ Do
name it, sir,’ says Jorain. ‘Yes, do, father,’ says Minnie.
And now he’s come into the business. And look here I
The youn estl”
Minnie aiiglicd, and stroked her banded hair upon her
temples, as her father put one of his fat fingers into the
hand of the child she was dancing on the counter.
“ Two parties, of course 1" said Mr. Omer, nodding his
head retrospectively. “Ex-actly so I And J oram’s at
work, at this minute, on a grey one withisilver nails,not
this incasureinent”-the measurement of the dancing
child upon the counter- “ by a good two inches.-VVill
you take something?”
I thanked him, but declined.
i “ Let me see,” said Mr. Omer. “ Barkis ’s the car‘
rier’s wife-s-Peggotty ’s the boatman’s sister-slie had
something to do with your family? She was in service
’ there, sure? ”
My answering in the ailirmative gave him great satis-
faction. ‘
“ I believe my breath will ct long next, my meniory’s
getting so much so,” said Mr. gmcr. “ Well, sir, we’ve got
a young relation of hers here, under articles to us, that
has as elegant a taste in the dress-making business-I
assure you I don’t believe there's a Duchess in England
can touch her.” '
“ Not little Em’ly?" said I, voluntarily. .
“ Eni’ly’s her name,” said Mr. Omer, “ and she’s little
too. But if you'll believe me, she has such a face of her
plwn that half the women in this town are mad against
or.”
“Nonsense, father l” cried Minnie.
“My dear,” said Mr. Oiner, “ I don’t say it's the case
with you,” winkin at me, “but I say that half‘ the
women in Yarmout i-ah! and in five mile round-are
mad against that girl.” i .
“ Then she should have kept to her own station in life,
father,” said Minnie, “ and not have given them any
‘ hold. to talk about her, and then they couldn’t have done
it ” ‘ i -
‘-“ Couldn't have done it, my dear l” retorted Mr. Omer.
“ Couldn't have done it I Is that your knowledge of life?
What is there that any woman couldn't do, that she
CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. I
“what can I do for Shouldnit d0,9gpepially on the subject of another wit
J
’ r dl oks‘?
Il1[iHr<53aF1‘i))3th;’ug]1Plt.WVaS all over with Mr. Omer, after
lie had uttered this libcllous pleasantrv: Ho coughed to
that extent, and his breath eluded all us attempts to re.
cover it with that obstinacjf, that 1 full) dciltpcctcd to see
his head go down behind the ct'.‘>)unte11', an iis little black
breechcs, with the rusty little unc ies of ribbons at the
knees, come quivering up in a tlatsttineifst:]ctual struggle-
At length, however, ehgo f)3t1CI‘% hiough he .5311
l”““‘f‘i.‘.’i‘f.‘i’.‘tL‘.‘3i‘EE‘iif2 "‘ was We
0 5‘ . . ' .“
“ You see,” he said, wiping his head, and breathing
with difiiculty, “ she liasn t tvi.lk(;3,Il'II1l.lCll to any compan.
ions here ; she liasii t taken Lin 3 to any particular ac.
quaintances and friends, not to mention sweethearts. ‘In
consequence, an Ill-nE1t&lYI'(3d story got about,htliat Emqy
wanted to be a lady.‘ OW, my 0I’11110T1 18. 1 at it came
into circulation principallypon account of her sometimes
saying at the school that if she was a ’lady, she would
like ]to do sol anddso f(;I'iil:‘(;1'&1:1:(lr(:-’-’(IOI1 t you see ‘I-am]
uy iim suci an suci i .
“ I assure you, Mr. Omer, she has said ‘so to me,” Ire.
turned eagerly, “ when we were both children,”
Mr. Omer nodded his head and rubbed his chin,
“Just so. Then out of a very little, she could dress
herself, you see, better than most others could Olltlof
a deal, and that made. things unpleasantp Moreover,
she was rather what might be called wayward-I’ll go
so far as to say what I should call wayward myself,"
said Mr. Omer, “-(Il(Il'l’l'.’kI)()VV her own mind quite-ii
little spoiled-and coiildn t, at iirst, exactly bin-d herself
gpwn: ?I,x’o more than that was ever said against her,
innie ’ ' ‘
“No, father,” said Mrs. Jorain.
I believe.”
“ So, when she got a situation,” said Mr. Omer, "to
keep 9. fractions old lady company, they didn’t very well
“ That's the worst,
agree, and she didn’t stop. At last she came here, ap..
prcnticed for three years. Nearly two of ’em are over,‘
and she has been as good a girl as ever was. Worth
any six 1 Minnie, is she worth any six, new? ” ‘
“Yes, father,” replied Minnie. “Never say Ide-
tracted from her l”
“Very good,” said Mr. Omer. “That's right. And
so, young gentleman,” he added, after 11' few moments’
further rubbing of his chin, “that you may not consider
me long-winded as well as short-breathed,I believe
that’s all about it.”
As they had spoken in a. subdued tone, while speaking
of Em’ly, I had no doubt that she was near. On my
asking now, if that were not so, Mr. Omer nodded yes,
and nodded towards the door of the parlour. Myliur
ried inquiry if I might peep in, was answered with 9.
free permission; and, looking through the glass, lsaw
her sitting at her work. I saw her, a most beautiful
little creature, with the cloudless blue eyes, that had
looked into my childish heart, turned laughingly upon
another child of Minnie’s who was playing near her;
with enough of wilfulness in her bright face to justify
what I had lieard; with much of’ the old capricious
coyness lurking in it; but with nothing in her pretty
looks, I am sure, but what was meant for goodness and
for happiness, and what was on a good and happy
course.
The tune across the yard that seemed as if it never
had left off-alas l it was the tune that never does leave 4.‘
off-was beating, softly, all the while.
“ VVOuldn’t you like to step in,’f said Mr. Omer, “aiid I
speak to her? r ‘Valli in and speak to her, sir! Make ‘
yourself at home !” .
hwas too bashful to do so then-I was afraid of cou-
fiising her, and Iwas no less afraid of confusing myself:
but I informed myself of the hour at which she left of
an evening, in order that our visit might be timed ac-
cordingly ; and taking leave of Mr. Omer and his pretty
daughter, and her little children, went away to my dear
Peggotty’s. . . ’ t - ,
Here she was, in the tiled-kitchen, cooking dinner!
The moment Iknocked atthe door she opened it, and
asked me what I pleased to want. I looked at her with
a smile, but she gave me no smile in return. had