re;
having the grace, however, to send Woolsey the ticket, signifying the
place where it had been pawned. Who could the scoundrel have been?
Woolsey swore a great oath, and fancied he knew; but if it was Walker
himself (as Woolsey fancied, and probably as was the case) who made away
with the shawl, being pressed thereto by necessity, was it fair to call
him a scoundrel for so doing, and should we not rather laud the delicacy
of his proceeding? He was poor: who can command the cards? But he did
not wish his wife should know HOW poor: he could not bear that she
should suppose him arrived at the necessity of pawning a shawl.

She who had such beautiful ringlets, of a sudden pleaded cold in the
head, and took to wearing caps. One summer evening, as she and the baby
and Mrs. Crump and Woolsey (let us say all four babies together) were
laughing and playing in Mrs. Crump's drawing-room--playing the most
absurd gambols, fat Mrs. Crump, for instance, hiding behind the sofa,
Woolsey chuck-chucking, cock-a-doodle-dooing, and performing those
indescribable freaks which gentlemen with philoprogenitive organs will
execute in the company of children--in the midst of their play the baby
gave a tug at his mother's cap; off it came--her hair was cut close to
her head!

Morgiana turned as red as sealing-wax, and trembled very much; Mrs.
Crump screamed, "My child, where is your hair?" and Woolsey, bursting
out with a most tremendous oath against Walker that would send Miss Prim
into convulsions, put his handkerchief to his face, and actually wept.
"The infernal bubble-ubble-ackguard!" said he, roaring and clenching his
fists.

As he had passed the Bower of Bloom a few days before, he saw Mossrose,
who was combing out a jet-black ringlet, and held it up, as if for
Woolsey's examination, with a peculiar grin. The tailor did not
understand the joke, but he saw now what had happened. Morgiana had sold
her hair for five guineas; she would have sold her arm had her husband
bidden her. On looking in her drawers it was found she had sold almost
all her wearing apparel; the child's clothes were all there, however.
It was because her husband talked of disposing of a gilt coral that
the child had, that she had parted with the locks which had formed her
pride.

"I'll give you twenty guineas for that hair, you infamous fat coward,"
roared the little tailor to Eglantine that evening. "Give it up, or I'll
kill you-"

"Mr. Mossrose! Mr. Mossrose!"