sual to
him, 'not there.'

'What was you a-doin' there?' asked Sam, with a sharp glance. 'Got
inside the gate by accident, perhaps?'

'Why, Mr. Weller,' replied Job, 'I don't mind telling you my little
secrets, because, you know, we took such a fancy for each other when we
first met. You recollect how pleasant we were that morning?'

'Oh, yes,' said Sam, impatiently. 'I remember. Well?'

'Well,' replied Job, speaking with great precision, and in the low tone
of a man who communicates an important secret; 'in that house with the
green gate, Mr. Weller, they keep a good many servants.'

'So I should think, from the look on it,' interposed Sam.

'Yes,' continued Mr. Trotter, 'and one of them is a cook, who has saved
up a little money, Mr. Weller, and is desirous, if she can establish
herself in life, to open a little shop in the chandlery way, you see.'
'Yes.'

'Yes, Mr. Weller. Well, Sir, I met her at a chapel that I go to; a very
neat little chapel in this town, Mr. Weller, where they sing the number
four collection of hymns, which I generally carry about with me, in a
little book, which you may perhaps have seen in my hand--and I got a
little intimate with her, Mr. Weller, and from that, an acquaintance
sprung up between us, and I may venture to say, Mr. Weller, that I am to
be the chandler.'

'Ah, and a wery amiable chandler you'll make,' replied Sam, eyeing Job
with a side look of intense dislike.

'The great advantage of this, Mr. Weller,' continued Job, his eyes
filling with tears as he spoke, 'will be, that I shall be able to leave
my present disgraceful service with that bad man, and to devote myself
to a better and more virtuous life; more like the way in which I was
brought up, Mr. Weller.'

'You must ha' been wery nicely brought up,' said Sam.

'Oh, very, Mr. Weller, very,' replied Job. At the recollection of
the purity of his youthful days, Mr. Trotter pulled forth the pink
handkerchief, and wept copiously.

'You must ha' been an uncommon nice boy, to go to school vith,' said
Sam.

'I was, sir,' replied Job, heaving a deep sigh; 'I was the idol of the
place.'

'Ah,' said Sam, 'I don't wonder at it. What a comfort you must ha' been
to your blessed mother.'

At these words, Mr. Job Trotter inserted an end of the pink handkerchief
into the corner of each eye, one after the other, and began to weep
copiously.

'Wot's the matter with the man,' said Sam, indignantly. 'Chelsea
water-works is no