The trip was a little foggy, to be sure, in the January weather; and was
raw and cold. But who cared for such trifles? Not Dot, decidedly. Not
Tilly Slowboy, for she deemed sitting in a cart, on any terms, to be the
highest point of human joys; the crowning circumstance of earthly hope.
Not the Baby, I'll be sworn; for it's not in Baby nature to be warmer or
more sound asleep, though its capacity is great in both respects, than
that blessed young Peerybingle was, all the way.

You couldn't see very far in the fog, of course; but you could see a
great deal! It's astonishing how much you may see in a thicker fog than
that, if you will only take the trouble to look for it. Why, even to sit
watching for the Fairyrings in the fields, and for the patches of hoar
frost still lingering in the shade, near hedges and by trees, was a
pleasant occupation, to make no mention of the unexpected shapes in
which the trees themselves came starting out of the mist, and glided
into it again. The hedges were tangled and bare, and waved a multitude
of blighted garlands in the wind; but there was no discouragement in
this. It was agreeable to contemplate; for it made the fireside warmer
in possession, and the summer greener in expectancy. The river looked
chilly; but it was in motion, and moving at a good pace--which was a
great point. The canal was rather slow and torpid; that must be
admitted. Never mind. It would freeze the sooner when the frost set
fairly in, and then there would be skating and sliding; and the heavy
old barges, frozen up somewhere near a wharf, would smoke their rusty
iron chimney-pipes all day, and have a lazy time of it.

In one place there was a great mound of weeds or stubble burning; and
they watched the fire, so white in the daytime, flaring through the fog,
with only here and there a dash of red in it, until, in consequence, as
she observed, of the smoke "getting up her nose," Miss Slowboy
choked--she could do anything of that sort, on the smallest
provocation--and woke the Baby, who wouldn't go to sleep again. But
Boxer, who was in advance some quarter of a mile or so, had already
passed the outposts of the town, and gained the corner of the street
where Caleb and his daughter lived; and, long before they had reached
the door, he and the Blind Girl were on the pavement waiting to receive
them.

Boxer, by the way, made certain delicate distinctions of his own, in his
communication with Bertha, which persuade m