day, my pet," said Trotty. "You and Richard had some words
to-day."

"Because he's such a bad fellow, father," said Meg. "An't you, Richard?
Such a headstrong, violent man! He'd have made no more of speaking his
mind to that great Alderman, and putting _him_ down I don't know where,
than he would of--"

"--Kissing Meg," suggested Richard. Doing it, too.

"No. Not a bit more," said Meg. "But I wouldn't let him, father. Where
would have been the use?"

"Richard, my boy!" cried Trotty. "You was turned up Trumps originally,
and Trumps you must be until you die! But you were crying by the fire
to-night, my pet, when I came home. Why did you cry by the fire?"

"I was thinking of the years we've passed together, father. Only that.
And thinking you might miss me, and be lonely."

Trotty was backing off to that extraordinary chair again, when the
child, who had been awakened by the noise, came running in, half
dressed.

"Why, here she is!" cried Trotty catching her up. "Here's little Lilian!
Ha, ha, ha! Here we are and here we go! O, here we are and here we go
again! And here we are and here we go! And Uncle Will, too!" Stopping in
his trot to greet him heartily. "O, Uncle Will, the vision that I've had
to-night, through lodging you! O, Uncle Will, the obligations that
you've laid me under by your coming, my good friend!"

Before Will Fern could make the least reply, a band of music burst into
the room, attended by a flock of neighbors, screaming: "A Happy New
Year, Meg!" "A Happy Wedding!" "Many of 'em!" and other fragmentary good
wishes of that sort. The Drum (who was a private friend of Trotty's)
then stepped forward and said:

"Trotty Veck, my boy! It's got about that your daughter is going to be
married to-morrow. There an't a soul that knows you that don't wish you
well, or that knows her and don't wish her well. Or that knows you both
and don't wish you both all the happiness the New Year can bring. And
here we are, to play it in accordingly."

"What a happiness it is, I'm sure," said Trotty, "to be so esteemed. How
kind and neighborly you are! It's all along of my dear daughter. She
deserves it."

At this moment a combination of prodigious sounds was heard outside, and
a good-humored, comely woman of some fifty years of age, or thereabouts,
came running in, closely followed by the marrow-bones and cleavers and
the bells--not _the_ Bells, but a portable collection on a frame.

Trotty said: "It's Mrs. Chicke