everal flourishes on his fiddle. Opposition Bill
tried to imitate him, but made sad work of it. It was near dinner-time,
and the pensioners rose and proceeded to the Painted Hall, for at that
time they dined there, and not below in the crypts as they do now.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

I GET INTO VERY DOUBTFUL COMPANY--I AM TEMPTED, AND, LIKE A TRUE SON OF
ADAM, I FALL.

The reader must have observed that, under the tuition of Anderson, I
promised to follow the right path, and, provided his good offices were
not interfered with, there appeared little doubt but that such would be
the case. But I was little aware, nor was he, that the humble
profession which I had chosen for myself was beset with danger, and that
the majority of those with whom I was associating were the most likely
of all others to lead me into evil. Why I had not hitherto been tempted
can only be ascribed to my tender years. In fact, I had not been
considered strong enough, or of an age to be useful to them, but now
that I was more than thirteen years old--being, moreover, very tall and
strong for my age--the hour of temptation arrived; and fortunate was it
for me that, previous to this epoch, I had been taken under the
protection of Peter Anderson.

I have said in a former chapter that I was a regular _mudlarker_. So I
was, as far as the ostensible occupation of those who are so denominated
went; to wit, "picking up pieces of old rope, wood, etcetera." But the
mudlarkers, properly speaking, at that time composed a very extensive
body on the river, and were a more humble portion of the numerous river
depredators, of which I may hereafter speak. A mudlarker was a man who
had an old boat, generally sold by some merchant vessel, furnished with
an iron bar full of hooks, which was lowered down by a rope to catch
pieces of cordage, oakum, canvas or other articles, which might fall
overboard from the numerous vessels in the river; these were sold to the
marine stores, such as were kept by old Nanny. But, as I observed, this
was the _ostensible_ mode of livelihood; they had other resources, to
which I shall presently refer. An old man of the name of Jones, who
resided at Greenwich, was one of these mudlarkers by profession. He was
a surly old fellow, his sharp nose and chin nearly meeting, and he
usually went by the name of Old Grumble. I had occasionally assisted
him with his boat, but without receiving money, or indeed thanks, for my
pains, but f