plates and dishes on the shelves, for the
purpose of congratulating the master; else why should all their faces
brighten up so suddenly with smiles as he did so? It's ridiculous to
suppose plates and dishes have no feelings; they've a great deal more
than some people. And then, how the great, big, bright copper kettle,
suspended on his hook, which was in the centre of the huge fireplace, how
he did sing! Why the nightingale couldn't throw more feeling into a song
than did that old kettle! And then the home-made bread and rashers of
bacon, such as you never see out of a farmhouse; and tea, such as can't
be made anywhere else! And then the long pipe was brought out of his
corner, where he had been just as Tom had left it before going to town.
And the bowl of that pipe gave off circular clouds of the bluest smoke,
expressive of its joy at the master's return: it wasn't very expressive,
perhaps, but it was all that a pipe could do; and when one does his best
in this world, it is all that mortal man can expect of him.

And then said Mrs. Bumpkin,--still dubious as to the policy of the
proceedings, but too loving to combat her husband upon them,--"When be
thee gwine agin, Tom?"

"I doan't rightly know," said Bumpkin. "Mr. Prigg will let I know;
sometime in May, I reckon."

"Dear, dear!" said Mrs. Bumpkin; "it may be on, then, just as th'
haymakin's about."

"Lor, lor! no, dearie; it'll be over long enough afore."

"Doan't be too sure, Tom; it be a long time now since it begun."

"Ah!" said Tom, "a long time enough; but it'll be in th' paper afore long
now; an' we got one o' the cleverest counsel in Lunnun?"

"What be his name?"

"Danged if I know, but it be one o' the stunninest men o' the day; two on
'em, by Golly; we got two, Nancy."

"Who be th' tother? p'r'aps thee med mind his name?"

"Noa, I doan't mind his name nuther. Now, what d'ye think o' thic?"

Mrs. Bumpkin laughed, and said, "I think it be a rum thing that thee 'as
counsellors and doan't mind their names."

And then the conversation turned upon Joe, whose place was vacant in the
old chimney corner.

The tears ran down Mrs. Bumpkin's rosy cheeks as she said for the
twentieth time since Mr. Bumpkin's return,--

"Poor Joe! why did ur goo for a soger?"

"He wur a fool!" said Bumpkin, "and I told un so. So as I warned un
about thic Sergeant; the artfullest man as ever lived, Nancy."

Mrs. Bumpkin wiped her eyes. "He wur a good boy, wur Jo