mless hat, and troubled
his one eye. The other eye, having met with an accident last week, he
had covered neatly with an oyster-shell, which was kept in its place
by a string at each side, fastened through a hole. He used no staff
to help him along, though his body was nearly bent double, so that his
face was constantly turned to the earth, like that of a four-footed
creature. He was ninety-seven years of age. As these two patriarchal
laborers approached the great Dust-heap, a discordant voice hallooed
to them from the top of a broken wall. It was meant as a greeting of
the morning, and proceeded from little Jem Clinker, a poor deformed
lad, whose back had been broken when a child. His nose and chin were
much too large for the rest of his face, and he had lost nearly
all his teeth from premature decay. But he had an eye gleaming with
intelligence and life, and an expression at once patient and hopeful.
He had balanced his misshapen frame on the top of the old wall, over
which one shriveled leg dangled, as if by the weight of a hob-nailed
boot that covered a foot large enough for a plowman.
In addition to his first morning's salutation of his two aged friends,
he now shouted out in a tone of triumph and self-gratulation, in which
he felt assured of their sympathy--
"Two white skins, and a tor'shell-un!"
It may be requisite to state that little Jem Clinker belonged to the
dead-cat department of the Dust-heap, and now announced that a prize
of three skins, in superior condition. had rewarded him for being
first in the field.
He was enjoying a seat on the wall, in order to recover himself from
the excitement of his good fortune.
At the base of the great Dust-heap the two old people now met their
young friend--a sort of great-grandson by mutual adoption--and they
at once joined the party who had by this time assembled as usual, and
were already busy at their several occupations.
But besides all these, another individual, belonging to a very
different class, formed a part of the scene, though appearing only on
its outskirts. A canal ran along at the rear of the Dust-heap, and on
the banks of its opposite side slowly wandered by--with hands clasped
and hanging down in front of him, and eyes bent vacantly upon his
hands--the forlorn figure of a man, in a very shabby great-coat, which
had evidently once belonged to one in the position of a gentleman. And
to a gentleman it still belonged--but in _what_ a position! A
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