looked at you--merrily
too--but you wouldn't mind that. A brighter smile you never saw.'

'No, no,' said Tom. 'I wouldn't mind that.'

'She would be as tender with you, Tom,' said Martin, 'as if you were a
child yourself. So you are almost, in some things, an't you, Tom?'

Mr Pinch nodded his entire assent.

'She would always be kind and good-humoured, and glad to see you,' said
Martin; 'and when she found out exactly what sort of fellow you were
(which she'd do very soon), she would pretend to give you little
commissions to execute, and to ask little services of you, which she
knew you were burning to render; so that when she really pleased you
most, she would try to make you think you most pleased her. She
would take to you uncommonly, Tom; and would understand you far more
delicately than I ever shall; and would often say, I know, that you were
a harmless, gentle, well-intentioned, good fellow.'

How silent Tom Pinch was!

'In honour of old time,' said Martin, 'and of her having heard you play
the organ in this damp little church down here--for nothing too--we will
have one in the house. I shall build an architectural music-room on a
plan of my own, and it'll look rather knowing in a recess at one end.
There you shall play away, Tom, till you tire yourself; and, as you like
to do so in the dark, it shall BE dark; and many's the summer evening
she and I will sit and listen to you, Tom; be sure of that!'

It may have required a stronger effort on Tom Pinch's part to leave the
seat on which he sat, and shake his friend by both hands, with nothing
but serenity and grateful feeling painted on his face; it may have
required a stronger effort to perform this simple act with a pure heart,
than to achieve many and many a deed to which the doubtful trumpet blown
by Fame has lustily resounded. Doubtful, because from its long hovering
over scenes of violence, the smoke and steam of death have clogged the
keys of that brave instrument; and it is not always that its notes are
either true or tuneful.

'It's a proof of the kindness of human nature,' said Tom,
characteristically putting himself quite out of sight in the matter,
'that everybody who comes here, as you have done, is more considerate
and affectionate to me than I should have any right to hope, if I were
the most sanguine creature in the world; or should have any power to
express, if I were the most eloquent. It really overpowers me. But trust
me,' said Tom, 'th