ed.'

The child began to be alarmed, considering that the ale had taken
effect upon Mr Codlin, and that this commendation of himself was the
consequence.

'Short's very well, and seems kind,' resumed the misanthrope, 'but he
overdoes it. Now I don't.'

Certainly if there were any fault in Mr Codlin's usual deportment, it
was that he rather underdid his kindness to those about him, than
overdid it. But the child was puzzled, and could not tell what to say.

'Take my advice,' said Codlin: 'don't ask me why, but take it. As long
as you travel with us, keep as near me as you can. Don't offer to
leave us--not on any account--but always stick to me and say that I'm
your friend. Will you bear that in mind, my dear, and always say that
it was me that was your friend?'

'Say so where--and when?' inquired the child innocently.

'O, nowhere in particular,' replied Codlin, a little put out as it
seemed by the question; 'I'm only anxious that you should think me so,
and do me justice. You can't think what an interest I have in you.
Why didn't you tell me your little history--that about you and the poor
old gentleman? I'm the best adviser that ever was, and so interested
in you--so much more interested than Short. I think they're breaking
up down stairs; you needn't tell Short, you know, that we've had this
little talk together. God bless you. Recollect the friend. Codlin's
the friend, not Short. Short's very well as far as he goes, but the
real friend is Codlin--not Short.'

Eking out these professions with a number of benevolent and protecting
looks and great fervour of manner, Thomas Codlin stole away on tiptoe,
leaving the child in a state of extreme surprise. She was still
ruminating upon his curious behaviour, when the floor of the crazy
stairs and landing cracked beneath the tread of the other travellers
who were passing to their beds. When they had all passed, and the
sound of their footsteps had died away, one of them returned, and after
a little hesitation and rustling in the passage, as if he were doubtful
what door to knock at, knocked at hers.

'Yes,' said the child from within.

'It's me--Short'--a voice called through the keyhole. 'I only wanted
to say that we must be off early to-morrow morning, my dear, because
unless we get the start of the dogs and the conjuror, the villages
won't be worth a penny. You'll be sure to be stirring early and go
with us? I'll call you.'

The child answered