cer's shop,
forgot their wings and briskness, and baked to death in dusty corners
of the window.

Rumbling along with most unwonted noise, the caravan stopped at last at
the place of exhibition, where Nell dismounted amidst an admiring group
of children, who evidently supposed her to be an important item of the
curiosities, and were fully impressed with the belief that her
grandfather was a cunning device in wax. The chests were taken out
with all convenient despatch, and taken in to be unlocked by Mrs
Jarley, who, attended by George and another man in velveteen shorts and
a drab hat ornamented with turnpike tickets, were waiting to dispose
their contents (consisting of red festoons and other ornamental devices
in upholstery work) to the best advantage in the decoration of the room.

They all got to work without loss of time, and very busy they were. As
the stupendous collection were yet concealed by cloths, lest the
envious dust should injure their complexions, Nell bestirred herself to
assist in the embellishment of the room, in which her grandfather also
was of great service. The two men being well used to it, did a great
deal in a short time; and Mrs Jarley served out the tin tacks from a
linen pocket like a toll-collector's which she wore for the purpose,
and encouraged her assistants to renewed exertion.

While they were thus employed, a tallish gentleman with a hook nose and
black hair, dressed in a military surtout very short and tight in the
sleeves, and which had once been frogged and braided all over, but was
now sadly shorn of its garniture and quite threadbare--dressed too in
ancient grey pantaloons fitting tight to the leg, and a pair of pumps
in the winter of their existence--looked in at the door and smiled
affably. Mrs Jarley's back being then towards him, the military
gentleman shook his forefinger as a sign that her myrmidons were not to
apprise her of his presence, and stealing up close behind her, tapped
her on the neck, and cried playfully 'Boh!'

'What, Mr Slum!' cried the lady of the wax-work. 'Lot! who'd have
thought of seeing you here!'

''Pon my soul and honour,' said Mr Slum, 'that's a good remark. 'Pon
my soul and honour that's a wise remark. Who would have thought it!
George, my faithful feller, how are you?'

George received this advance with a surly indifference, observing that
he was well enough for the matter of that, and hammering lustily all
the time.

'I came here,' s