aw, leering over the coachman's shoulder like some familiar
demon, invisible to all eyes but his, the well-known face of Quilp.

'How are you, Christopher?' croaked the dwarf from the coach-top. 'All
right, Christopher. Mother's inside.'

'Why, how did he come here, mother?' whispered Kit.

'I don't know how he came or why, my dear,' rejoined Mrs Nubbles,
dismounting with her son's assistance, 'but he has been a terrifying of
me out of my seven senses all this blessed day.'

'He has?' cried Kit.

'You wouldn't believe it, that you wouldn't,' replied his mother, 'but
don't say a word to him, for I really don't believe he's human. Hush!
Don't turn round as if I was talking of him, but he's a squinting at me
now in the full blaze of the coach-lamp, quite awful!'

In spite of his mother's injunction, Kit turned sharply round to look.
Mr Quilp was serenely gazing at the stars, quite absorbed in celestial
contemplation.

'Oh, he's the artfullest creetur!' cried Mrs Nubbles. 'But come away.
Don't speak to him for the world.'

'Yes I will, mother. What nonsense. I say, sir--'

Mr Quilp affected to start, and looked smilingly round.

'You let my mother alone, will you?' said Kit. 'How dare you tease a
poor lone woman like her, making her miserable and melancholy as if she
hadn't got enough to make her so, without you. An't you ashamed of
yourself, you little monster?'

'Monster!' said Quilp inwardly, with a smile. 'Ugliest dwarf that
could be seen anywhere for a penny--monster--ah!'

'You show her any of your impudence again,' resumed Kit, shouldering
the bandbox, 'and I tell you what, Mr Quilp, I won't bear with you any
more. You have no right to do it; I'm sure we never interfered with
you. This isn't the first time; and if ever you worry or frighten her
again, you'll oblige me (though I should be very sorry to do it, on
account of your size) to beat you.'

Quilp said not a word in reply, but walking so close to Kit as to bring
his eyes within two or three inches of his face, looked fixedly at him,
retreated a little distance without averting his gaze, approached
again, again withdrew, and so on for half-a-dozen times, like a head in
a phantasmagoria. Kit stood his ground as if in expectation of an
immediate assault, but finding that nothing came of these gestures,
snapped his fingers and walked away; his mother dragging him off as
fast as she could, and, even in the midst of his news of little Jacob