w minutes ago.
I talked of my wonderful father, and Great Will, and Pitt, and the
Peerage. I amazed them with my knowledge. When I finished a long recital
of Great Will's chase of the deer, by saying that I did not care about
politics (I meant, in my own mind, that Pitt was dull in comparison),
they laughed enormously, as if I had fired them off. 'Do you know what
you are, sir?' said the old gentleman; he had frowning eyebrows and a
merry mouth 'you're a comical character.'

I felt interested in him, and asked him what he was. He informed me that
he was a lawyer, and ready to be pantaloon to my clown, if I would engage
him.

'Are you in the Peerage?' said I.

'Not yet,' he replied.

'Well, then,' said I, 'I know nothing about you.'

The young lady screamed with laughter. 'Oh, you funny little boy; you
killing little creature!' she said, and coming round to me, lifted me out
of my chair, and wanted to know if I knew how to kiss.

'Oh, yes; I've been taught that,' said I, giving the salute without
waiting for the invitation; 'but,' I added, 'I don't care about it much.'

She was indignant, and told me she was going to be offended, so I let her
understand that I liked being kissed and played with in the morning
before I was up, and if she would come to my house ever so early, she
would find me lying next the wall and ready for her.

'And who lies outside?' she asked.

'That's my papa,' I was beginning to say, but broke the words with a sob,
for I seemed to be separated from him now by the sea itself.

They petted me tenderly. My story was extracted by alternate leading
questions from the old gentleman and timely caresses from the ladies. I
could tell them everything except the name of the street where I lived.
My midnight excursion from the house of my grandfather excited them
chiefly; also my having a mother alive who perpetually fanned her face
and wore a ball-dress and a wreath; things that I remembered of my
mother. The ladies observed that it was clear I was a romantic child. I
noticed that the old gentleman said 'Humph,' very often, and his eyebrows
were like a rook's nest in a tree when I spoke of my father walking away
with Shylock's descendant and not since returning to me. A big book was
fetched out of his library, in which he read my grandfather's name. I
heard him mention it aloud. I had been placed on a stool beside a
tea-tray near the fire, and there I saw the old red house of Riversley,
and my mo