he
clock, in his unheeded work, acknowledged it! The Carrier, in his
smoothing forehead and expanding face, acknowledged it, the readiest of
all.

And as he soberly and thoughtfully puffed at his old pipe, and as the
Dutch clock ticked, and as the red fire gleamed, and as the Cricket
chirped, that Genius of his Hearth and Home (for such the Cricket was)
came out, in fairy shape, into the room, and summoned many forms of Home
about him. Dots of all ages and all sizes filled the chamber. Dots who
were merry children, running on before him, gathering flowers in the
fields; coy Dots, half shrinking from, half yielding to, the pleading of
his own rough image; newly-married Dots, alighting at the door, and
taking wondering possession of the household keys; motherly little Dots,
attended by fictitious Slowboys, bearing babies to be christened;
matronly Dots, still young and blooming, watching Dots of daughters, as
they danced at rustic balls; fat Dots, encircled and beset by troops of
rosy grandchildren; withered Dots, who leaned on sticks, and tottered as
they crept along. Old Carriers, too, appeared with blind old Boxers
lying at their feet; and newer carts with younger drivers ("Peerybingle
Brothers" on the tilt); and sick old Carriers, tended by the gentlest
hands; and graves of dead and gone old Carriers, green in the
churchyard. And as the Cricket showed him all these things--he saw them
plainly, though his eyes were fixed upon the fire--the Carrier's heart
grew light and happy, and he thanked his Household Gods with all his
might, and cared no more for Gruff and Tackleton than you do.

* * * * *

But what was that young figure of a man, which the same Fairy Cricket
set so near Her stool, and which remained there, singly and alone? Why
did it linger still, so near her, with its arm upon the chimney-piece,
ever repeating "Married! and not to me!"

Oh, Dot! Oh, failing Dot! There is no place for it in all your husband's
visions. Why has its shadow fallen on his hearth?

CHIRP THE SECOND

Caleb Plummer and his Blind Daughter lived all alone by themselves, as
the Story Books say--and my blessing, with yours, to back it I hope, on
the Story Books, for saying anything in this work-a-day world!--Caleb
Plummer and his Blind Daughter lived all alone by themselves, in a
little cracked nutshell of a wooden house, which was, in truth, no
better than a pimple on the prominent red-brick nose of G