n the morning to complete the copying of a perfectly
unintelligible history of that transaction, which he had committed to Mr
Dorrit's care, as a document of the last importance, calculated to stun
the Government and effect the Marshal's downfall. In the yard, was the
insolvent whose utmost energies were always set on getting into debt,
who broke into prison with as much pains as other men have broken out
of it, and who was always being cleared and complimented; while the
insolvent at his elbow--a mere little, snivelling, striving tradesman,
half dead of anxious efforts to keep out of debt--found it a hard
matter, indeed, to get a Commissioner to release him with much reproof
and reproach. In the yard, was the man of many children and many
burdens, whose failure astonished everybody; in the yard, was the man of
no children and large resources, whose failure astonished nobody. There,
were the people who were always going out to-morrow, and always putting
it off; there, were the people who had come in yesterday, and who
were much more jealous and resentful of this freak of fortune than
the seasoned birds. There, were some who, in pure meanness of spirit,
cringed and bowed before the enriched Collegian and his family; there,
were others who did so really because their eyes, accustomed to the
gloom of their imprisonment and poverty, could not support the light of
such bright sunshine. There, were many whose shillings had gone into his
pocket to buy him meat and drink; but none who were now obtrusively Hail
fellow well met! with him, on the strength of that assistance. It was
rather to be remarked of the caged birds, that they were a little shy
of the bird about to be so grandly free, and that they had a tendency to
withdraw themselves towards the bars, and seem a little fluttered as he
passed.

Through these spectators the little procession, headed by the two
brothers, moved slowly to the gate. Mr Dorrit, yielding to the vast
speculation how the poor creatures were to get on without him, was
great, and sad, but not absorbed. He patted children on the head
like Sir Roger de Coverley going to church, he spoke to people in the
background by their Christian names, he condescended to all present, and
seemed for their consolation to walk encircled by the legend in golden
characters, 'Be comforted, my people! Bear it!'

At last three honest cheers announced that he had passed the gate, and
that the Marshalsea was an orphan. Befor