cent Crummels, Mr. Sleary, the
horseback-rider, followed by Chops, the dwarf, and Pickleson, the giant.
Hawkins said there were two Picklesons, but I saw only one. Just below
was the Stone pier and there stood Mrs. Gamp, and I heard her ask:

"And which of all them smoking monsters is the Anxworks boat, I wonder?
Goodness me!"

"Which boat do you want?" asked Ruth.

"The Anxworks package--I will not deceive you, Sweet; why should I?"

"Why, that is the Antwerp packet, in the middle," said Ruth.

"And I wish it was in Jonidge's belly, I do," cried Mrs. Gamp.

We came down from the bridge, moved over toward Billingsgate, past the
Custom-House, where curious old sea-captains wait for ships that never
come. Captain Cuttle lifted his hook to the brim of his glazed hat as we
passed. We returned the salute and moved on toward the Tower.

"It's a rum place; let's not stop," said Hawkins. Thoughts of the ghosts
of Raleigh, of Mary Queen of Scots and of Lady Jane Grey seemed to steady
his gait and to hasten his footsteps.

In a few moments we saw just ahead of us David Copperfield and Mr.
Peggotty following a woman whom we could make out walking excitedly a
block ahead. It was Martha, intent on suicide.

"We'll get to the dock first and 'ead 'er orf," said 'Awkins. We ran down
a side street. But a bright light in a little brick cottage caught our
attention--men can't run arm in arm anyway. We forgot our errand of mercy
and stood still with open mouths looking in at the window at little Jenny
Wren hard at work dressing her dolls and stopping now and then to stab
the air with her needle. Bradley Headstone and Charlie and Lizzie Hexam
came in, and we then passed on, not wishing to attract attention.

There was an old smoke-stained tree on the corner which I felt sorry for,
as I do for every city tree. Just beyond was a blacksmith's forge and a
timber-yard behind, where a dealer in old iron had a shop, in front of
which was a rusty boiler and a gigantic flywheel half buried in the sand.

There were no crowds to be seen now, but we walked on and on--generally
in the middle of the narrow streets, turning up or down or across,
through arches where tramps slept, by doorways where children crouched;
passing drunken men, and women with shawls over their heads.

Now and again the screech of a fiddle could be heard or the lazy music of
an accordion, coming from some "Sailors' Home." Steps of dancing with
rattle of iron-shod boot-