the old man's hand and went forth from Magenta
House. From that day to this present one he has never again entered
the door.

"And so Brisket is married. Brisket is right. Brisket is a happy
man," he said to himself, as he walked slowly down the passage by
St. Botolph's Church. "Brisket is certainly right; I will go and see
Brisket." So he did; and continuing his way along the back of the
Bank and the narrow street which used to be called Lad Lane,--I wish
they would not alter the names of the streets; was it not enough
that the "Swan with Two Necks" should be pulled down, foreshadowing,
perhaps, in its ruin the fate of another bird with two necks, from
which this one took its emblematic character?--and so making his way
out into Aldersgate Street. He had never before visited the Lares of
Brisket, for Brisket had been his enemy. But Brisket was his enemy no
longer, and he walked into the shop with a light foot and a pleasant
smile. There, standing at some little distance behind the block,
looking with large, wondering eyes at the carcases of the sheep which
hung around her, stood a wee little woman, very pretty, with red
cheeks, and red lips, and short, thick, clustering curls. This was
the daughter of the grazier from Gogham. "The shopman will be back
in a minute," said she. "I ought to be able to do it myself, but I'm
rather astray about the things yet awhile." Then George Robinson told
her who he was.

She knew his name well, and gave him her little plump hand in token
of greeting. "Laws a mercy! are you George Robinson? I've heard such
a deal about you. He's inside, just tidying hisself a bit for dinner.
Who do you think there is here, Bill?" and she opened the door
leading to the back premises. "Here's George Robinson, that you're
always so full of." Then he followed her out into a little yard,
where he found Brisket in the neighbourhood of a pump, smelling
strongly of yellow soap, with his sleeves tucked up, and hard at work
with a rough towel.

"Robinson, my boy," cried he, "I'm glad to see you; and so is Mrs.
B. Ain't you, Em'ly?" Whereupon Em'ly said that she was delighted
to see Mr. Robinson. "And you're just in time for as tidy a bit of
roast veal as you won't see again in a hurry,--fed down at Gogham
by Em'ly's mother. I killed it myself, with my own hands. Didn't I,
Em'ly?"

Robinson stopped and partook of the viands which were so strongly
recommended to him; and then, after dinner, he and Brisket and