g, of brick below, with an overhanging upper floor and
weather-boarded front, surmounted by a single dormer window. The sanded
floor of the common parlour is, as the saying goes, "as clean as a new
pin." Round the room is a settle terminating with arms at each side of
the door, which is opposite the fireplace. Mrs. Masters, the cheerful
and obliging landlady, who has lived here thirty years, describes
Dickens to us (as we sit in the seat he used now and then to occupy),
when on one of his walks, as habited in low shoes not over-well mended,
loose large check-patterned trousers that sometimes got entangled in the
shoes when walking, a brown coat thrown open, sometimes without
waistcoat, a belt instead of braces, a necktie which now and then got
round towards his ear, and a large-brimmed felt hat, similar to an
American's, set well at the back of his head. In his hand he carried by
the middle an umbrella, which he was in the habit of constantly
swinging, and if he had dogs (a not unfrequent occurrence), he had a
small whip as well. He walked in the middle of the road at a rapid pace,
upright, but with his eyes cast down as if in deep thought. When he
called at the Crispin for refreshment, usually a glass of ale (mild
sixpenny--bitter ale was not drawn in those days), or a little cold
brandy and water, he walked straight in, and sat down at the corner of
the settle on the right-hand side where the arm is, opposite the
fire-place; he rarely spoke to any one, but looked round as though
taking in everything at a glance. (In _David Copperfield_ he says, "I
looked at nothing, that I know of, but I saw everything.") Once he and a
friend were sheltering there during a thunderstorm (by a coincidence, a
storm occurs at the time we are here), and while Dickens stood looking
out of the window he saw opposite a poor woman with a baby, who appeared
very worn, wet, and travel-stained. She too was sheltering from the
rain.

"Call her in here," said Dickens. Mrs. Masters obeyed.

"Now," said he, "draw her some brandy."

"How much?" she asked.

"Never mind," he answered, "draw her some."

The landlady drew her four-pennyworth, the quantity generally served.

"Now," said Dickens to the woman, "drink that up," which she did, and
soon seemed refreshed. Dickens gave her a shilling, and remarked to Mrs.
Masters that "now she will go on her way rejoicing." The story is a
trivial one, but the units make the aggregate, and it sufficiently
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