ness; he no more
thought that the slinking figure half-a-dozen stairs behind him was
his pursuing Fate, than that the other figure at his side was his Good
Angel.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CONTAINING SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS OF THE DOMESTIC ECONOMY OF THE
PINCHES; WITH STRANGE NEWS FROM THE CITY, NARROWLY CONCERNING TOM

Pleasant little Ruth! Cheerful, tidy, bustling, quiet little Ruth! No
doll's house ever yielded greater delight to its young mistress, than
little Ruth derived from her glorious dominion over the triangular
parlour and the two small bedrooms.

To be Tom's housekeeper. What dignity! Housekeeping, upon the commonest
terms, associated itself with elevated responsibilities of all sorts and
kinds; but housekeeping for Tom implied the utmost complication of
grave trusts and mighty charges. Well might she take the keys out of
the little chiffonier which held the tea and sugar; and out of the
two little damp cupboards down by the fireplace, where the very black
beetles got mouldy, and had the shine taken out of their backs by
envious mildew; and jingle them upon a ring before Tom's eyes when he
came down to breakfast! Well might she, laughing musically, put them
up in that blessed little pocket of hers with a merry pride! For it was
such a grand novelty to be mistress of anything, that if she had been
the most relentless and despotic of all little housekeepers, she might
have pleaded just that much for her excuse, and have been honourably
acquitted.

So far from being despotic, however, there was a coyness about her very
way of pouring out the tea, which Tom quite revelled in. And when
she asked him what he would like to have for dinner, and faltered
out 'chops' as a reasonably good suggestion after their last
night's successful supper, Tom grew quite facetious, and rallied her
desperately.

'I don't know, Tom,' said his sister, blushing, 'I am not quite
confident, but I think I could make a beef-steak pudding, if I tried,
Tom.'

'In the whole catalogue of cookery, there is nothing I should like so
much as a beef-steak pudding!' cried Tom, slapping his leg to give the
greater force to this reply.

'Yes, dear, that's excellent! But if it should happen not to come quite
right the first time,' his sister faltered; 'if it should happen not
to be a pudding exactly, but should turn out a stew, or a soup, or
something of that sort, you'll not be vexed, Tom, will you?'

The serious way in which she looke