functions, with tucks and frills and gimpings and pinkings and
gaufferings, which it is beyond the powers of this story to describe
accurately.

One mishap had occurred with the furniture which did not come within the
scope of Uncle Mo's skill to remedy. The treasured mahogany
writing-table that had so faithfully accompanied old Mrs. Picture
through all her misfortunes had lost a leg. A leg, but not a foot. For
the brass foot, which belonged, was found shoved away in the chest of
drawers, which was enough, and more than enough, to contain the whole of
the owner's scanty wardrobe. It was a cabinet-maker's job, and rather a
nice one at that, to provide a new and suitable leg and attach it
securely in the place of the old one. And it would come to
nineteen-and-sixpence to make a job of it. The exactness of this sum
will suggest the facts, that a young man in the trade, an acquaintance
of Uncle Mo at The Sun, he come round to oblige, and undertook to give
in a price as soon as he had the opportunity to mention it to his
governor. The opportunity occurred immediately he went back to the shop.
The sum was for a new leg, involving superhuman ingenuity in connecting
it firmly with the pelvis; but a reg'lar sound job. Of course, there was
another way of doing it, by tonguing on a new limb below the knee, and
inserting a dowell for to stiffen it up. But that would come to every
penny of fifteen shillings, and would be a reg'lar poor job, and would
show. Nothing like doing a thing while you were about it! It saved
expense in the end, and it was a fine old bit of furniture. Bit of old
Gillow's!

But there was a point to be considered. The things must be took out of
the drawers and the attached desk, or the governor he'd never have it at
the shop. He was a person of the most delicate sensibility, who shrank
from making himself responsible for anything whatever. Them drawers must
be emptied out, or nothing could be done. Why--you'd only got to shake
the table to hear there was papers inside!

This was a serious difficulty. It would, of course, be easy enough to
write to Mrs. Prichard for the key; which, said testimony, was very
small and always lived in her purse. But then all the milk would be out
of the cocoanut; that metaphorical fruit being, in this case, the
pleasure of surprising Mrs. Prichard with a writing-table as good as
new. Open it, of course, you could! It was a locksmith's job, but the
governor would send the shop's