of
bread and butter as Squeers 'nagged' them in private and talked to them
like a father in public. Livy was tempted to bring away a little
porter-pot hanging outside the door, as a trophy; but fearing Squeers's
squint eye was upon her, she refrained, and took a muddy pebble instead.

They took a peep at the Temple and its garden. The fountain was not
playing, but it looked very pleasant, nevertheless; and as they stood
there the sun came out, as if anxious that they should see it at its
best. It was all very well to know that Shakespeare's 'Twelfth Night'
was played in Middle Temple Hall, that the York and Lancaster roses grew
here, that Dr. Johnson lived No. 1 Inner Temple Lane, and that Goldsmith
died No. 2 Brick Court, Middle Temple; these actual events and people
seemed far less real than the scenes between Pendennis and Fanny, John
Westlock and little Ruth Pinch. For their sakes Livy went to see the
place; and for their sakes she still remembers that green spot in the
heart of London, with the June sunshine falling on it as it fell that
day.

The pilgrimage ended with a breathless climb up the Monument, whence
they got a fine view of London, and better still of Todgerses. Livy
found the house by instinct; and saw Cherry Pecksniff, now a sharp-nosed
old woman, sitting at the back window. A gaunt, anxious-looking lady, in
a massive bonnet, crossed the yard, with a basket in her hand; and the
Professor said at once, 'That's Mrs. Todgers, and the amount of gravy
single gentlemen eat is still weighing heavy on her mind.' As if to
make the thing quite perfect, they discovered fitful glimpses of a
tousled-looking boy, cleaning knives or boots, in a cellar-kitchen; and
all the lawyers in London couldn't have argued them out of their firm
belief that it was young Bailey, undergoing his daily torment in company
with the black beetles and the mouldy bottles.

That nothing might be wanting to finish off the rainy-day ramble in an
appropriate manner, when Livy's companion asked what she'd have for
lunch, she boldly replied,--

'Weal pie and a pot of porter.'

As she was not fond of either, it was a sure proof of the sincerity of
her regard for the persons who have made them immortal. They went into
an eating-house, and ordered the lunch, finding themselves objects of
interest to the other guests. But, though a walking doormat in point of
mud, and somewhat flushed and excited by the hustling, climbing, and
adoring, it is