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‘How different from us!’ thought Toby, in all simplicity and earnestness, as he looked at the direction. ‘Divide the lively turtles in the bills of mortality, by the number of gentlefolks able to buy ’em; and whose share does he take but his own! As to snatching tripe from anybody’s mouth — he’d scorn it!’

With the involuntary homage due to such an exalted character, Toby interposed a corner of his apron between the letter and his fingers.

‘His children,’ said Trotty, and a mist rose before his eyes; ‘his daughters — Gentlemen may win their hearts and marry them; they may be happy wives and mothers; they may be handsome like my darling M-e–’.

He couldn’t finish the name. The final letter swelled in his throat, to the size of the whole alphabet.

‘Never mind,’ thought Trotty. ‘I know what I mean. That’s more than enough for me.’ And with this consolatory rumination, trotted on.

It was a hard frost, that day. The air was bracing, crisp, and clear. The wintry sun, though powerless for warmth, looked brightly down upon the ice it was too weak to melt, and set a radiant glory there. At other times, Trotty might have learned a poor man’s lesson from the wintry sun; but, he was past that, now.