hands into a fresh place, and began to
distribute the ashes and dust and rubbish on
every side, to the great merriment of all the
rest.

"What did you see, Jemmy? " asked old
Doubleyear, in a compassionate tone.

"Oh, I don't know," said the boy, " only it
was like a bit of something made of real
gold!"

A fresh burst of laughter from the company
assembled followed this somewhat vague
declaration, to which the dustmen added one
or two elegant epithets, expressive of their
contempt of the notion that they could have
overlooked a bit of anything valuable in the
process of emptying sundry dust-holes, and
carting them away.

"Ah," said one of the sifters, "poor Jem's
always a-fancying something or other good––
but it never comes."

"Didn't I find three cats this morning!"
cried Jem, "two on 'em white 'uns! How
you go on!"

"I meant something quite different from
the like o' that," said the other; " I was
a-thinking of the rare sights all you three
there have had, one time and another."

The wind having changed and the day
become bright, the party at work all seemed
disposed to be more merry than usual. The
foregoing remark excited the curiosity of
several of the sifters, who had recently joined
the "company," the parties alluded to were
requested to favour them with the recital;
and though the request was made with only
a half-concealed irony, still it was all in good-
natured pleasantry, and was immediately
complied with. Old Doubleyear spoke first.

"I had a bad night of it with the rats some
years ago—they run'd all over the floor, and
over the bed, and one on 'em come'd and guv
a squeak close into my ear––so I couldn't sleep
comfortable. I wouldn't ha' minded a trifle
of it; but this was too much of a good thing.
So, I got up before sun-rise, and went out for
a walk; and thinking I might as well be near
our work-place, I slowly come'd down this
way. I worked in a brickfield at that time,
near the canal yonder. The sun was just a-
rising up behind the Dust-heap as I got in
sight of it; and soon it rose above, and was
very bright; and though I had two eyes then,
I was obligated to shut them both. When I
opened them again, the sun was higher up;
but in his haste to get over the Dust-heap, he
had dropped something. You may laugh. I
say he had dropped something. Well––I can't
say what it was, in course––a bit of his-self, I
suppose. It was just like him––a bit on him,
I mean––quite as bright––just the same––only
not so big. And not up in the sky, but a-
lying and sparkling all on fire upon the Dust-
heap. Thinks I––I was a younger man then
by some years than I am now—I 'll go and
have a nearer look. Though you be a bit o'
the sun, maybe you won't hurt a poor man.
So, I walked towards the Dust-heap, and up
I went, keeping the piece of sparkling fire in
sight all the while. But before I got up to it,
the sun went behind a cloud––and as he went
out-like, so the young 'un he had dropped,
went out arter him. And I had my climb up
the heap for nothing, though I had marked the
place vere it lay very percizely. But there was
no signs at all on him, and no morsel left of the
light as had been there. I searched all about;
but found nothing 'cept a bit o' broken glass
as had got stuck in the heel of an old shoe.
And that's my story. But if ever a man saw
anything at all, I saw a bit o' the sun; and I
thank God for it. It was a blessed sight for
a poor ragged old man of three score and ten,
which was my age at that time."

"Now, Peggy! " cried several voices, " tell
us what you saw. Peg saw a bit o' the
moon."

"No," said Mrs. Dotting, rather
indignantly; " I 'm no moon-raker. Not a sign of
the moon was there, nor a spark of a star––
the time I speak on."

"Well––go on, Peggy––go on."

"I don't know as I will," said Peggy.

But being pacified by a few good-tempered,
though somewhat humorous, compliments,
she thus favoured them with her little
adventure.

"There was no moon, nor stars, nor comet,
in the 'versal heavens, nor lamp nor lantern
along the road, when I walked home one
winter's night from the cottage of Widow Pin,
where I had been to tea, with her and Mrs.
Dry, as lived in the almshouses. They wanted
Davy, the son of Bill Davy the milkman, to
see me home with the lantern, but I wouldn't
let him 'cause of his sore throat. Throat!—
no, it wasn't his throat as was rare sore–– it
was––no, it wasn't—yes, it was—it was his
toe as was sore. His big toe. A nail out of
his boot had got into it. I told him he 'd be
sure to have a bad toe, if he didn't go to
church more regular, but he wouldn't listen;
and so my words come'd true. But, as I was
a-saying, I wouldn't let him light me with the
lantern by reason of his sore throat––toe, I
mean—and as I went along, the night seemed
to grow darker and darker. A straight road,
though, and I was so used to it by day-time,
it didn't matter for the darkness. Hows'ever,
when I come'd near the bottom of the Dust-
heap as I had to pass, the great dark heap
was so zackly the same as the night, you
couldn't tell one from t' other. So, thinks I
to myself––what was I thinking of at this
moment?––for the life o' me I can't call it to
mind; but that's neither here nor there, only
for this,—it was a something that led me
to remember the story of how the devil goes
about like a roaring lion. And while I was a-
hoping he might not be out a-roaring that
night, what should I see rise out of one side
of the Dust-heap, but a beautiful shining star
of a violet colour. I stood as still––as stock-
still as any I don't-know-what! There it lay,
as beautiful as a new-born babe, all a-shining