good many, perhaps, because I had my nose
well kept to it when I was young. I see
traces of the turtle soup, and venison, and
gold spoon in this. Yes, I do!" cried Mr.
Bounderby, shaking his head with obstinate
cunning. "By the Lord Harry, I do!"

With a very different shake of the head
and a deep sigh, Stephen said, "Thank you,
sir, I wish you good day." So, he left Mr.
Bounderby swelling at his own portrait on the
wall, as if he were going to explode himself
into it; and Mrs. Sparsit still ambling on with
her foot in her stirrup, looking quite cast
down by the popular vices.

CHAPTER XII.

OLD STEPHEN descended the two white steps,
shutting the black door with the brazen
doorplate, by the aid of the brazen full-stop, to
which he gave a parting polish with the sleeve
of his coat, observing that his hot hand
clouded it. He crossed the street with his
eyes bent upon the ground, and thus was
walking sorrowfully away, when he felt a touch
upon his arm.

It was not the touch he needed most at such
a moment—the touch that could calm the
wild waters of his soul, as the uplifted hand
of the sublimest love and patience could abate
the raging of the sea—yet it was a woman's
hand too. It was an old woman, tall and
shapely still, though withered by Time, on
whom his eyes fell when he stopped and turned.
She was very cleanly and plainly dressed,
had country mud upon her shoes, and was
newly come from a journey. The flutter of
her manner, in the unwonted noise of the
streets; the spare shawl, carried unfolded on
her arm; the heavy umbrella, and little
basket; the loose long-fingered gloves, to which
her hands were unused; all bespoke an old
woman from the country, in her plain holiday
clothes, come into Coketown on an expedition
of rare occurrence. Remarking this at a
glance, with the quick observation of his class,
Stephen Blackpool bent his attentive face—
his face, which, like the faces of many of his
order, by dint of long working with eyes and
hands in the midst of a prodigious noise, had
acquired the concentrated look with which we
are familiar in the countenances of the deaf—
the better to hear what she asked him.

"Pray sir," said the old woman," did'nt
I see you come out of that gentleman's house?"
pointing back to Mr. Bounderby's. "I believe
it was you, unless I have had the bad luck to
mistake the person in following?"

"Yes missus," returned Stephen," it were
me."

"Have you—you'll excuse an old woman's
curiosity—have you seen the gentleman?"

"Yes, missus."

"And how did he look, sir? Was he
portly, bold, outspoken, hearty?" As she
straightened her own figure, and held up
her head in adapting her action to her words,
the idea crossed Stephen that he had seen
this old woman before, and had not quite
liked her.

"O yes," he returned, observing her more
attentively," he were all that."

"And healthy," said the old woman, "as
the fresh wind?"

"Yes," returned Stephen. "He were
ett'n and drinking—as large and as loud as a
Hummobee."

"Thank you!" said the old woman with
infinite content. "Thank you!"

He certainly never had seen this old woman
before. Yet there was a vague remembrance
in his mind, as if he had more than once
dreamed of some old woman like her.

She walked along at his side, and, gently
accommodating himself to her humour, he said
Coketown was a busy place, was it not? To
which she answered, "Eigh sure! Dreadful
busy!" Then he said, she came from the
country, he saw? To which she answered in
the affirmative.

"By Parliamentary, this morning. I came
forty mile by Parliamentary this morning,
and I'm going back the same forty mile this
afternoon. I walked nine mile to the station
this morning, and if I find nobody on the road
to give me a lift, I shall walk the nine mile
back to night. That's pretty well, sir, at my
age!" said the chatty old woman, her eyes
brightening with exultation.

"'Deed 'tis. Don't do't too often, missus."

"No, no. Once a year," she answered,
shaking her head. "I spend my savings so,
once every year. I come, regular, to tramp
about the streets, and see the gentlemen."

"Only to see 'em?" returned Stephen.

"That's enough for me," she replied, with
great earnestness and interest of manner.
"I ask no more! I have been standing
about, on this side of the way, to see that
gentleman," turning her head back towards
Mr. Bounderby's again, "come out. But, he's
late this year, and I have not seen him.
You came out, instead. Now, if I am obliged
to go back without a glimpse of him—I
only want a glimpse—well! I have seen
you, and you have seen him, and I must
make that do." Saying this, she looked at
Stephen as if to fix his features in her mind,
and her eyes were not so bright as they had
been.

With a large allowance for difference of
tastes, and with all submission to the
patricians of Coketown, this seemed so
extraordinary a source of interest to take so
much trouble about, that it perplexed him.
But they were passing the church now, and
as his eye caught the clock, he quickened his
pace.

He was going to his work? the old
woman said, quickening hers, too, quite
easily. Yes, time was nearly out. On his
telling her where he worked, the old woman
became a more singular old woman than
before.