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'His blessing on you； dearest love。 Kiss me once more！ He suffered
her to sit beside His feet； and dry them with her hair。 O Meg； what
Mercy and Compassion！'
As she died； the Spirit of the child returning； innocent and radiant；
touched the old man with its hand； and beckoned him away。
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CHAPTER IV … Fourth Quarter。
SOME new remembrance of the ghostly figures in the Bells； some
faint impression of the ringing of the Chimes； some giddy consciousness
of having seen the swarm of phantoms reproduced and reproduced until
the recollection of them lost itself in the confusion of their numbers； some
hurried knowledge； how conveyed to him he knew not； that more years
had passed； and Trotty； with the Spirit of the child attending him； stood
looking on at mortal company。
Fat company； rosy…cheeked company； comfortable company。 They
were but two； but they were red enough for ten。 They sat before a bright
fire； with a small low table between them； and unless the fragrance of hot
tea and muffins lingered longer in that room than in most others； the table
had seen service very lately。 But all the cups and saucers being clean；
and in their proper places in the corner…cupboard； and the brass toasting…
fork hanging in its usual nook and spreading its four idle fingers out as if it
wanted to be measured for a glove； there remained no other visible tokens
of the meal just finished； than such as purred and washed their whiskers in
the person of the basking cat； and glistened in the gracious； not to say the
greasy； faces of her patrons。
This cosy couple （married； evidently） had made a fair division of the
fire between them； and sat looking at the glowing sparks that dropped into
the grate； now nodding off into a doze； now waking up again when some
hot fragment； larger than the rest； came rattling down； as if the fire were
coming with it。
It was in no danger of sudden extinction； however； for it gleamed not
only in the little room； and on the panes of window…glass in the door； and
on the curtain half drawn across them； but in the little shop beyond。 A
little shop； quite crammed and choked with the abundance of its stock； a
perfectly voracious little shop； with a maw as accommodating and full as
any shark's。 Cheese； butter； firewood； soap； pickles； matches； bacon；
table…beer； peg…tops； sweetmeats； boys' kites； bird…seed； cold ham； birch
brooms； hearth… stones； salt； vinegar； blacking； red…herrings； stationery；
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lard； mushroom…ketchup； staylaces； loaves of bread； shuttlecocks； eggs；
and slate pencil； everything was fish that came to the net of this greedy
little shop； and all articles were in its net。 How many other kinds of petty
merchandise were there； it would be difficult to say； but balls of
packthread； ropes of onions； pounds of candles； cabbage…nets； and brushes；
hung in bunches from the ceiling； like extraordinary fruit； while various
odd canisters emitting aromatic smells； established the veracity of the
inscription over the outer door； which informed the public that the keeper
of this little shop was a licensed dealer in tea； coffee； tobacco； pepper； and
snuff。
Glancing at such of these articles as were visible in the shining of the
blaze； and the less cheerful radiance of two smoky lamps which burnt but
dimly in the shop itself； as though its plethora sat heavy on their lungs；
and glancing； then； at one of the two faces by the parlour…fire； Trotty had
small difficulty in recognising in the stout old lady； Mrs。 Chickenstalker：
always inclined to corpulency； even in the days when he had known her as
established in the general line； and having a small balance against him in
her books。
The features of her companion were less easy to him。 The great
broad chin； with creases in it large enough to hide a finger in； the
astonished eyes； that seemed to expostulate with themselves for sinking
deeper and deeper into the yielding fat of the soft face； the nose afflicted
with that disordered action of its functions which is generally termed The
Snuffles； the short thick throat and labouring chest； with other beauties of
the like description； though calculated to impress the memory； Trotty
could at first allot to nobody he had ever known： and yet he had some
recollection of them too。 At length； in Mrs。 Chickenstalker's partner in
the general line； and in the crooked and eccentric line of life； he
recognised the former porter of Sir Joseph Bowley； an apoplectic innocent；
who had connected himself in Trotty's mind with Mrs。 Chickenstalker
years ago； by giving him admission to the mansion where he had
confessed his obligations to that lady； and drawn on his unlucky head such
grave reproach。
Trotty had little interest in a change like this； after the changes he had
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seen； but association is very strong sometimes； and he looked
involuntarily behind the parlour…door； where the accounts of credit
customers were usually kept in chalk。 There was no record of his name。
Some names were there； but they were strange to him； and infinitely fewer
than of old； from which he argued that the porter was an advocate of
ready…money transactions； and on coming into the business had looked
pretty sharp after the Chickenstalker defaulters。
So desolate was Trotty； and so mournful for the youth and promise of
his blighted child； that it was a sorrow to him； even to have no place in
Mrs。 Chickenstalker's ledger。
'What sort of a night is it； Anne？' inquired the former porter of Sir
Joseph Bowley； stretching out his legs before the fire； and rubbing as
much of them as his short arms could reach； with an air that added； 'Here I
am if it's bad； and I don't want to go out if it's good。'
'Blowing and sleeting hard；' returned his wife； 'and threatening snow。
Dark。 And very cold。'
'I'm glad to think we had muffins；' said the former porter； in the tone of
one who had set his conscience at rest。 'It's a sort of night that's meant
for muffins。 Likewise crumpets。 Also Sally Lunns。'
The former porter mentioned each successive kind of eatable； as if he
were musingly summing up his good actions。 After which he rubbed his
fat legs as before； and jerking them at the knees to get the fire upon the yet
unroasted parts； laughed as if somebody had tickled him。
'You're in spirits； Tugby； my dear；' observed his wife。
The firm was Tugby； late Chickenstalker。
'No；' said Tugby。 'No。 Not particular。 I'm a little elewated。 The
muffins came so pat！'
With that he chuckled until he was black in the face； and had so much
ado to become any other colour； that his fat legs took the strangest
excursions into the air。 Nor were they reduced to anything like decorum
until Mrs。 Tugby had thumped him violently on the back； and shaken him
as if he were a great bottle。
'Good gracious； goodness； lord…a…mercy bless and save the man！' cried
Mrs。 Tugby； in great terror。 'What's he doing？'
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Mr。 Tugby wiped his eyes； and faintly repeated that he found himself a
little elewated。
'Then don't be so again； that's a dear good soul；' said Mrs。 Tugby； 'if
you don't want to frighten me to death； with your struggling and fighting！'
Mr。 Tugby said he wouldn't； but； his whole existence was a fight； in
which； if any judgment might be founded on the constantly… increasing
shortness of his breath； and the deepening purple of his face； he was
always getting the worst of it。
'So it's blowing； and sleeting； and threatening snow； and it's dark