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The Cricket on the Hearth. Charles Dickens

′You speak very hearty. To think that she should never see the Dolls—and them a-staring at her, so bold, all day long! That′s where it cuts. What′s the damage, John?′

′I′ll damage you,′ said John, ′if you inquire. Dot! Very near?′

′Well! it′s like you to say so,′ observed the little man. ′It′s your kind way. Let me see. I think that′s all.′

′I think not,′ said the Carrier. ′Try again.′

′Something for our Governor, eh?′ said Caleb, after pondering a little while. ′To be sure. That′s what I came for; but my head′s so running on them Arks and things! He hasn′t been here, has he?′

′Not he,′ returned the Carrier. ′He′s too busy, courting.′

′He′s coming round though,′ said Caleb; ′for he told me to keep on the near side of the road going home, and it was ten to one he′d take me up. I had better go, by the bye.—You couldn′t have the goodness to let me pinch Boxer′s tail, Mum, for half a moment, could you?′

′Why, Caleb! what a question!′

′Oh never mind, Mum,′ said the little man. ′He mightn′t like it perhaps. There′s a small order just come in, for barking dogs; and I should wish to go as close to Natur′ as I could, for sixpence. That′s all. Never mind, Mum.′

It happened opportunely, that Boxer, without receiving the proposed stimulus, began to bark with great zeal. But, as this implied the approach of some new visitor, Caleb, postponing his study from the life to a more convenient season, shouldered the round box, and took a hurried leave. He might have spared himself the trouble, for he met the visitor upon the threshold.

′Oh! You are here, are you? Wait a bit. I′ll take you home. John Peerybingle, my service to you. More of my service to your pretty wife. Handsomer every day! Better too, if possible! And younger,′ mused the speaker, in a low voice; ′that′s the Devil of it!′

′I should be astonished at your paying compliments, Mr. Tackleton,′ said Dot, not with the best grace in the world; ′but for your condition.′

′You know all about it then?′

′I have got myself to believe it, somehow,′ said Dot.

′After a hard struggle, I suppose?′


Tackleton the Toy-merchant, pretty generally known as Gruff and Tackleton—for that was the firm, though Gruff had been bought out long ago; only leaving his name, and as some said his nature, according to its Dictionary meaning, in the business—Tackleton the Toy-merchant, was a man whose vocation had been quite misunderstood by his Parents and Guardians. If they had made him a Money Lender, or a sharp Attorney, or a Sheriff′s Officer, or a Broker, he might have sown his discontented oats in his youth, and, after having had the full run of himself in ill-natured transactions, might have turned out amiable, at last, for the sake of a little freshness and novelty. But, cramped and chafing in the peaceable pursuit of toy- making, he was a domestic Ogre, who had been living on children all his life, and was their implacable enemy. He despised all toys; wouldn′t have bought one for the world; delighted, in his malice, to insinuate grim expressions into the faces of brown-paper farmers who drove pigs to market, bellmen who advertised lost lawyers′ consciences, movable old ladies who darned stockings or carved pies; and other like samples of his stock in trade.

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