"The young fellows who trudge along barefoot, five or six together, their boots slung over their shoulders, their shabby bundles under their arms, their sticks newly cut from some roadside wood, are not eminently prepossessing, but are much less objectionable. There is a tramp-fellowship among them. They pick one another up at resting stations, and go on in companies. They always go at a fast swing--though they generally limp too--and there is invariably one of the company who has much ado to keep up with the rest. They generally talk about horses, and any other means of locomotion than walking: or, one of the company relates some recent experiences of the road--which are always disputes and difficulties. As for example. So as I'm a standing at the pump in the market, blest if there don't come up a Beadle, and he ses, 'Mustn't stand here,' he ses. 'Why not?' I ses. 'No beggars allowed in this town,' he ses. 'Who's a beggar?' I ses. 'You are,' he ses. 'Who ever see _me_ beg? Did _you_?' I ses. 'Then you're a tramp,' he ses. 'I'd rather be that than a Beadle,' I ses. (The company express great approval.) 'Would you?' he ses to me. 'Yes, I would,' I ses to him. 'Well,' he ses, 'anyhow, get out of this town.' 'Why, blow your little town!' I ses, 'who wants to be in it? Wot does your dirty little town mean by comin' and stickin' itself in the road to anywhere? Why don't you get a shovel and a barrer, and clear your town out o' people's way?' (The company expressing the highest approval and laughing aloud, they all go down the hill.)" It is worthy of consideration, and it is probably more than a mere coincidence, to observe that some of the reforms which have been effected in the management of the now munificent revenues of Richard Watts's Charity were instigated as a sequence to the appearance of Dickens's imperishable stories, published under the title of _The Seven Poor Travellers_. The Rev. Robert Whiston, with whom we chatted on the subject, is of opinion that the late Lord Brougham is entitled to the credit for reforms in this and other charities. CHAPTER VII. AN AFTERNOON AT GAD'S HILL PLACE. "It was just large enough, and no more; was as pretty within as it was without, and was perfectly arranged and comfortable."--_Little Dorrit._ "This has been a happy home. . . . I love it. . . ."--_The Cricket on the Hearth._