"While they were thus engaged the lady of the caravan alighted on the earth, and with her hands clasped behind her, and her large bonnet trembling excessively, walked up and down in a measured tread and very stately manner surveying the caravan from time to time with an air of calm delight and deriving particular gratification from the red panels and brass knocker. When she had taken this gentle exercise for some time, she sat down upon the steps and called 'George,' whereupon a man in a carter's frock, who had been so shrouded in a hedge up to this time as to see everything that passed without being seen himself, parted the twigs that concealed him and appeared in a sitting attitude supporting on his legs a baking dish, and a half gallon stone bottle, and bearing in his right hand a knife, and in his left a fork. "'Yes, missus,' said George. "'How did you find the cold pie, George?' "'It worn't amiss, mum.' "'And the beer?' said the lady of the caravan with an appearance of being more interested in this question than the last, 'is it passable, George?' "'It's more flatterer than it might be,' George returned, 'but it a'nt so bad for all that.' "To set the mind of his mistress at rest, he took a sip (amounting in quantity to a pint or thereabouts) from the stone bottle, and then smacked his lips, winked his eye, and nodded his head. No doubt with the same amiable desire he immediately resumed his knife and fork as a practical assurance that the beer had wrought no bad effect upon his appetite. "The lady of the caravan looked on approvingly for some time and then said, "'Have you nearly finished?' "Wery nigh, mum,' and indeed after scraping the dish all round with his knife and carrying the choice brown morsels to his mouth, and after taking such a scientific pull at the stone bottle that, by degrees almost imperceptible to the sight, his head went farther and farther back until he lay nearly at his full length upon the ground, this gentleman declared himself quite disengaged, and came forth from his retreat. "'I hope I haven't hurried you, George,' said his mistress, who appeared to have a great sympathy with his late pursuit. "'If you have,' returned the fellow, wisely reserving himself for any favourable contingency, 'we must make it up next time, that's all.'" Mrs. Gamp has a touch of sympathy in her exuberance. Contemplating going down to the country with the Dickens' company of actors, she tells us--