"Poor dear soul," whispered Peggy, "how he suffers in surviving. Lift him up a little. Softly. Don't be afeard. We're only your good angels, like--only poor cinder-sifters--don'tee be afeard." By various kindly attentions and maneuvers such as these poor people had been accustomed to practice on those who were taken out of the canal, the unfortunate gentleman was gradually brought to his senses. He gazed about him, as well he might--now looking in the anxious, though begrimed, faces of the three strange objects, all in their "weeds" and dust--and then up at the huge Dust-heap, over which the moon was now slowly rising. "Land of quiet Death!" murmured he, faintly, "or land of Life, as dark and still--I have passed from one into the other; but which of ye I am now in, seems doubtful to my senses." "Here we are, poor gentleman," cried Peggy, "here we are, all friends about you. How did'ee tumble into the canal?" "The Earth, then, once more!" said the stranger, with a deep sigh. "I know where I am, now. I remember this great dark hill of ashes--like Death's kingdom, full of all sorts of strange things, and put to many uses." "Where do you live?" asked old Doubleyear. "Shall we try and take you home, sir?" The stranger shook his head mournfully. All this time, little Jem had been assiduously employed in rubbing his feet and then big hands; in doing which, the piece of dirty parchment, with the miniature-frame, dropped out of his breast-pocket. A good thought instantly struck Peggy. "Run, Jemmy dear--run with that golden thing to Mr. Spikechin, the pawnbroker's--get something upon it directly, and buy some nice brandy--and some Godfrey's cordial--and a blanket, Jemmy--and call a coach, and get up outside on it, and make the coachee drive back here as fast as you can." But before Jemmy could attend to this, Mr. Waterhouse, the stranger whose life they had preserved, raised himself on one elbow, and extended his hand to the miniature-frame. Directly he looked at it he raised himself higher up--turned it about once or twice--then caught up the piece of parchment, and uttering an ejaculation which no one could have distinguished either as of joy or of pain, sank back fainting. In brief, this parchment was a portion of the title-deeds he had lost; and though it did not prove sufficient to enable him to recover his fortune, it brought his opponent to a composition, which gave him an annuity for life. Small as this was, he determined that these poor people, who had so generously saved his life at the risk of their own, should be sharers in it. Finding that what they most desired was to have a cottage in the neighborhood of the Dust-heap, built large enough for all three to live together, and keep a cow, Mr. Waterhouse paid a visit to Manchester Square, where the owner of the property resided. He told his story, as far as was needful, and proposed to purchase the field in question.