the shop, having only just taken off his hat and lit his candle, as he heard the fat old termagant's well-known heavy step ascending the stairs, and approaching nearer and nearer to his door. Her loud imperative single knock vibrated through his very heart. "Oh, Mrs. Squallop! How d'ye do, Mrs. Squallop?" commenced Titmouse, faintly, when he had opened the door; "Won't you take a chair?" with trepidation offering to the panting dame almost the only chair he had. "No--I a'n't come to stay, Mr. Titmouse, because, d'ye see, in coorse you've got a pound, _at least_, ready for me, as you promised long ago--and never more welcome; there's old Gripe been here to-day, and had his hodious rates--(drat the poor, say I! them as can't work should starve!--rates is a robbery!)--but howsomdever he's cleaned _me_ out to-day; so, in coorse, I come up to _you_. Got it, Mr. Titmouse?" "I--I--I--'pon my life, Mrs. Squallop, I'm uncommon sorry"---- "Oh, bother your sorrow, Mr. Titmouse!--out with the needful, for I can't stop palavering here." "I--I can't, so help me----!" gasped Titmouse, with the calmness of desperation. "You can't! And marry, sir, why not, may I make bold to ask?" inquired Mrs. Squallop, after a moment's pause, striving to choke down her rage. "P'r'aps you can get blood out of a stone, Mrs. Squallop; it's what _I_ can't," replied Titmouse, striving to screw his courage up to the sticking place, to encounter one who was plainly bent upon mischief. "I've got two shillings--there they are," throwing them on the table; "and cuss me if I've another rap in the world; there, ma'am! take 'em, do; and drive me desperate!"