They knocked at the door and saw a queer little figure sitting in an armchair. “I can’t get up,” said the child, “because my back’s bad and my legs are queer. But I’m the person of the house. What do you want, young man?” “I wanted to see my sister.” “Many young men have sisters. Give me your name, young man.” “Hexam is my name.” “Ah, indeed?” said the person of the house. “I thought it might be. Your sister will be in, in about a quarter of an hour. I am very fond of your sister. She’s my particular friend. Take a seat. And this gentleman’s name?” “Mr. Headstone, my schoolmaster.” “Take a seat. And would you please to shut the street door first? I can’t very well do it myself, because my back’s so bad, and my legs are so queer.” They complied in silence, and the little figure went on with its work of gumming and gluing together with a camel’s-hair brush certain pieces of cardboard and thin wood, previously cut into various shapes. The scissors and knives upon the bench showed that the child herself had cut them; and the bright scraps of velvet and silk and ribbon also strewn upon the bench showed that when duly stuffed (and stuffing too was there) she was to cover them smartly. The dexterity of her nimble fingers was remarkable, and, as she brought two thin edges accurately together by giving them a little bite, she would glance at the visitors out of the corners of her gray eyes with a look that outsharpened all her other sharpness. “You can’t tell me the name of my trade, I’ll be bound,” she said, after taking several of these observations. “You make pincushions,” said Charley. “What else do I make?” “Pen-wipers,” said Bradley Headstone. “Ha! ha! What else do I make? You’re a schoolmaster, but you can’t tell me.” “You do something,” he returned, pointing to a corner of the little bench, “with straw; but I don’t know what.” “Well done you!” cried the person of the house. “I only make pincushions and pen-wipers to use up my waste. But my straw really does belong to my business. Try again. What do I make with my straw?” “Dinner-mats.” “A schoolmaster, and says dinner-mats! I’ll give you a clue to my trade, in a game of forfeits. I love my love with a B because she’s Beautiful; I hate my love with a B because she is Brazen; I took her to the sign of the Blue Boar, and I treated her with Bonnets; her name’s Bouncer, and she lives in Bedlam.--Now, what do I make with my straw?” “Ladies’ bonnets?” “Fine ladies’,” said the person of the house, nodding assent. “Dolls’. I’m a Doll’s Dressmaker.” “I hope it’s a good business?” The person of the house shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “No. Poorly paid. And I’m often so pressed for time! I had a doll married, last week, and was obliged to work all night. And it’s not good for me, on account of my back being so bad and my legs so queer.”