"Wife," returned John. "Niece?" said the Stranger. "Wife!" roared John. "Indeed?" observed the Stranger. "Surely? Very young!" He quietly turned over, and resumed his reading. But, before he could have read two lines, he again interrupted himself to say: "Baby yours?" John gave him a gigantic nod: equivalent to an answer in the affirmative, delivered through a speaking trumpet. "Girl?" "Bo-o-oy!" roared John. "Also very young, eh?" Mrs. Peerybingle instantly struck in. "Two months and three da-ays. Vaccinated just six weeks ago-o! Took very fine-ly! Considered, by the doctor, a remarkably beautiful chi-ild! Equal to the general run of children at five months o-ld! Takes notice in a way quite wonder-ful! May seem impossible to you, but feels his legs al-ready!" [Illustration: _"That's the way I found him, sitting by the roadside! Upright as a milestone."_] Here, the breathless little mother, who had been shrieking these short sentences into the old man's ear, until her pretty face was crimsoned, held up the Baby before him as a stubborn and triumphant fact; while Tilly Slowboy, with a melodious cry of "Ketcher, Ketcher"--which sounded like some unknown words, adapted to a popular Sneeze--performed some cow-like gambols around that all unconscious Innocent. "Hark! He's called for, sure enough," said John. "There's somebody at the door. Open it, Tilly." Before she could reach it, however, it was opened from without; being a primitive sort of door, with a latch that any one could lift if he chose--and a good many people did choose, for all kinds of neighbours liked to have a cheerful word or two with the Carrier, though he was no great talker himself. Being opened, it gave admission to a little, meagre, thoughtful, dingy-faced man, who seemed to have made himself a great-coat from the sackcloth covering of some old box; for, when he turned to shut the door and keep the weather out, he disclosed upon the back of that garment the inscription G & T in large black capitals. Also the word GLASS in bold characters. "Good evening, John!" said the little man. "Good evening, mum! Good evening, Tilly! Good evening, Unbeknown! How's Baby, mum? Boxer's pretty well I hope?" "All thriving, Caleb," replied Dot. "I am sure you need only look at the dear child, for one, to know that." "And I'm sure I need only look at you for another," said Caleb. He didn't look at her, though; he had a wandering and thoughtful eye, which seemed to be always projecting itself into some other time and place, no matter what he said; a description which will equally apply to his voice. "Or at John for another," said Caleb. "Or at Tilly, as far as that goes. Or certainly at Boxer." "Busy just now, Caleb?" asked the Carrier.