This recognition caused a general admiration in the party. I rather thought that every one was struck by his not being proud, and taking notice of us.

“Well, Twenty-Seven,” said Mr. Creakle, mournfully admiring him. “How do you find yourself to-day?”

“I am very umble, Sir!” replied Uriah Heep.

“You are always so, Twenty-Seven,” said Mr. Creakle.

Here, another gentleman asked, with extreme anxiety: “Are you quite comfortable?”

“Yes, I thank you, Sir!” said Uriah Heep, looking in that direction. “Far more comfortable here than ever I was outside. I see my follies now, Sir. That’s what makes me comfortable.”

Several gentlemen were much affected; and a third questioner, forcing himself to the front, inquired with extreme feeling: “How do you find the beef?”

“Thank you, Sir,” replied Uriah, glancing in the new direction of this voice, “it was tougher yesterday than I could wish; but it’s my duty to bear. I have committed follies, gentlemen,” said Uriah, looking round with a meek smile, “and I ought to bear the consequences without repining.”

A murmur, partly of gratification at Twenty-Seven’s celestial state of mind, and partly of indignation against the Contractor who had given him any cause of complaint (a note of which was immediately made by Mr. Creakle), having subsided, Twenty-Seven stood in the midst of us, as if he felt himself the principal object of merit in a highly meritorious museum. That we, the neophytes, might have an excess of light shining upon us all at once, orders were given to let out Twenty-Eight.

I had been so much astonished already, that I only felt a kind of resigned wonder when Mr. Littimer walked forth, reading a good book!

“Twenty-Eight,” said a gentleman in spectacles, who had not yet spoken, “you complained last week, my good fellow, of the cocoa. How has it been since?”

“I thank you, Sir,” said Mr. Littimer, “it has been better made. If I might take the liberty of saying so, Sir, I don’t think the milk which is boiled with it is quite genuine; but I am aware, Sir, that there is great adulteration of milk in London, and that the article in a pure state is difficult to be obtained.”

It appeared to me that the gentleman in spectacles backed his Twenty-Eight against Mr. Creakle’s Twenty- Seven, for each of them took his own man in hand.

“What is your state of mind, Twenty-Eight?” said the questioner in spectacles.

“I thank you, Sir,” returned Mr. Littimer; “I see my follies now, Sir. I am a good deal troubled when I think of the sins of my former companions, Sir; but I trust they may find forgiveness.”

“You are quite happy yourself?” said the questioner, nodding encouragement.

“I am much obliged to you, Sir,” returned Mr. Littimer. “Perfectly so.”

“Is there anything at all on your mind, now?” said the questioner. “If so, mention it, Twenty-Eight.”

“Sir,” said Mr. Littimer, without looking up, “if my eyes have not deceived me, there is a gentleman present who was acquainted with me in my former life. It may be profitable to that gentleman to know, Sir, that I attribute my past follies entirely to having lived a thoughtless life in the service of young men; and to having allowed myself to be led by them into weaknesses, which I had not the strength to resist. I hope that gentleman will take warning, Sir, and will not be offended at my freedom. It is for his good. I am