and the square joined, and where there were some little quiet houses in a row. To these Charley Hexam finally led the way, and at one of these stopped.
“This must be where my sister lives, sir. This is where she came for a temporary lodging, soon after father’s death.”
“How often have you seen her since?”
“Why, only twice, sir,” returned the boy, with his former reluctance; “but that’s as much her doing as mine.”
“How does she support herself?”
“She was always a fair needlewoman, and she keeps the stock-room of a seaman’s outfitter.”
“Does she ever work at her own lodging here?”
“Sometimes; but her regular hours and regular occupation are at their place of business, I believe, sir. This is the number.”
The boy knocked at a door, and the door promptly opened with a spring and a click. A parlour door within a small entry stood open, and disclosed a child — a dwarf — a girl — a something — sitting on a little low old-fashioned arm-chair, which had a kind of little working bench before it.
“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.”
“Who else is at home?” asked Charley Hexam, staring.
“Nobody’s at home at present,” returned the child, with a glib assertion of her dignity, “except the person of the house. What did you want, young man?”
“I wanted to see my sister.”
“Many young men have sisters,” returned the child. “Give me your name, young man?”
The queer little figure, and the queer but not ugly little face, with its bright grey eyes, were so sharp, that the sharpness of the manner seemed unavoidable. As if, being turned out of that mould, it must be sharp.
“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 or 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,