But, of this,
there is no doubt: that, the kettle and the Cricket, at
one and the same moment, and by some power of
amalgamation best known to themselves, sent, each,
his fireside song of comfort streaming into a ray of the
candle that shone out through the wondow, and a long
way down the lane. And this light, bursting on a
certain person who, on the instant, approached to-
wards it through the gloom, expressed the whole thing
to him, literally in a twinkling, and cried, 'Welcome
home, old fellow! Welcome home, my boy!'
This end attained, the kettle, being dead beat,
boiled over, and was taken off the fire. Mrs. Peery-
bingle then went running to the door, where, what
with the wheels of a cart, the tramp of a horse, the
voice of a man, the tearing in and out of an excited
dog, and the surprising and mysterious appearance
of a baby, there was soon the very What's-his-name
to pay.
Where the baby came from, or how Mrs. Peery-
bingle got hold of it in that flash of time, I don't
know. But a live baby there was, in Mrs. Peery-
bingle's arms; and a pretty tolerable amount of pride
she seemed to have in it, when she was drawn gently
to the fire, by a sturdy figure of a man, much taller
and much older than herself, who had to stoop a long
way down, to kiss her.
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