'Never see him before, in all my life. A beautiful
figure for a nut-cracker; quite a new model. With a
screw-jaw opening down into his waistcoat, he'd be
lovely.'
'Not ugly enough,' said Tackleton.
'Or for a firebox, either,' observed Caleb, in deep
contemplation, 'what a model! Unscrew his head to
put the matches in; turn him heels up'ards for the
light; and what a firebox for a gentleman's mantel-
shelf, just as he stands!'
'Not half ugly enough,' said Tackleton. 'Nothing
in him at all! Come! Bring that box! All right
now, I hope!'
'Oh quite gone! Quite gone!' said the little woman,
waving him hurriedly away. 'Good-night!
'Good-night,' said Tackleton. 'Good-night, John
Peerybingle! Take care how you carry that box,
Caleb. Let it fall, and I'll murder you! Dark as
pitch, and weather worse than ever, eh? Good-
night!'
So, with another sharp look round the room, he went
out at the door; followed by Caleb with the wedding-
cake on his head.
The Carrier had been so much astounded by his
little wife, and so busily engaged in soothing and
tending her, that he had scarcely been conscious of
the Stranger's presence, until now, when he again
stood there, their only guest.
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