There was a table
in the centre covered with bundles, books, and papers, on the summit
of which, precariously poised on the lid of a biscuit-tin, stood a
jug and some glasses; piles of books lay on the floor; in one corner
stood a stack of brooms, rakes, guns, fishing-rods, sticks, and
umbrellas; and a marvellous medley of coats and hats, baskets,
cords, etc., loaded a groaning row of pegs.
"Wait here," said the old man, tilting the only chair in such a way
that a Bible, a match-box, and a cocoa-tin filled with nails were
safely deposited on the floor. He then popped his head in at three
several doors that opened on to the apartment (it was intended, I
afterwards discovered, for the hall), and finally disappeared behind
one of them which led straight on to a flight of stairs. Suddenly I
heard a scuffling, a sound as of some one coming down head foremost,
and my friend appeared, book and forelock and all.
"This is nice of you!" he cried; then his father stumped downstairs
again, followed by a tall, sweet-faced woman.
"There, Jane," said he, "there she is."
I went up to her; she was, indeed, very shy.
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