expression in his features, which showed that he understood what had taken place, and would remember it.
Nothing more passed between them as they went home. Jonas kept a little in advance, and Tom Pinch sadly followed: thinking of the grief which the knowledge of this quarrel must occasion his excellent benefactor. When Jonas knocked at the door, Tom's heart beat high; higher when Miss Mercy answered it, and, seeing her wounded lover, shrieked aloud; higher when he followed them into the family parlour; higher than at any other time when Jonas spoke.
"Don't make a noise about it," he said. "It's nothing worth mentioning. I didn't know the road; the night's very dark; and just as I came up with Mr. Pinch"—he turned his face towards Tom, but not his eyes—"I ran against a tree. It's only skin-deep."
"Cold water, Merry, my child!" cried Mr. Pecksniff. "Brown paper! Scissors! A piece of old linen! Charity, my dear, make a bandage. Bless me, Mr. Jonas!"
"Oh, bother your nonsense," returned the gracious son-in-law elect. "Be of some use if you can. If you can't, get out!"
Miss Charity, though called upon to lend her aid, sat upright in one corner, with a smile upon her face, and didn't move a finger. Though Mercy laved the wound herself; and Mr. Pecksniff held the patient's head between his two hands, as if without that assistance it must inevitably come in half; and Tom Pinch, in his guilty agitation, shook a bottle of Dutch Drops until they were nothing but English Froth, and in his other hand sustained a formidable carving-knife, really intended to reduce the swelling, but apparently designed for the ruthless infliction of another wound as soon as that was dressed; Charity rendered not the least assistance, nor uttered a word. But when Mr. Jonas's head was bound up, and he had gone to bed, and everybody else had retired, and the house was quiet, Mr. Pinch, as he sat mournfully on his bedstead, ruminating, heard a gentle tap at his door; and opening it, saw her, to his great astonishment, standing before him with her finger on her lip.
"Mr. Pinch," she whispered. "Dear Mr. Pinch! tell me the truth! You did that? There was some quarrel between you, and you struck him? I am sure of it!"
It was the first time she had ever spoken kindly to Tom, in all the many years they had passed together. He was stupefied with amazement.
"Was it so, or not?" she eagerly demanded.
"I was very much provoked," said Tom.
"Then it was?" cried Charity, with sparkling eyes.
"Ye-yes. We had a struggle for the path," said Tom. "But I didn't mean to hurt him so much."
"Not so much!" she repeated, clenching her hand and stamping her foot, to Tom's great wonder. "Don't say that. It was brave of you. I honour you for it. If you should ever quarrel again, don't spare him for the world, but beat him down and set your shoe upon him. Not a word of this to anybody. Dear Mr. Pinch, I am your friend from to-night. I am always your friend from this time."
She turned her flushed face upon Tom to confirm her words by its
