The old man of the house, pushing it open before him, appeared there with his fur cap in his hand and his cat at his heels.

“I warn’t listening, Miss Flite,” he said, “I was going to give a rap with my knuckles, only you’re so quick!”

“Make your cat go down.  Drive her away!” the old lady angrily exclaimed.

“Bah, bah!  There ain’t no danger, gentlefolks,” said Mr. Krook, looking slowly and sharply from one to another until he had looked at all of us; “she’d never offer at the birds when I was here unless I told her to it.”

“You will excuse my landlord,” said the old lady with a dignified air.  “M, quite M!  What do you want, Krook, when I have company?”

“Hi!” said the old man.  “You know I am the Chancellor.”

“Well?” returned Miss Elite.  “What of that?”

“For the Chancellor,” said the old man with a chuckle, “not to be acquainted with a Jarndyce is queer, ain’t it, Miss Flite?  Mightn’t I take the liberty?  Your servant, sir.  I know Jarndyce and Jarndyce a’most as well as you do, sir.  I knowed old Squire Tom, sir.  I never to my knowledge see you afore though, not even in court.  Yet, I go there a mortal sight of times in the course of the year, taking one day with another.”

“I never go there,” said Mr. Jarndyce (which he never did on any consideration).  “I would sooner go—­somewhere else.”

“Would you though?” returned Krook, grinning.  “You’re bearing hard upon my noble and learned brother in your meaning, sir, though perhaps it is but nat’ral in a Jarndyce.  The burnt child, sir!  What, you’re looking at my lodger’s birds, Mr. Jarndyce?” The old man had come by little and little into the room until he now touched my guardian with his elbow and looked close up into his face with his spectacled eyes.  “It’s one of her strange ways that she’ll never tell the names of these birds if she can help it, though she named ’em all.”  This was in a whisper.  “Shall I run ’em over, Flite?” he asked aloud, winking at us and pointing at her as she turned away, affecting to sweep the grate.

“If you like,” she answered hurriedly.

The old man, looking up at the cages after another look at us, went through the list.

“Hope, Joy, Youth, Peace, Rest, Life, Dust, Ashes, Waste, Want, Ruin, Despair, Madness, Death, Cunning, Folly, Words, Wigs, Rags, Sheepskin, Plunder, Precedent, Jargon, Gammon, and Spinach.  That’s the whole collection,” said the old man, “all cooped up together, by my noble and learned brother.”

“This is a bitter wind!” muttered my guardian.

“When my noble and learned brother gives his judgment, they’re to be let go free,” said Krook, winking at us again.  “And then,” he added, whispering and grinning, “if that ever was to happen—­which it won’t—­the birds that have never been caged would kill ’em.”

“If ever the wind was in the east,” said my guardian, pretending to look out of the window for a weathercock, “I think it’s there to-day!”