“You’re not a-going to stand that!” cried Mr. Codlin, glancing at the clock, and counting the minutes to supper time.

“I,” repeated Short, emphatically and slowly, “am not a-going to stand it.  I am not a-going to see this fair young child a-falling into bad hands.  Therefore, when they develop an intention of parting company from us, I shall take measures for detaining of ’em, and restoring ’em to their friends, who, I dare say, have had their disconsolation pasted up on every wall in London by this time.”

“Short,” said Mr. Codlin, looking up with eager eyes, “it’s possible there may be uncommon good sense in what you’ve said.  If there should be a reward, Short, remember that we’re partners in everything!”

Before Nell retired to rest in her poor garret she was a little startled by the appearance of Mr. Thomas Codlin at her door.

“Nothing’s the matter, my dear; only I’m your friend.  Perhaps you haven’t thought so, but it’s me that’s your friend—­not him.  I’m the real, open-hearted man.  Short’s very well, and seems kind, but he overdoes it.  Now, I don’t.”

The child was puzzled, and could not tell what to say.

“Take my advice; as long as you travel with us, keep as near me as you can.  Recollect the friend.  Codlin’s the friend, not Short.  Short’s very well as far as he goes, but the real friend is Codlin—­not Short.”

III.—­Jarley’s Waxwork

Codlin and Short stuck so close to Nell and her grandfather that the child grew frightened, especially at the unwonted attentions of Mr. Thomas Codlin.  The bustle of the racecourse enabled them to escape, and once more the travellers were alone.

It was a few days later when, as the afternoon was wearing away, they came upon a caravan drawn up by the roadside.  It was a smart little house upon wheels, not a gipsy caravan, for at the open door sat a Christian lady, stout and comfortable, taking her tea upon a drum covered with a white napkin.

“Hey!” cried the lady of the caravan, seeing the old man and the child walking slowly by.  “Yes, to be sure I saw you there with my own eyes!  And very sorry I was to see you in company with a Punch; a low, practical, wulgar wretch that people should scorn to look at.”

“I was not there by choice,” returned the child.  “We don’t know our way, and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them.  Do you know them, ma’am?”

“Know ’em, child!  Know them!  But you’re young and inexperienced.  Do I look as if I knowed ’em?  Does the caravan look as if it knowed ’em?”

“No, ma’am, no.  I beg your pardon.”

It was granted immediately.  And then the lady of the caravan, finding the travellers were hungry, handed them a tea-tray with bread-and-butter and a knuckle of ham; and finding they were tired, took them into the caravan, which was bound for the nearest town, some eight miles off.