Forth from the city, while it yet slumbered, went the two poor adventurers, wandering they knew not whither, often pressing each other’s hands, or exchanging a smile, as they pursued their way through the city streets, through the haunts of traffic and great commerce, where business was already rife.  The old man looked about him with a bewildered gaze, for these were places that he hoped to shun, nor did he seem at ease until at last they felt that they were clear of London, and sat down to rest, and eat their frugal breakfast from little Nell’s basket.

The freshness of the day, the singing of the birds, the beauty of the waving grass, the wild flowers, and the thousand exquisite scents and sounds that floated in the air, sunk into their breasts, and made them very glad.  The child had repeated her artless prayers once that morning, more earnestly, perhaps, than she had ever done in her life; but as she felt all this, they rose to her lips again.  The old man took off his hat—­he had no memory for the words—­but he said Amen, and that they were very good.

“Are you tired?” asked the child.  “Are you sure you don’t feel ill from this long walk?”

“I shall never feel ill again, now that we are once away,” was his reply.  “Let us be stirring, Nell.  We are too near to stop and be at rest.  Come!”

They were now in the open country, through which they walked all day, and slept that night at a cottage where beds were let to travellers.  Next morning they were afoot again, and still kept on until nearly five o’clock in the afternoon, when they stopped at a laborer’s hut, asking permission to rest awhile and buy a draught of milk.  The request was granted, and after having some refreshments and rest, Nell yielded to the old man’s fretful demand to travel on again, and they trudged forward for another mile, thankful for a lift given them by a kindly driver going their way, for they could scarcely crawl along.  To them the jolting cart was a luxurious carriage, and the ride the most delicious in the world.  Nell had scarcely settled herself in one corner of the cart when she fell fast asleep, and was only awakened by its stopping when their ways parted.  The driver pointing out the town in the near distance, directed them to take the path leading through the churchyard.  Accordingly, to this spot they directed their weary steps, and presently came upon two men who were seated upon the grass.  It was not difficult to divine that they were itinerant showmen—­exhibitors of the freaks of Punch—­for, perched cross-legged upon a tombstone behind them, was a figure of that hero himself, his nose and chin as hooked, and his face as beaming as usual; while scattered upon the ground, and jumbled together in a long box, were the other persons of the drama.  The hero’s wife and one child, the hobby-horse, the doctor, the foreign gentleman, the executioner, and the devil, all were here.  Their owners had evidently come to that spot to make some needful repairs in their stock, for one of them was engaged in binding together a small gallows with thread, while the other was intent upon fixing a new black wig.