During the following weeks, when he had become accustomed to the routine of work which he was expected to accomplish, and being often left alone in the office, Richard Swiveller began to find time hang heavy on his hands.  For the better preservation of his cheerfulness, therefore, he accustomed himself to play at cribbage with a dummy.  While he was silently conducting one of these games Mr. Swiveller began to think that he heard a kind of hard breathing sound, in the direction of the door, which it occurred to him, after some reflection, must proceed from the small servant, who always had a cold from damp living.  Looking intently that way, he plainly distinguished an eye gleaming and glistening at the keyhole; and having now no doubt that his suspicions were correct he stole softly to the door, and pounced upon her before she was aware of his approach.

“Oh!  I didn’t mean any harm, indeed, upon my word I didn’t,” cried the small servant; “it’s so very dull downstairs.  Please don’t you tell upon me, please don’t.”

“Tell upon you!” said Dick.  “Do you mean to say you were looking through the keyhole for company?”

“Yes, upon my word I was,” replied the small servant.

“How long have you been cooling your eye there?” said Dick.

“Oh, ever since you first began to play them cards, and long before.”

“Well—­come in,” said Mr. Swiveller, after a little consideration.  “Here—­sit down, and I’ll teach you how to play.”

“Oh!  I durstn’t do it,” rejoined the small servant; “Miss Sally ’ud kill me if she knowed I come up here.”

“Have you got a fire downstairs?” said Dick.

“A very little one,” replied the small servant.

“Miss Sally couldn’t kill me if she knowed I went down there, so I’ll come,” said Richard, putting the cards into his pocket.  “Why, how thin you are!  What do you mean by it?”

“It an’t my fault.”

“Could you eat any bread and meat?” said Dick, taking down his hat “Yes?  Ah!  I thought so.  Did you ever taste beer?”

“I had a sip of it once,” said the small servant.

“Here’s a state of things!” cried Mr. Swiveller, raising his eyes to the ceiling.  “She never tasted it—­it can’t be tasted in a sip!  Why, how old are you?”

“I don’t know.”

Mr. Swiveller opened his eyes very wide, and appeared thoughtful for a moment; then, bidding the child mind the door until he came back, vanished straightway.

Presently he returned, followed by a boy from the public-house, who bore a plate of bread and beef, and a great pot filled with choice purl.  Relieving the boy of his burden, and charging his little companion to fasten the door to prevent surprise, Mr. Swiveller followed her into the kitchen.

“There!” said Richard, putting the plate before her.  “First of all, clear that off, and then you’ll see what’s next.”

The small servant needed no second bidding, and the plate was soon empty.