Things had gone on very well with Master Charlie for the first two weeks after his introduction into the house of the fashionable descendant of the worthy maker of leathern breeches.  His intelligence, combined with the quickness and good-humour with which he performed the duties assigned him, quite won the regard of the venerable lady who presided over that establishment.  It is true she had detected him in several attempts upon the peace and well-being of aunt Rachel’s Tom; but with Tom she had little sympathy, he having recently made several felonious descents upon her stores of cream and custards.  In fact, it was not highly probable, if any of his schemes had resulted seriously to the spiteful protege of aunt Rachel, that Mrs. Thomas would have been overwhelmed with grief, or disposed to inflict any severe punishment on the author of the catastrophe.

Unfortunately for Mrs. Thomas, Charlie, whilst going on an errand, had fallen in with his ancient friend and adviser—­in short, he had met no less a person than the formerly all-sufficient Kinch.  Great was the delight of both parties at this unexpected meeting, and warm, indeed, was the exchange of mutual congratulations on this auspicious event.

Kinch, in the excess of his delight, threw his hat several feet in the air; nor did his feelings of pleasure undergo the least abatement when that dilapidated portion of his costume fell into a bed of newly-mixed lime, from which he rescued it with great difficulty and at no little personal risk.

“Hallo!  Kinch, old fellow, how are you?” cried Charlie; “I’ve been dying to see you—­why haven’t you been up?”

“Why, I did come up often, but that old witch in the kitchen wouldn’t let me see you—­she abused me scandalous.  I wanted to pull her turban off and throw it in the gutter.  Why, she called me a dirty beggar, and threatened to throw cold water on me if I didn’t go away.  Phew! ain’t she an old buster!”

“Why, I never knew you were there.”

“Yes,” continued Kinch; “and I saw you another time hung up behind the carriage.  I declare, Charlie, you looked so like a little monkey, dressed up in that sky-blue coat and silver buttons, that I liked to have died a-laughing at you;” and Kinch was so overcome by the recollection of the event in question, that he was obliged to sit down upon a door-step to recover himself.

“Oh, I do hate to wear this confounded livery!’ said Charlie, dolefully—­” the boys scream ‘Johnny Coat-tail’ after me in the streets, and call me ‘blue jay,’ and ‘blue nigger,’ and lots of other names.  I feel that all that’s wanting to make a complete monkey of me, is for some one to carry me about on an organ.”

“What do you wear it for, then?” asked Kinch.

“Because I can’t help myself, that’s the reason.  The boys plague me to that extent sometimes, that I feel like tearing the things into bits—­but mother says I must wear it.  Kinch,” concluded he, significantly, “something will have to be done, I can’t stand it.”