“poor jib little knew
                         All that wily sex can do;”

For while he hugged himself in the security of his fortress, the web of his destiny was weaving.  So true is it, as he himself used, no less pathetically than poetically to express it, “misfortune will find you out, if ye were hid in a tay chest.”

It happened that in Mrs. Clanfrizzle’s establishment, the “enfant bleu,” already mentioned, was the only individual of his sex retained; and without for a moment disparaging the ability or attentions of this gifted person, yet it may reasonably be credited, that in waiting on a party of twenty-five or thirty persons at dinner, all of whom he had admitted as porter, and announced as maitre d’hotel, with the subsequent detail of his duties in the drawing-room, that Peter, blue Peter—­his boarding-house soubriquet—­not enjoying the bird-like privilege of “being in two places at once,” gave one rather the impression of a person of hasty and fidgetty habits—­for which nervous tendency the treatment he underwent was certainly injudicious—­it being the invariable custom for each guest to put his services in requisition, perfectly irrespective of all other claims upon him, from whatsoever quarter coming—­and then, at the precise moment that the luckless valet was snuffing the candles, he was abused by one for not bringing coal; by another for having carried off his tea-cup, sent on an expedition for sugar; by a third for having left the door open, which he had never been near; and so on to the end of the chapter.

It chanced that a few evenings previous to my appearance at the house, this indefatigable Caleb was ministering as usual to the various and discrepant wants of the large party assembled in the drawing-room.  With his wonted alacrity he had withdrawn from their obscure retreat against the wall, sundry little tables, destined for the players at whist, or “spoil five”—­the popular game of the establishment.  With a dexterity that savoured much of a stage education, he had arranged the candles, the cards, the counters; he had poked the fire, settled the stool for Miss Riley’s august feet, and was busily engaged in changing five shillings into small silver for a desperate victim of loo—­when Mrs. Clanfrizzle’s third, and, as it appeared, last time, of asking for the kettle smote upon his ear.  His loyalty would have induced him at once to desert every thing on such an occasion; but the other party engaged, held him fast, saying—­

“Never mind her, Peter—­you have sixpence more to give me.”

Poor Peter rummaged one pocket, then another—­discovering at last three pence in copper, and some farthings, with which he seemed endeavouring to make a composition with his creditor for twelve shillings in the pound; when Mrs. Clan’s patience finally becoming exhausted, she turned towards Mr. Cudmore, the only unemployed person she could perceive, and with her blandest smile said,