Maggie was obliged to go to Tom’s lodgings² in the middle of the day, when he would be coming in to dinner, else she would not have found him at home. He was not lodging¹ with entire strangers. Our friend Bob Jakin had, with Mumps³’s tacit consent, taken not only a wife about eight months ago, but also one of those queer old houses, pierced with surprising passages, by the water-side, where, as he observed, his wife and mother could keep themselves out of mischief⁴ by letting out two “pleasure-boats,” in which he had invested some of his savings⁵, and by taking in a lodger⁶ for the parlor⁷ and spare bedroom. Under these circumstances, what could be better for the interests of all parties, sanitary⁸ considerations apart, than that the lodger should be Mr. Tom?

It was Bob’s wife who opened the door to Maggie. She was a tiny woman, with the general physiognomy of a Dutch doll, looking, in comparison with Bob’s mother, who filled up the passage in the rear, very much like one of those human figures which the artist finds conveniently standing⁹ near a colossal¹⁰ statue to show the proportions. The tiny woman curtsied and looked up at Maggie with some awe¹¹ as soon as she had opened the door; but the words, “Is my brother at home?” which Maggie uttered smilingly, made her turn round with sudden excitement, and say —

“Eh, mother, mother — tell Bob! — it’s Miss Maggie! Come in, Miss, for goodness do,” she went on, opening a side door, and endeavoring to

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