She stretched out her hand, and I went down on my knee and put it to

my lips. I had not considered how I should take leave of her; it came

naturally to me at the moment to do this. She looked at Sarah Pocket

with triumph in her weird eyes, and so I left my fairy godmother, with

both her hands on her crutch stick, standing in the midst of the dimly

lighted room beside the rotten bride-cake that was hidden in cobwebs.

Sarah Pocket conducted me down, as if I were a ghost who must be seen

out. She could not get over my appearance, and was in the last degree

confounded. I said "Good by, Miss Pocket;" but she merely stared, and

did not seem collected enough to know that I had spoken. Clear of the

house, I made the best of my way back to Pumblechook's, took off my new

clothes, made them into a bundle, and went back home in my older dress,

carrying it--to speak the truth--much more at my ease too, though I had

the bundle to carry.

And now, those six days which were to have run out so slowly, had

run out fast and were gone, and to-morrow looked me in the face more

steadily than I could look at it. As the six evenings had dwindled

away, to five, to four, to three, to two, I had become more and more

appreciative of the society of Joe and Biddy. On this last evening, I

dressed my self out in my new clothes for their delight, and sat in my

splendor until bedtime. We had a hot supper on the occasion, graced by

the inevitable roast fowl, and we had some flip to finish with. We were

all very low, and none the higher for pretending to be in spirits.

I was to leave our village at five in the morning, carrying my little

hand-portmanteau, and I had told Joe that I wished to walk away all

alone. I am afraid--sore afraid--that this purpose originated in my

sense of the contrast there would be between me and Joe, if we went to

the coach together. I had pretended with myself that there was nothing

of this taint in the arrangement; but when I went up to my little room

on this last night, I felt compelled to admit that it might be so, and

had an impulse upon me to go down again and entreat Joe to walk with me

in the morning. I did not.

All night there were coaches in my broken sleep, going to wrong places

instead of to London, and having in the traces, now dogs, now cats, now

pigs, now men,--never horses. Fantastic failures of journeys occupied

me until the day dawned and the birds were singing. Then, I got up and

partly dressed, and sat at the window to take a last look out, and in

taking it fell asleep.




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