| 102 | 103 | 104 | 105 | 106 |
| 1 | 133 | 265 | 398 | 530 |
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The pony remained immoveable.
Oh you naughty Whisker,' said the old lady. 'Fie upon you! I'm
'
ashamed of such conduct.'
The pony appeared to be touched by this appeal to his feelings, for he
trotted on directly, though in a sulky manner, and stopped no more
until he came to a door whereon was a brass plate with the words
'
Witherden - Notary.' Here the old gentleman got out and helped out
the old lady, and then took from under the seat a nosegay resembling
in shape and dimensions a full-sized warming-pan with the handle
cut short off. This, the old lady carried into the house with a staid and
stately air, and the old gentleman (who had a club-foot) followed close
upon her.
They went, as it was easy to tell from the sound of their voices, into
the front parlour, which seemed to be a kind of office. The day being
very warm and the street a quiet one, the windows were wide open;
and it was easy to hear through the Venetian blinds all that passed
inside.
At first there was a great shaking of hands and shuffling of feet,
succeeded by the presentation of the nosegay; for a voice, supposed by
the listener to be that of Mr Witherden the Notary, was heard to
exclaim a great many times, 'oh, delicious!' 'oh, fragrant, indeed!' and
a nose, also supposed to be the property of that gentleman, was heard
to inhale the scent with a snuffle of exceeding pleasure.
'I brought it in honour of the occasion, Sir,' said the old lady.
'Ah! an occasion indeed, ma'am, an occasion which does honour to
me, ma'am, honour to me,' rejoined Mr Witherden, the notary. 'I have
had many a gentleman articled to me, ma'am, many a one. Some of
them are now rolling in riches, unmindful of their old companion and
friend, ma'am, others are in the habit of calling upon me to this day
and saying, ‘Mr Witherden, some of the pleasantest hours I ever spent
in my life were spent in this office - were spent, Sir, upon this very
stool’; but there was never one among the number, ma'am, attached
as I have been to many of them, of whom I augured such bright things
as I do of your only son.'
'
Oh dear!' said the old lady. 'How happy you do make us when you tell
us that, to be sure!'
'I tell you, ma'am,' said Mr Witherden, 'what I think as an honest man,
which, as the poet observes, is the noblest work of God. I agree with
the poet in every particular, ma'am. The mountainous Alps on the one
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