the person who had opened it was - not Job Trotter, but a servant-girl

with a candle in her hand! Mr Pickwick drew in his head again, with

the swiftness displayed by that admirable melodramatic performer,

Punch, when he lies in wait for the flat-headed comedian with the tin

box of music.

It must have been the cat, Sarah,' said the girl, addressing herself to

some one in the house. 'Puss, puss, puss, - tit, tit, tit.'

But no animal being decoyed by these blandishments, the girl slowly

closed the door, and re-fastened it; leaving Mr Pickwick drawn up

straight against the wall.

This is very curious,' thought Mr Pickwick. 'They are sitting up

beyond their usual hour, I suppose. Extremely unfortunate, that they

should have chosen this night, of all others, for such a purpose -

exceedingly.' And with these thoughts, Mr Pickwick cautiously retired

to the angle of the wall in which he had been before ensconced;

waiting until such time as he might deem it safe to repeat the signal.

He had not been here five minutes, when a vivid flash of lightning was

followed by a loud peal of thunder that crashed and rolled away in the

distance with a terrific noise - then came another flash of lightning,

brighter than the other, and a second peal of thunder louder than the

first; and then down came the rain, with a force and fury that swept

everything before it.

Mr Pickwick was perfectly aware that a tree is a very dangerous

neighbour in a thunderstorm. He had a tree on his right, a tree on his

left, a third before him, and a fourth behind. If he remained where he

was, he might fall the victim of an accident; if he showed himself in

the centre of the garden, he might be consigned to a constable. Once

or twice he tried to scale the wall, but having no other legs this time,

than those with which Nature had furnished him, the only effect of his

struggles was to inflict a variety of very unpleasant gratings on his

knees and shins, and to throw him into a state of the most profuse

perspiration.

'What a dreadful situation,' said Mr Pickwick, pausing to wipe his

brow after this exercise. He looked up at the house - all was dark.

They must be gone to bed now. He would try the signal again.

He walked on tiptoe across the moist gravel, and tapped at the door.

He held his breath, and listened at the key-hole. No reply: very odd.

Another knock. He listened again. There was a low whispering inside,

and then a voice cried -

Who's there?'

The Pickwick Papers