My mother whispered something. I think from her face, for I knew the
signs, it was praise of me.

"And he's going to be our new fortune," she added aloud, as the grey
man lowered me.

"Then," said my aunt, who had this while been sitting rigid upon a
flat black box, "don't drop him down a coal-mine. That's all I say."

I wondered at the time why the grey man's pale face should flush so
crimson, and why my mother should whisper angrily:

"Flow can you be so wicked, Fanny? How dare you say such a thing?"

"I only said 'don't drop him down a coal-mine,'" returned my aunt,
apparently much surprised; "you don't want to drop him down a
coal-mine, do you?"

We passed through glittering, joyous streets, piled high each side
with all the good things of the earth; toys and baubles, jewels and
gold, things good to eat and good to drink, things good to wear and
good to see; through pleasant ways where fountains splashed and
flowers bloomed. The people wore bright clothes, had happy faces.
They rode in beautiful carriages, they strolled about, greeting one
another with smiles. The children ran and laughed. London, thought I
to myself, is the city of the fairies.

It passed, and we sank into a grim city of hoarse, roaring streets,
wherein the endless throngs swirled and surged as I had seen the
yellow waters curve and fret, contending, where the river pauses,