"Who is your neighbor in Number 32, Mrs. Kennett?" I asked as I rose to
go. "I went there to find you."

"Did you indeed, 'm? Well, I hope she treated you civil, 'm, though it
don't be much in her line. She's a Mis' Mooney, 'm. I know _her_, but
she don't know _me_ anny more sence she's riz in the wurrld. She moved
out of this house whin I moved into it, but none of us ladies here is
good enough for her to 'sociate with _now_, 'm! You see her husband was
in the rag, sack, and bottle business, 'm, 'n a wealthy gintleman friend
set him up in a fish-cart, an' it's kind of onsettled her, 'm! Some
folks can't stan' prosperity. If 't bed bin grad_joo_al like, she might
have took it more natcheral; but it come all of a suddent, an' she's
that purse-proud now, 'm, that she'll be movin' up on Nob Hill ef she
don't hev no stroke o' bad luck to show 'er her place! Good day, 'm!"

I carved my way through the tin cans and bottles again under the haughty
eye of my Duchess of the fish-cart, and in a few minutes Patsy and I
were again in Silver Street.

When we entered the room he looked about with an expression of entire
content. "It's all here!" he said with a sigh, as if he had feared to
find it a dream.

The chair with its red cushion pleased him greatly; then, after a few
moments' talk to make him feel a little at home, we drew up to the
picture, and I took his cleanest hand in mine, and told him the story of
Victor, the brave St. Bernard dog.

It was an experience never to be repeated and never to be forgotten!