takes pity on it, as I casts my eyes about. Then comes up the
long-winded one as I told you of, from that gate, and spins himself out
like a silkworm concerning the Donkey (if my Donkey at home will excuse
me) as has made it all--made it of his own choice! And tells me, if you
please, of his likewise choosing to go ragged and naked, and
grimy--maskerading, mountebanking, in what is the real hard lot of
thousands and thousands! Why, then I say it's a unbearable and
nonsensical piece of inconsistency, and I'm disgusted. I'm ashamed and
disgusted!"

"I wish you would come and look at him," said Mr. Traveller, clapping the
Tinker on the shoulder.

"Not I, sir," he rejoined. "I ain't a going to flatter him up by looking
at him!"

"But he is asleep."

"Are you sure he is asleep?" asked the Tinker, with an unwilling air, as
he shouldered his wallet.

"Sure."

"Then I'll look at him for a quarter of a minute," said the Tinker,
"since you so much wish it; but not a moment longer."

They all three went back across the road; and, through the barred window,
by the dying glow of the sunset coming in at the gate--which the child
held open for its admission--he could be pretty clearly discerned lying
on his bed.