the outcast. Seasonable thoughts, if not exactly festive. For all is
not festive, even at the Festive Season.

Scandals in high life, starvation in low life; foul floods of
nastiness in Law Courts; muddy tricklings of misery in lawless alleys;
crimes so terrible and revolting; pains so pitiless and cureless;
follies so selfish and wanton, that he let the journal drop, and fell
back in his chair, appalled.

"Unnatural and cruel, _Toby_!" he cried. "Unnatural and cruel! None
but people who were born bad at heart--born bad--who had no business
on the earth, could do such deeds. We're Bad!"

The Chimes took up the words so suddenly--burst out so loud, clear,
and sonorous--that the Bells seemed to strike him in his chair.

And what was it that they said?

"_Punch_ and _Toby! Toby_ and _Punch_! Waiting for you, _Toby_ and
_Punch_! Come and see us! Come and see us! Come and see us! Drag them
to us! Haunt and hunt them! Haunt and hunt them. Break their slumbers!
Break their slumbers! _Punch, Toby; Toby, Punch; Toby, Punch; Punch,
Toby_!!" Then fiercely back to their impetuous strain again, and
ringing in the very bricks and plaster on the Sanctum's walls!

_Toby_ barked! _Punch_ listened! Fancy, fancy! No, no! Nothing of the
kind. Again, again, and yet a dozen times again. "Haunt and hunt them!
Haunt and hunt them!"

"If the tower is really open," said _Punch_, "what's to hinder us,