"Thank goodness, we have not come to that!" said the incorrigible
Richard; but he was reduced to order by threats of being turned out,
and contented himself with burning the soles of his boots against the
bars of the grate in silence: and the friend continued:--

"But this was not the worst. Not only was he, Melchior, to sleep in
the same room with his brothers, but his bed being the longest and
largest, his youngest brother was to sleep at the other end of
it--foot to foot. True, by this means he got another pillow, for, of
course, that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb could do without one, and so he
took his; but, in spite of this, he determined that, sooner than
submit to such an indignity, he would sit up all night. Accordingly,
when all the rest were fast asleep, Melchior, with his boots off and
his waistcoat easily unbuttoned, sat over the fire in the long
lumber-room which served that night as 'barracks'. He had refused to
eat any supper downstairs to mark his displeasure, and now repaid
himself by a stolen meal according to his own taste. He had got a
pork-pie, a little bread and cheese, some large onions to roast, a
couple of raw apples, an orange, and papers of soda and tartaric acid
to compound effervescing draughts. When these dainties were finished,
he proceeded to warm some beer in a pan, with ginger, spice, and
sugar, and then lay back in his chair and sipped it slowly, gazing
before him, and thinking over his misfortunes.

"The night wore on, the fire got lower and lower, and still Melchior
sat, with his eyes fixed on a dirty old print that had hung above the
mantelpiece for years, sipping his 'brew', which was fast getting
cold. The print represented an old man in a light costume, with a
scythe in one hand and an hour-glass in the other; and underneath the
picture in flourishing capitals was the word TIME.