"'You're a nice old beggar,' said Melchior, dreamily. 'You look like
an old hay-maker who has come to work in his shirt-sleeves, and
forgotten the rest of his clothes. Time! time you went to the
tailor's, I think.'

"This was very irreverent; but Melchior was not in a respectful mood;
and as for the old man, he was as calm as any philosopher.

"The night wore on, and the fire got lower and lower, and at last went
out altogether.

"'How stupid of me not to have mended it!' said Melchior; but he had
not mended it, and so there was nothing for it but to go to bed; and
to bed he went accordingly.

"'But I won't go to sleep,' he said; 'no, no; I shall keep awake, and
to-morrow they shall know that I have had a bad night.'

"So he lay in bed with his eyes wide open, and staring still at the
old print, which he could see from his bed by the light of the candle,
which he had left alight on the mantelpiece to keep him awake. The
flame waved up and down, for the room was draughty; and as the lights
and shadows passed over the old man's face, Melchior almost fancied
that it nodded to him, so he nodded back again; and as that tired him
he shut his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, there
was no longer any doubt--the old man's head was moving; and not only
his head, but his legs, and his whole body. Finally, he put his feet
out of the frame, and prepared to step right over the mantelpiece,
candle, and all.