Smith the very information which he wanted.

Such are the tastes and pursuits of some of the thoughtful, little
understood, working-men of Manchester.

And Margaret's grandfather was one of these. He was a little
wiry-looking old man, who moved with a jerking motion, as if his
limbs were worked by a string like a child's toy, with dun-coloured
hair lying thin and soft at the back and sides of his head; his
forehead was so large it seemed to overbalance the rest of his face,
which had, indeed, lost its natural contour by the absence of all
the teeth. The eyes absolutely gleamed with intelligence; so keen,
so observant, you felt as if they were almost wizard-like. Indeed,
the whole room looked not unlike a wizard's dwelling. Instead of
pictures were hung rude wooden frames of impaled insects; the little
table was covered with cabalistic books; and beside them lay a case
of mysterious instruments, one of which Job Legh was using when his
grand-daughter entered.

On her appearance he pushed his spectacles up so as to rest midway
on his forehead, and gave Mary a short, kind welcome. But Margaret
he caressed as a mother caresses her first-born; stroking her with
tenderness, and almost altering his voice as he spoke to her.

Mary looked round on the odd, strange things she had never seen at
home, and which seemed to her to have a very uncanny look.

"Is your grandfather a fortune-teller?" whispered she to her new
friend.