'John!' But John was on the other side of her. Why turn her face
towards the strange old gentleman, as if addressing him! Was her
brain wandering?

'Only a fancy, John dear--a kind of shock--a something coming
suddenly before my eyes--I don't know what it was. It's quite
gone, quite gone.'

'I'm glad it's gone,' muttered Tackleton, turning the expressive
eye all round the room. 'I wonder where it's gone, and what it
was. Humph! Caleb, come here! Who's that with the grey hair?'

'I don't know, sir,' returned Caleb in a whisper. 'Never see him
before, in all my life. A beautiful figure for a nut-cracker;
quite a new model. With a screw-jaw opening down into his
waistcoat, he'd be lovely.'

'Not ugly enough,' said Tackleton.

'Or for a firebox, either,' observed Caleb, in deep contemplation,
'what a model! Unscrew his head to put the matches in; turn him
heels up'ards for the light; and what a firebox for a gentleman's
mantel-shelf, just as he stands!'

'Not half ugly enough,' said Tackleton. 'Nothing in him at all!
Come! Bring that box! All right now, I hope?'

'Quite gone!' said the little woman, waving him hurriedly away.
'Good night!'