perspective of the square. No living being moved over the watery
pavement, save the solitary Snoxell. He plodded on into a Crescent, and
still the awful Sunday solitude spread grimly humid all around him. He
next entered a street with some closed shops in it; and here, at last,
some consoling signs of human life attracted his attention. He now saw
the crossing-sweeper of the district (off duty till church came out)
smoking a pipe under the covered way that led to a mews. He detected,
through half closed shutters, a chemist's apprentice yawing over a
large book. He passed a navigator, an ostler, and two costermongers
wandering wearily backwards and forwards before a closed public-house
door. He heard the heavy _clop clop_ of thickly-booted feet advancing
behind him, and a stern voice growling, "Now then! be off with you, or
you'll get locked up!"--and, looking round, saw an orange-girl, guilty
of having obstructed an empty pavement by sitting on the curb-stone,
driven along before a policeman, who was followed admiringly by a
ragged boy gnawing a piece of orange-peel. Having delayed a moment to
watch this Sunday procession of three with melancholy curiosity as it
moved by him, Snoxell was about to turn the corner of a street which
led directly to the church, when a shrill series of cries in a child's
voice struck on his ear and stopped his progress immediately.

The page stood stock-still in astonishment for an instant--then pulled
the new silk umbrella from under his arm, and turned the corner in a
violent hurry. His suspicions had not deceived him. There was Mr.
Thorpe himself walking sternly homeward through the rain, before church
was over. He led by the hand "Master Zack," who was trotting along
under protest, with his hat half off his head, hanging as far back from
his father's side as he possibly could, and howling all the time at the
utmost pitch of a very powerful pair of lungs.