Chapter 27 - Page 2

thinking. Always, Little Dorrit. Until
it seemed to him as if he met the reward of having wandered away
from her, and suffered anything to pass between him and his
remembrance of her virtues.

His door was opened, and the head of the elder Chivery was put in
a very little way, without being turned towards him.

'I am off the Lock, Mr Clennam, and going out. Can I do anything
for you?'

'Many thanks. Nothing.'

'You'll excuse me opening the door,' said Mr Chivery; 'but I
couldn't make you hear.'

'Did you knock?'
'Half-a-dozen times.'

Rousing himself, Clennam observed that the prison had awakened from
its noontide doze, that the inmates were loitering about the shady
yard, and that it was late in the afternoon. He had been thinking
for hours.
'Your things is come,' said Mr Chivery, 'and my son is going to
carry 'em up. I should have sent 'em up but for his wishing to
carry 'em himself. Indeed he would have 'em himself, and so I
couldn't send 'em up. Mr Clennam, could I say a word to you?'

'Pray come in,' said Arthur; for Mr Chivery's head was still put in
at the door a very little way, and Mr Chivery had but one ear upon
him, instead of both eyes. This was native delicacy in Mr Chivery
--true politeness; though his exterior had very much of a turnkey
about it, and not the least of a gentleman.

'Thank you, sir,' said Mr Chivery, without advancing; 'it's no odds
me coming in. Mr Clennam, don't you take no notice of my son (if
you'll be so good) in case you find him cut up anyways difficult.
My son has a 'art, and my son's 'art is in the right place. Me and
his mother knows where to find it, and we find it sitiwated
correct.'

With this mysterious speech, Mr Chivery took his ear away and shut
the door. He might have been gone ten minutes, when his son
succeeded him.

'Here's your portmanteau,' he said to Arthur, putting it carefully
down.

'It's very kind of you. I am ashamed that you should have the
trouble.'

He was gone before it came to that; but soon returned, saying
exactly as before, 'Here's your black box:' which he also put down
with care.

'I am very sensible of this attention. I hope we may shake hands
now, Mr John.'

Young John, however, drew back, turning his right wrist in a socket
made of his left thumb and middle-finger and said as he had said at
first, 'I don't know as I can. No; I find I can't!' He then stood
regarding the prisoner sternly, though with a swelling humour in
his eyes that looked like pity.

'Why are you angry with me,' said Clennam, 'and yet so ready to do
me these kind services? There must be some mistake between us. If
I have done anything to occasion it I