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smiling and dry； pipes； tobacco； and something to drink； are
placed upon the table； and the old girl enjoys the first peace of
mind she ever knows on the day of this delightful entertainment。
When Mr Bagnet takes his usual seat； the hands of the clock are
very near to half…past four； as they mark it accurately； Mr Bagnet
announces； “George！ Military time。”
It is George； and he has hearty congratulations for the old girl
（whom he kisses on the great occasion）； and for the children； and
for Mr Bagnet。 “Happy returns to all！” says Mr George。
“But； George； old man？” cries Mrs Bagnet； looking at him
curiously。 “What’s come to you？”
“Come to me？”
“Ah！ you are so white； George—for you—and look so shocked。
Now； don’t he； Lignum？”
“George；” says Mr Bagnet； “tell the old girl。 What’s the matter。”
“I didn’t know I looked white；” says the trooper； passing his
hand over his brow； “and I didn’t know I looked shocked； and I’m
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sorry I do。 But the truth is； that boy who was taken in at my place
died yesterday afternoon； and it has rather knocked me over。”
“Poor creetur！” says Mrs Bagnet； with a mother’s pity。 “Is he
gone？ Dear； dear！”
“I didn’t mean to say anything about it； for it’s not birthday talk；
but you have got it out of me； you see； before I sit down。 I should
have roused up in a minute；” says the trooper； making himself
speak more gaily； “but you’re so quick； Mrs Bagnet。”
“You’re right。 The old girl；” says Mr Bagnet。 “Is as quick。 As
powder。”
“And what’s more； she’s the subject of the day； and we’ll stick to
her；” cries Mr George。 “See here； I have brought a little brooch
along with me。 It’s a poor thing； you know； but it’s a keepsake。
That’s all the good it is； Mrs Bagnet。”
Mr George produces his present； which is greeted with
admiring leapings and clappings by the young family； and with a
species of reverential admiration by Mr Bagnet。 “Old girl；” says
Mr Bagnet。 “Tell him my opinion of it。”
“Why； it’s a wonder； George！” Mrs Bagnet exclaims。 “It’s the
beautifullest thing that ever was seen！”
“Good！” says Mr Bagnet。 “My opinion。”
“It’s so pretty； George；” cries Mrs Bagnet； turning it on all sides；
and holding it out at arm’s length； “that it seems too choice for
me。”
“Bad！” says Mr Bagnet。 “Not my opinion。”
“But whatever it is； a hundred thousand thanks； old fellow；”
says Mrs Bagnet； her eyes sparkling with pleasure； and her hand
stretched out to him； “and though I have been a cross…grained
soldier’s wife to you sometimes； George； we are as strong friends； I
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Bleak House 922
am sure； in reality； as ever can be。 Now you shall fasten it on
yourself； for good luck； if you will； George。”
The children close up to see it done； and Mr Bagnet looks over
young Woolwich’s head to see it done； with an interest so maturely
wooden； yet so pleasantly childish； that Mrs Bagnet cannot help
laughing in her airy way； and saying； “O； Lignum； Lignum； what a
precious old chap you are！” But the trooper fails to fasten the
brooch。 His hand shakes； he is nervous； and it falls off。 “Would any
one believe this？” says he； catching it as it drops； and looking
round。 “I am so out of sorts that I bungle at an easy job like this！”
Mrs Bagnet concludes that for such a case there is no remedy
like a pipe； and fastening the brooch herself in a twinkling； causes
the trooper to be inducted into his usual snug place； and the pipes
to be got into action。 “If that don’t bring you round； George；” says
she； “just throw your eye across here at your present now and
then； and the two together must do it。”
“You ought to do it of yourself；” George answers； “I know that
very well； Mrs Bagnet。 I’ll tell you how； one way and another； the
blues have got to be too many for me。 Here was this poor lad。
’Twas dull work to see him dying as he did； and not be able to help
him。”
“What do you mean； George？ You did help him。 You took him
under your roof。”
“I helped him so far； but that’s little。 I mean； Mrs Bagnet； there
he was； dying without ever having been taught much more than to
know his right hand from his left。 And he was too far gone to be
helped out of that。”
“Ah； poor creetur！” says Mrs Bagnet。
“Then；” says the trooper； not yet lighting his pipe； and passing
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Bleak House 923
his heavy hand over his hair； “that brought up Gridley in a man’s
mind。 His was a bad case too； in a different way。 Then the two got
mixed up in a man’s mind with a flinty old rascal who had to do
with both。 And to think of that rusty carbine； stock and barrel；
standing up on end in his corner； hard； indifferent； taking
everything so evenly—it made flesh and blood tingle； I do assure
you。”
“My advice to you；” returns Mrs Bagnet； “is to light your pipe；
and tingle that way。 It’s wholesomer and comfortabler； and better
for the health altogether。”
“You’re right；” says the trooper； “and I’ll do it！”
So； he does it： though still with an indignant gravity that
impresses the young Bagnets； and even causes Mr Bagnet to defer
the ceremony of drinking Mrs Bagnet’s health； always given by
himself； on these occasions； in a speech of exemplary terseness。
But the young ladies having composed what Mr Bagnet is in the
habit of calling “the mixtur；” and George’s pipe being now in a
glow； Mr Bagnet considers it his duty to proceed to the toast of the
evening。 He addresses the assembled company in the following
terms。
“George。 Woolwich。 Quebec。 Malta。 This is her birthday。 Take a
day’s march。 And you won’t find such another。 Here’s towards
her！”
The toast having been drunk with enthusiasm； Mrs Bagnet
returns thanks in a neat address of corresponding brevity。 This
model composition is limited to the three words “And wishing
yours！” which the old girl follows up with a nod at everybody in
succession； and a well…regulated swig of the mixture。 This she
again follows up； on the present occasion； by the wholly
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unexpected exclamation； “Here’s a man！”
Here is a man； much to the astonishment of the little company；
looking in at the parlour door。 He is a sharp…eyed man—a quick
keen man—and he takes i