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keen man—and he takes in everybody’s look at him； all at once；
individually and collectively； in a manner that stamps him a
remarkable man。
“George；” says the man； nodding； “how do you find yourself？”
“Why； it’s Bucket！” cries Mr George。
“Yes；” says the man； coming in and closing the door。 “I was
going down the street here； when I happened to stop and look in at
the musical instruments in the shop window—a friend of mine is
in wants of a second…hand wiolinceller； of a good tone—and I saw
a party enjoying themselves； and I thought it was you in the
corner； I thought I couldn’t be mistaken。 How goes the world with
you； George； at the present moment？ Pretty smooth？ And with
you； ma’am？ And with you； governor？ And Lord！” says Mr
Bucket； opening his arms； “here’s children too！ You may do
anything with me； if you only show me children。 Give us a kiss； my
pets。 No occasion to inquire who your father and mother is。 Never
saw such a likeness in my life！”
Mr Bucket； not unwelcome； has sat himself down next to Mr
George； and taken Quebec and Malta on his knees。 “You pretty
dears；” says Mr Bucket； “give us another kiss； it’s the only thing
I’m greedy in。 Lord bless you； how healthy you look！ And what
may be the ages of these two； ma’am？ I should put ’em down at
the figures of about eight and ten。”
“You’re very near； sir；” says Mrs Bagnet。 “I generally am near；”
returns Mr Bucket； “being so fond of children。 A friend of mine
has had nineteen of ’em； ma’am； all by one mother； and she’s still
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as fresh and rosy as the morning。 Not so much so as yourself； but；
upon my soul； she comes near you！ And what do you call these； my
darling？” pursues Mr Bucket； pinching Malta’s cheek。 “These are
peaches； these are。 Bless your heart！ And what do you think about
father？ Do you think father could recommend a second…hand
wiolinceller of a good tone for Mr Bucket’s friend； my dear？ My
name’s Bucket。 Ain’t that a funny name？”
These blandishments have entirely won the family heart。 Mrs
Bagnet forgets the day to the extent of filling a pipe and a glass for
Mr Bucket； and waiting upon him hospitably。 She would be glad
to receive so pleasant a character under any circumstances； but
she tells him that as a friend of George’s she is particularly glad to
see him this evening； for George has not been in his usual spirits。
“Not in his usual spirits？” exclaims Mr Bucket。 “Why； I never
heard of such a thing！ What’s the matter； George？ You don’t
intend to tell me you’ve been out of spirits。 What should you be out
of spirits for？ You haven’t got anything on your mind； you know？”
“Nothing particular；” returns the trooper。
“I should think not；” rejoins Mr Bucket。 “What could you have
on your mind； you know！ And have these pets got anything on
their minds； eh？ Not they； but they’ll be upon the minds of some of
the young fellows； some of these days； and make ’em precious low…
spirited。 I ain’t much of a prophet； but I can tell you that； ma’am。”
Mrs Bagnet； quite charmed； hopes Mr Bucket has a family of
his own。
“There； ma’am；” says Mr Bucket。 “Would you believe it？ No； I
haven’t。 My wife； and a lodger； constitute my family。 Mrs Bucket is
as fond of children as myself； and as wishful to have ’em； but no。
So it is。 Worldly goods are divided unequally； and man must not
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repine。 What a very nice back…yard； ma’am！ Any way out of that
yard； now？”
There is no way out of that yard。
“Ain’t there really？” says Mr Bucket。 “I should have thought
there might have been。 Well； I don’t know as I ever saw a back
yard that took my fancy more。 Would you allow me to look at it？
Thank you。 No； I see there’s no way out。 But what a very good…
proportioned yard it is！”
Having cast his sharp eye all about it； Mr Bucket returns to his
chair next his friend Mr George； and pats Mr George affectionately
on the shoulder。
“How are your spirits； now； George？”
“All right now；” returns the trooper。
“That’s your sort！” says Mr Bucket。 “Why should you ever have
been otherwise？ A man of your fine figure and constitution has no
right to be out of spirits。 That ain’t a chest to be out of spirits； is it；
ma’am？ And you haven’t got anything on your mind； you know；
George； what could you have on your mind！”
Somewhat harping on this phrase； considering the extent and
variety of his conversational powers； Mr Bucket twice or thrice
repeats it to the pipe he lights； and with a listening face that is
particularly his own。 But the sun of his sociality soon recovers
from this brief eclipse； and shines again。
“And this is brother； is it； my dears？” says Mr Bucket； referring
to Quebec and Malta for information on the subject of young
Woolwich。 “And a nice brother he is—half brother I mean to say。
For he’s too old to be your boy； ma’am。”
“I can certify at all events； that he is not anybody else’s；”
returns Mrs Bagnet； laughing。
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“Well； you do surprise me！ Yet he’s like you； there’s no denying。
Lord； he’s wonderfully like you！ But about what you may call the
brow； you know； there his father comes out！” Mr Bucket compares
the faces with one eye shut up； while Mr Bagnet smokes in stolid
satisfaction。
This is an opportunity for Mrs Bagnet to inform him； that the
boy is George’s godson。
“George’s godson； is he？” rejoins Mr Bucket； with extreme
cordiality。 I must shake hands over again with George’s godson。
Godfather and godson do credit to one another。 And what do you
intend to make of him； ma’am？ Does he show any turn for any
musical instrument？”
Mr Bagnet suddenly interposes； “Plays the Fife。 Beautiful。”
“Would you believe it； governor；” says Mr Bucket； struck by the
coincidence； “that when I was a boy I played the fife myself？ Not
in a scientific way； as I expect he does； but by ear。 Lord bless you！
British Grenadiers—there’s a tune to warm an Englishman up？
Could you give us British Grenadiers； my fine fellow？”
Nothing could be more acceptable to the little circle than this
call upon young Woolwich； who immediately fetches his fife and
performs the stirring melody： during which performance Mr
Bucket； much enlivened； beats time； and never fails to come in
sharp with the burden； “Brit Ish Gra…a…anadeers！” In short； he
shows so much musical tast