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promised to tell us what they were。 Ada remembers？”
Ada remembered very well。
“Did I？” said Miss Flite—“who’s that at my door？ What are you
listening at my door for； Krook？”
The old man of the house； pushing it open before him；
appeared there with his fur…cap in his hand； and his cat at his
heels。
“I warn’t listening； Miss Flite；” he said。 “I was going to give a
rap with my knuckles； only you’re so quick！”
“Make your cat go down。 Drive her away！” the old lady angrily
exclaimed。
“Bah； bah！—There ain’t no danger； gentlefolks；” said Mr Krook；
looking slowly and sharply from one to another； until he had
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looked at all of us； “she’d never offer at the birds when I was here；
unless I told her to it。”
“You will excuse my landlord；” said the old lady with a
dignified air。 “M； quite M！ What do you want； Krook； when I have
company？”
“Hi！” said the old man。 “You know I am the Chancellor。”
“Well？” returned Miss Flite。 “What of that？”
“For the Chancellor；” said the old man with a chuckle； “not to
be acquainted with a Jarndyce is queer； ain’t it； Miss Flite？
Mightn’t I take the liberty？—Your servant； sir。 I know Jarndyce
and Jarndyce a’most as well as you do； sir。 I knowed old Squire
Tom； sir。 I never to my knowledge see you afore though； not even
in Court。 Yet； I go there a mortal sight of times in the course of the
year； taking one day with another。”
“I never go there；” said Mr Jarndyce （which he never did on
any consideration）。 “I would sooner go—somewhere else。”
“Would you； though？” returned Krook； grinning。 “You’re
bearing hard upon my noble and learned brother in your meaning；
sir； though perhaps it is but nat’ral in a Jarndyce。 The burnt child；
sir！ What； you’re looking at my lodger’s birds； Mr Jarndyce？” The
old man had come by little and little into the room； until he now
touched my Guardian with his elbow； and looked close up into his
face with his spectacled eyes。 “It’s one of her strange ways； that
she’ll never tell the names of these birds if she can help it； though
she named ’em all。” This was in a whisper。 “Shall I run ’em over；
Flite？” he asked aloud； winking at us and pointing at her as she
turned away； affecting to sweep the grate。
“If you like；” she answered hurriedly。
The old man； looking up at the cages； after another look at us；
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went through the list。
“Hope； Joy； Youth； Peace； Rest； Life； Dust； Ashes； Waste； Want；
Ruin； Despair； Madness； Death； Cunning； Folly； Words； Wigs；
Rags； Sheepskin； Plunder； Precedent； Jargon； Gammon； and
Spinach。 That’s the whole collection；” said the old man； “all
cooped up together； by my noble and learned brother。”
“This is a bitter wind！” muttered my Guardian。
“When my noble and learned brother gives his Judgement；
they’re to be let go free；” said Krook； winking at us again。 “And
then；” he added； whispering and grinning； “if that ever was to
happen—which it won’t—the birds that have never been caged
would kill ’em。”
“If ever the wind was in the east；” said my Guardian；
pretending to look out of the window for a weathercock； “I think
it’s there today！”
We found it very difficult to get away from the house。 It was not
Miss Flite who detained us； she was as reasonable a little creature
in consulting the convenience of others； as there possibly could be。
It was Mr Krook。 He seemed unable to detach himself from Mr
Jarndyce。 If he had been linked to him； he could hardly have
attended him more closely。 He proposed to show us his Court of
Chancery； and all the strange medley it contained； during the
whole of our inspection （prolonged by himself） he kept close to Mr
Jarndyce； and sometimes detained him； under one pretence or
other； until we had passed on； as if he were tormented by an
inclination to enter upon some secret subject； which he could not
make up his mind to approach。 I cannot imagine a countenance
and manner more singularly expressive of caution and indecision；
and a perpetual impulse to do something he could not resolve to
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venture on； than Mr Krook was； that day。 His watchfulness of my
Guardian was incessant。 He rarely removed his eyes from his face。
If he went on beside him； he observed him with the slyness of an
old white fox。 If he went before he looked back。 When we stood
still； he got opposite to him； and drawing his hand across and
across his open mouth with a curious expression of a sense of
power； and turning up his eyes； and lowering his grey eyebrows
until they appeared to be shut； seemed to scan every lineament of
his face。
At last； having been （always attended by the cat） all over the
house； and having seen the whole stock of miscellaneous lumber；
which was certainly curious； we came into the back part of the
shop。 Here； on the head of an empty barrel stood on end； were an
ink…bottle； some old stumps of pens； and some dirty playbills； and；
against the wall； were pasted several large printed alphabets in
several plain hands。
“What are you doing here？” asked my Guardian。
“Trying to learn myself to read and write；” said Krook。
“And how do you get on？”
“Slow。 Bad；” returned the old man； impatiently。 “It’s hard at
my time of life。”
“It would be easier to be taught by some one；” said my
Guardian。
“Ay； but they might teach me wrong！” returned the old man；
with a wonderfully suspicious flash of his eye。 “I don’t know what I
may have lost； by not being learnd afore。 I wouldn’t like to lose
anything by being learnd wrong now。”
“Wrong？” said my Guardian； with his good…humoured smile。
“Who do you suppose would teach you wrong？”
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“I don’t know； Mr Jarndyce of Bleak House！” replied the old
man； turning up his spectacles on his forehead； and rubbing his
hands。 “I don’t suppose as anybody would—but I’d rather trust my
own self than another！”
These answers； and his manner； were strange enough to cause
my Guardian to inquire of Mr Woodcourt； as we all walked across
Lincoln’s Inn together； whether Mr Krook were really； as his
lodger represented