“No, no, no! I’ll carry it myself,” returned Miss Wren. “I’m awfully lopsided, you know, and stowed down in my pocket it’ll trim the ship. To let you into a secret, godmother, I wear my pocket on my high side, o’ purpose.”

With that they began their plodding through the fog.

“Yes, it was truly sharp of you, godmother,” resumed Miss Wren with great approbation, “to understand me. But, you see, you are so like the fairy godmother in the bright little books! You look so unlike the rest of people, and so much as if you had changed yourself into that shape, just this moment, with some benevolent object. Boh!” cried Miss Jenny, putting her face close to the old man’s. “I can see your features, godmother, behind the beard.”

“Does the fancy go to my changing other objects too, Jenny?”