with unutterable names of incomprehensible peoples, of impossible descent, waging wars any number of years and syllables long, and carrying illimitable hosts and riches about, with the greatest ease, beyond the confines of geography—one evening the usual time passed by, and no patron appeared. After half an hour’s grace, Mr. Wegg proceeded to the outer gate, and there executed a whistle, conveying to Mr. Venus, if perchance within hearing, the tidings of his being at home and disengaged. Forth from the shelter of a neighbouring wall, Mr. Venus then emerged.
“Brother in arms,” said Mr. Wegg, in excellent spirits, “welcome!”
In return, Mr. Venus gave him a rather dry good evening.
“Walk in, brother,” said Silas, clapping him on the shoulder, “and take your seat in my chimley corner; for what says the ballad?
‘No malice to dread, sir, And no falsehood to fear, But truth to delight me, Mr. Venus, And I forgot what to cheer. Li toddle de om dee. And something to guide, My ain fireside, sir, My ain fireside.’ ”
With this quotation (depending for its neatness rather on the spirit than the words), Mr. Wegg conducted his guest to his hearth.
“And you come, brother,” said Mr. Wegg, in a hospitable glow, “you come like I don’t know what—exactly like it—I shouldn’t know you from it—shedding a halo all around you.”
“What kind of halo?” asked Mr. Venus.
“ ’Ope sir,” replied Silas. “That’s your halo.”
Mr. Venus appeared doubtful on the point, and looked rather discontentedly at the fire.