As Mr. Weller said this, he slowly recovered his former position, and winked at his firstborn, in a profound manner.

“It cert’nly seems a queer start to send out pocket-’ankerchers to people as don’t know the use on ’em,” observed Sam.

“They’re alvays a-doin’ some gammon of that sort, Sammy,” replied his father. “T’other Sunday I wos walkin’ up the road, wen who should I see, a-standin’ at a chapel door, with a blue soup-plate in her hand, but your mother-in-law! I werily believe there was change for a couple o’ suv’rins in it, then, Sammy, all in ha’pence; and as the people come out, they rattled the pennies in it, till you’d ha’ thought that no mortal plate as ever was baked, could ha’ stood the wear and tear. What d’ye think it was all for?”

“For another tea-drinkin’, perhaps,” said Sam.

“Not a bit on it,” replied the father; “for the shepherd’s water-rate, Sammy.”