“That ’ere blessed lantern ’ull be the death on us all,” exclaimed Sam peevishly. “Take care wot you’re a-doin’ on, sir; you’re a-sendin’ a blaze o’ light, right into the back parlour winder.”

“Dear me!” said Mr. Pickwick, turning hastily aside, “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Now, it’s in the next house, sir,” remonstrated Sam.

“Bless my heart!” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, turning round again.

“Now, it’s in the stable, and they’ll think the place is afire,” said Sam. “Shut it up, sir, can’t you?”