We had a long chat by the fire before we went to bed. I slept in a room on the same floor with my aunt’s, and was a little disturbed in the course of the night by her knocking at my door, as often as she was agitated by a distant sound of hackney-coaches or market-carts, and inquiring “if I heard the engines?” But towards morning she slept better, and suffered me to do so too.
At about mid-day, we set out for the offices of Messrs. Spenlow and Jorkins in Doctors’ Commons. My aunt, who had this other general opinion in reference to London, that every man she saw was a pickpocket, gave me her purse to carry for her, which had ten guineas in it and some silver.
We made a pause at the toy-shop in Fleet-street, to see the giants of Saint Dunstan’s strike upon the bells—we had timed our going, so as to catch them at it, at twelve o’clock—and then went on towards Ludgate Hill, and St. Paul’s Churchyard. We were crossing to the former place, when I found that my aunt greatly accelerated her speed, and looked frightened. I observed, at the same time, that a lowering ill-dressed man who had stopped and stared at us in passing, a little before, was coming so close after us, as to brush against her.
“Trot! My dear Trot!” cried my aunt, in a terrified whisper, and pressing my arm. “I don’t know what I am to do.”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said I. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Step into a shop, and I’ll soon get rid of this fellow.”
“No, no, child!” she returned. “Don’t speak to him for the world. I entreat, I order you!”
“Good Heaven, aunt!” said I. “He is nothing but a sturdy beggar.”
“You don’t know what he is!” replied my aunt. “You don’t know who he is! You don’t know what you say!”
We had stopped in an empty doorway, while this was passing, and he had stopped too.
“Don’t look at him!” said my aunt, as I turned my head indignantly, “but get me a coach, my dear, and wait for me in St. Paul’s Churchyard.”