“Cost? Why, not a crown.”
“A crown? ha! ha!—a pot o' beer! Little Tom borrowed it; had it of our own sweep. Said 'twas for himself. I bid him a pint; rascal would not take less.”
“Did your late uncle,” said the white domino in a low voice to Cecilia, “chuse for two of your guardians Mr Harrel and Mr Briggs, to give you an early lesson upon the opposite errors of profusion and meanness?”
“My uncle?” cried Cecilia, starting, “were you acquainted with my uncle?”
“No,” said he, “for my happiness I knew him not.”
“You would have owed no loss of happiness to an acquaintance with him,” said Cecilia, very seriously, “for he was one who dispensed to his friends nothing but good.”
“Perhaps so,” said the domino; “but I fear I should have found the good he dispensed through his niece not quite unmixed with evil!”
“What's here?” cried the chimney-sweeper, stumbling over the fiend, “what's this black thing? Don't like it; looks like the devil. You shan't stay with it; carry you away; take care of you myself.”
He then offered Cecilia his hand; but the black gentleman, raising himself upon his knees before her, paid her, in dumb shew, the humblest devoirs, yet prevented her from removing.
“Ah ha!” cried the chimney-sweeper, significantly nodding his head, “smell a rat! a sweetheart in disguise. No bamboozling! it won't do; a'n't so soon put upon. If you've got any thing to say, tell me, that's the way. Where's the cash? Got ever a rental? Are warm? That's the point; are warm?”