"Madam Bond," said he, "comfort me."
A patriot passed. The old man held out the snuffbox. The man hesitated and started back.
"The royal arms will have to go," said the patriot.
"Where from?" said the old man excited.
"From everywhere. We are about to decree a new world."
"They will never take these golden arms from that snuffbox. Sir, do you know that box was given to the Proprietor by Queen Charlotte herself?"
"Well, the golden arms will have to come off it; they will have to come down everywhere. No—I thank you," he continued. "I can not ever take snuff again out of a snuffbox like that."
Poor old Mr. Calamity turned to the lady.
"What am I to do? Where am I to go? You do pity me, don't you?"
A little girl passed near. He held out the box. The girl ran. The poor old man began to tremble.