"Ashes; ashes!" mocked one called Cruelty, who had more than once taken my attention with his peculiar contortions—"talking of ashes, what of Love-the-log Faithful, Master Tongue-stump? What of Love-the-log Faithful?"
At which Liveloose was so extremely amused, the tears stood in his eyes for laughing.
I looked round for Mistrust, and easily recognised my friend by his hare-like face, and the rage in his little active eyes. But unfortunately, as I turned to enquire somewhat of Reverie, Liveloose suddenly paused in his merriment with open mouth; and the whole company heard my question, "But who was Love-the-log Faithful?"
I was at once again the centre of attention, and Mr. Obstinate rose very laboriously from his settle and held out a great hand to me.
"I'm pleased to meet thee," he said, with a heavy bow. "There's a dear heart with my good neighbour Superstition yonder who will present a very fair account of that misguided young man. Madam Wanton, here's a young gentleman that never heard tell of our old friend Love-the-log."
A shrill peal of laughter greeted this sally.
"Why, Faithful was a young gentleman, sir," explained the woman civilly enough, "who preferred his supper hot."
"Oh, Madam Wanton, my dear, my dear!" cried a long-nosed woman nearly helpless with amusement.
I saw Superstition gazing darkly at me. He shook his head as I was about to reply, so I changed my retort. "Who, then, was Mr. Christian?" I enquired simply.
At that the house shook with the roar of laughter that went up.