“Oh, Robert,” said my Magdalen to me, two days before the match was to come off, “I have SUCH a kind letter from uncle Sam in London. I wrote to him as you wished. He says that he is coming down to-morrow, that he has heard of you often, and knows your character very well; and that he has got a VERY HANDSOME PRESENT for us! What can it be, I wonder?”
“Is he rich, my soul's adored?” says I.
“He is a bachelor, with a fine trade, and nobody to leave his money to.”
“His present can't be less than a thousand pounds?” says I.
“Or, perhaps, a silver tea-set, and some corner-dishes,” says she.
But we could not agree to this: it was too little—too mean for a man of her uncle's wealth; and we both determined it must be the thousand pounds.
“Dear good uncle! he's to be here by the coach,” says Magdalen. “Let us ask a little party to meet him.” And so we did, and so they came: my father and mother, old Crutty in his best wig, and the parson who was to marry us the next day. The coach was to come in at six. And there was the tea-table, and there was the punch-bowl, and everybody ready and smiling to receive our dear uncle from London.
Six o'clock came, and the coach, and the man from the “Green Dragon” with a portmanteau, and a fat old gentleman walking behind, of whom I just caught a glimpse—a venerable old gentleman: I thought I'd seen him before.
Then there was a ring at the bell; then a scuffling and bumping in the passage: then old Crutty rushed out, and a great laughing and talking, and “HOW ARE YOU?” and so on, was heard at the door; and then the parlor-door was flung open, and Crutty cried out with a loud voice—