"
The crafty dwarf stopped short in his answer, and said,----
"Now, who do you think?"
"It was Kit. It must have been the boy. He played the spy, and you
tampered with him."
"How came you to think of him?" said the dwarf. "Yes, it was Kit. Poor
Kit!" So saying, he nodded in a friendly manner, and took his leave;
stopping when he passed the outer door a little distance, and grinning
with extraordinary delight.
"Poor Kit!" muttered Quilp. "I think it was Kit who said I was an uglier
dwarf than could be seen anywhere for a penny, wasn't it? Ha, ha, ha! Poor
Kit!"
And with that he went his way, still chuckling as he went.
That evening Kit spent in his own home. The room in which he sat down, was
an extremely poor and homely place, but with that air of comfort about it,
nevertheless, which cleanliness and order can always impart in some
degree. Late as the Dutch clock showed it to be, Kit's mother was still
hard at work at an ironing-table; a young child lay sleeping in a cradle
near the fire; and another, a sturdy boy of two or three years old, very
wide awake, was sitting bolt upright in a clothes-basket, staring over the
rim with his great round eyes.
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