File:Master Humphrey's clock (1840) (14579214089).jpg

Identifier: masterhumphreysc02dick (find matches)
Title: Master Humphrey's clock
Year: 1840 (1840s)
Authors: Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870 Cattermole, George, 1800-1868, ill Browne, Hablot Knight, 1815-1882, ill
Subjects: Gordon Riots, 1780
Publisher: London : Chapman and Hall
Contributing Library: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign

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it was, combined with thegreat fatigue she had undergone, soon caused the tumult of the place to fallwith a gentler sound upon the childs tired ears, and was not long in lullingher to sleep. The old man was stretched beside her, and with her hand uponhis neck she lay and dreamed. It was yet night when she awoke, nor did she know how long, or for howshort a time, she had slept. But she found herself protected, both from anycold air that might find its way into the building, and from the scorching heat,by some of the workmens clothes ; and glancing at their friend saw that he satin exactly the same attitude, looking with a fixed earnestness of attentiontowards the fire, and keeping so very still that he did not even seem to MASTER HUMPHREYS CLOCK. 41 breathe. She lay in the state between sleeping and waking, looking so Ion fl-at his motionless figure that at length she almost feared he had died as hesat there ; and, softly rising and drawing close to him, ventured to whisper inhis ear.
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=~ iMCSU-^- He moved, and glancing from her to the place she had lately occupied, asif to assure himself that it was really the child so near him, looked inquiringlyinto her face. I feared you were ill, she said. The other men are all in motion, andyou are so very quiet. They leave me to myself, he replied. They know my humour.They laugh at me, but dont harm me in it. See yonder there—thats viyfriend. « The fire V said the child. It has been alive as long as I have, the man made answer. We talkand think together all night long:. The child glanced quickly at him in her surprise, but he had turned hiseyes in their former direction, and was musing as before. Its like a book to mo, he said— the only book I ever learned to read;and many an old story it tells me. Its music, for I should know its voiceamong a thousand, and there are other voices in its roar. It has its picturestoo. You dont know how many strange faces and different scenes I trace inthe red-hot coals. Its my memory, that

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