Sae wull ye hae a drappy parritch an' ream?
or wad ye prefar a sup of fine gruel, sic as yer mother used to like weel frae my han', whan it sae happent I was i' the hoose ?" The offer seemed to the boy to bring him a little nearer the mother whose memory he worshipped, and on the point of saying, for the sake of saving her trouble, that he would have the porridge, he chose the gruel.
He watched from his nest the whole process of its making.

It took a time of its own, for one of the secrets of good gruel is a long acquaintance with the fire .-- Many a time the picture of that room returned to him in far different circumstances, like a dream of quiet and self-sustained delight--though his one companion was an aged woman.
When he had taken it, he fell asleep once more, and when he woke again, it was in the middle of the night.

The lamp was nearly burned out: it had a long, red, disreputable nose, that spoke of midnight hours and exhausted oil.

The old lady was dozing in her chair.

The clock had just struck something, for the sound of its bell was yet faintly pulsing in the air.