Something good-natured in the man's face, as I handed it up, encouraged me to ask him if he could tell me where Miss Trotwood lived; though I had asked the question so often, that it almost died upon my lips.
'Trotwood,' said he.

'Let me see.

I know the name, too.

Old lady ?' 'Yes,' I said, 'rather.' 'Pretty stiff in the back ?' said he, making himself upright.
'Yes,' I said.

'I should think it very likely.' 'Carries a bag ?' said he--'bag with a good deal of room in it--is gruffish, and comes down upon you, sharp ?' My heart sank within me as I acknowledged the undoubted accuracy of this description.
'Why then, I tell you what,' said he.