He had never varied his ground an inch, but had in the beginning diffidently taken the corner upon which the side of the house gave.

A howling corner in the winter time, a dusty corner in the summer time, an undesirable corner at the best of times.

Shelterless fragments of straw and paper got up revolving storms there, when the main street was at peace; and the water-cart, as if it were drunk or short-sighted, came blundering and jolting round it, making it muddy when all else was clean.
On the front of his sale-board hung a little placard, like a kettle-holder, bearing the inscription in his own small text: Errands gone On with fi Delity By Ladies and Gentlemen I remain Your humble Servt: Silas Wegg He had not only settled it with himself in course of time, that he was errand-goer by appointment to the house at the corner (though he received such commissions not half a dozen times in a year, and then only as some servant's deputy), but also that he was one of the house's retainers and owed vassalage to it and was bound to leal and loyal interest in it.

For this reason, he always spoke of it as 'Our House,' and, though his knowledge of its affairs was mostly speculative and all wrong, claimed to be in its confidence.

On similar grounds he never beheld an inmate at any one of its windows but he touched his hat.