Mrs V., according to custom, expressed her hope that Varden would take a lesson from what had passed and learn more generous conduct for the time to come; and the dinner being now cold and nobody's appetite very much improved by what had passed, they went on with it, as Mrs Varden said, 'like Christians.' As there was to be a grand parade of the Royal East London Volunteers that afternoon, the locksmith did no more work; but sat down comfortably with his pipe in his mouth, and his arm round his pretty daughter's waist, looking lovingly on Mrs V., from time to time, and exhibiting from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, one smiling surface of good humour.

And to be sure, when it was time to dress him in his regimentals, and Dolly, hanging about him in all kinds of graceful winning ways, helped to button and buckle and brush him up and get him into one of the tightest coats that ever was made by mortal tailor, he was the proudest father in all England.
'What a handy jade it is!' said the locksmith to Mrs Varden, who stood by with folded hands--rather proud of her husband too--while Miggs held his cap and sword at arm's length, as if mistrusting that the latter might run some one through the body of its own accord; 'but never marry a soldier, Doll, my dear.' Dolly didn't ask why not, or say a word, indeed, but stooped her head down very low to tie his sash.
'I never wear this dress,' said honest Gabriel, 'but I think of poor Joe Willet.

I loved Joe; he was always a favourite of mine.

Poor Joe!--Dear heart, my girl, don't tie me in so tight.' Dolly laughed--not like herself at all--the strangest little laugh that could be--and held her head down lower still.
'Poor Joe!' resumed the locksmith, muttering to himself; 'I always wish he had come to me.

I might have made it up between them, if he had.