Beside him sat a sleek cat, purring and winking in the light, and falling every now and then into an idle doze, as from excess of comfort.
Toby looked on from a tall bench hard by; one beaming smile, from his broad nut-brown face down to the slack-baked buckles in his shoes.

The very locks that hung around had something jovial in their rust, and seemed like gouty gentlemen of hearty natures, disposed to joke on their infirmities.

There was nothing surly or severe in the whole scene.
It seemed impossible that any one of the innumerable keys could fit a churlish strong-box or a prison-door.

Cellars of beer and wine, rooms where there were fires, books, gossip, and cheering laughter--these were their proper sphere of action.

Places of distrust and cruelty, and restraint, they would have left quadruple-locked for ever.
Tink, tink, tink.