She would smile, Tom, often at first when you spoke to her, or when she looked at you--merrily too--but you wouldn't mind that.

A brighter smile you never saw.' 'No, no,' said Tom.

'I wouldn't mind that.' 'She would be as tender with you, Tom,' said Martin, 'as if you were a child yourself.

So you are almost, in some things, an't you, Tom ?' Mr Pinch nodded his entire assent.
'She would always be kind and good-humoured, and glad to see you,' said Martin; 'and when she found out exactly what sort of fellow you were (which she'd do very soon), she would pretend to give you little commissions to execute, and to ask little services of you, which she knew you were burning to render; so that when she really pleased you most, she would try to make you think you most pleased her.

She would take to you uncommonly, Tom; and would understand you far more delicately than I ever shall; and would often say, I know, that you were a harmless, gentle, well-intentioned, good fellow.' How silent Tom Pinch was! 'In honour of old time,' said Martin, 'and of her having heard you play the organ in this damp little church down here--for nothing too--we will have one in the house.