Arriving at his home, he sat an hour in rose-colored reveries.

He dived at last into the bronze casket, and brought out the little boot-heel which was the beginning of all First Causes.
"If I could but find the cheating bungler," thought Richard, "who slighted that little shoe in making, I'd pile fortune upon him for the balance of his life.

And to think I owe my Dorothy to the cobbling scoundrel!" At three o'clock, with the soft fingers of the snow drumming drowsily against the pane, Richard went to sleep and dreamed of angels, all of whom were blue-eyed replicas of Dorothy.
Richard, still in a glorified trance, was up betimes.

Mr.Pickwick, who came to fawn upon him, the same being his doggish custom of a morning, found Richard tolerant but abstracted.

Hurt by a lack of notice, Mr.
Pickwick retired, and Matzai brought in breakfast.