All the neighbors laughed at this poor ending of our expectations, for Jemmy had bragged not a little; however, we did not care, for the connection was always a good one, and we served Mr.Hock, the valet; Mr.Bar, the coachman; and Mrs.Breadbasket, the housekeeper, willingly enough.

I used to powder the footman, too, on great days, but never in my life saw old Tuggeridge, except once: when he said "Oh, the barber!" tossed up his nose, and passed on.
One day--one famous day last January--all our Market was thrown into a high state of excitement by the appearance of no less than three vehicles at our establishment.

As me, Jemmy, my daughter, Tug, and Orlando, were sitting in the back-parlor over our dinner (it being Christmas-time, Mr.Crump had treated the ladies to a bottle of port, and was longing that there should be a mistletoe-bough: at which proposal my little Jemimarann looked as red as a glass of negus):--we had just, I say, finished the port, when, all of a sudden, Tug bellows out, "La, Pa, here's uncle Tuggeridge's housekeeper in a cab!" And Mrs.Breadbasket it was, sure enough--Mrs.Breadbasket in deep mourning, who made her way, bowing and looking very sad, into the back shop.

My wife, who respected Mrs.B.more than anything else in the world, set her a chair, offered her a glass of wine, and vowed it was very kind of her to come.

"La, mem," says Mrs.B., "I'm sure I'd do anything to serve your family, for the sake of that poor dear Tuck-Tuck-tug-guggeridge, that's gone." "That's what ?" cries my wife.
"What, gone ?" cried Jemimarann, bursting out crying (as little girls will about anything or nothing); and Orlando looking very rueful, and ready to cry too.
"Yes, gaw--" Just as she was at this very "gaw" Tug roars out, "La, Pa! here's Mr.Bar, uncle Tug's coachman!" It was Mr.Bar.When she saw him, Mrs.Breadbasket stepped suddenly back into the parlor with my ladies.