we was going to WINDSOR, I give her those letters in that order, and then
at every milestone I showed her those same letters in that same order
again, and pointed towards the abode of royalty. Another time I give her
CART, and then chalked the same upon the cart. Another time I give her
DOCTOR MARIGOLD, and hung a corresponding inscription outside my
waistcoat. People that met us might stare a bit and laugh, but what did
_I_ care, if she caught the idea? She caught it after long patience and
trouble, and then we did begin to get on swimmingly, I believe you! At
first she was a little given to consider me the cart, and the cart the
abode of royalty, but that soon wore off.

We had our signs, too, and they was hundreds in number. Sometimes she
would sit looking at me and considering hard how to communicate with me
about something fresh,--how to ask me what she wanted explained,--and
then she was (or I thought she was; what does it signify?) so like my
child with those years added to her, that I half-believed it was herself,
trying to tell me where she had been to up in the skies, and what she had
seen since that unhappy night when she flied away. She had a pretty
face, and now that there was no one to drag at her bright dark hair, and
it was all in order, there was a something touching in her looks that
made the cart most peaceful and most quiet, though not at all melancholy.
[N.B. In the Cheap Jack patter, we generally sound it lemonjolly, and it
gets a laugh.]

The way she learnt to understand any look of mine was truly surprising.
When I sold of a night, she would sit in the cart unseen by them outside,
and would give a eager look into my eyes when I looked in, and would hand
me straight the precise article or articles I wanted. And then she would
clap her hands, and laugh for joy. And as for me, seeing her so bright,
and remembering what she was when I first lighted on her, starved and