Weller could restrain his feelings no
longer, but gave him twopence on the spot.
'It's in wain to deny it, mum,' said Mr. Weller, 'this here is a
boy arter his grandfather's own heart, and beats out all the boys
as ever wos or will be. Though at the same time, mum,' added Mr.
Weller, trying to look gravely down upon his favourite, 'it was
wery wrong on him to want to - over all the posts as we come along,
and wery cruel on him to force poor grandfather to lift him cross-
legged over every vun of 'em. He wouldn't pass vun single blessed
post, mum, and at the top o' the lane there's seven-and-forty on
'em all in a row, and wery close together.'
Here Mr. Weller, whose feelings were in a perpetual conflict
between pride in his grandson's achievements and a sense of his own
responsibility, and the importance of impressing him with moral
truths, burst into a fit of laughter, and suddenly checking
himself, remarked in a severe tone that little boys as made their
grandfathers put 'em over posts never went to heaven at any price.
By this time the housekeeper had made tea, and little Tony, placed
on a chair beside her, with his eyes nearly on a level with the top
of the table, was provided with various delicacies which yielded
him extreme contentment. The housekeeper (who seemed rather afraid
of the child, notwithstanding her caresses) then patted him on the
head, and declared that he was the finest boy she had ever seen.
'Wy, mum,' said Mr.
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