We made a pause at the toy shop in Fleet Street, to see the giants of Saint Dunstan’s strike upon the bells — we had timed our going, so as to catch them at it, at twelve o’clock — and then went on towards Ludgate Hill, and St.

Paul’s Churchyard. We were crossing to the former place, when I found that my aunt greatly accelerated her speed, and looked frightened. I observed, at the same time, that a lowering ill-dressed man who had stopped and stared at us in passing, a little before, was coming so close after us as to brush against her.

‘Trot! My dear Trot!’ cried my aunt, in a terrified whisper, and pressing my arm. ‘I don’t know what I am to do.’

‘Don’t be alarmed,’ said I.