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Chroniclers have told us how, after fierce battles that have raged from dawn till nightfall, the moon has come calmly up from the horizon and shone peacefully and serenely over the field of strife and death. So arose a beneficent smile ever and anon over the wrinkled and careworn face of the old clerk; but still he wrote on, Faithful Dave! and if pleasant thoughts swept through him they avoided the business that occupied his hands and did not interrupt it.

They had long sat in quietness, only broken by the noise of turning leaves and crackling coals,–but, in truth, if David Dubbs’s eye, in its course to and from the clock, had not, like the world, worked silently on its axis, there must have been continual creaking–when a noise like the name of David emanated from the ledger, and following it–for it was near-sighted–the head of Emanuel Griffin, Esq., lifted itself to an erect posture and repeated in a less muffled tone, “David!”

“Yes, sir,” answered the old clerk, in a weak little voice, and climbing down to the floor from his perch.

“You may lock up, David. Ten thousand and odd. Ten thousand’s a good year, David; a very good year. Very–good–indeed! But go and lock up,” and then Mr. Griffin took a glance at the clock. “Half-past six! Why it’s surprising how time does fly, and Christmas Eve, too. Well, well! But hurry up with the shutters, David, and we shan’t be long—-“

Before Mr. Griffin had fully delivered himself of these remarks the little person of David Dubbs was out in the cold, was in and out among the screws on the door, had put up the shutters, and simultaneously with the last word stood in the half-opened door and, all unseen by his employer, waved his hand to some one at the corner of the court. He then walked as quickly as his little, bent legs–parabolic were they in outline, but, as this is not a geometric treatise, it is of no particular consequence–would permit him up the long aisle in the centre of the room, and sent off timid little echoes of his steps to ramble away among the bales of crockery–for it was crockery that Emanuel Griffin, Esq., dealt in–and rattle among the piles of plates.

Having reached again his little cage of an office, he took down from its accustomed peg an old, threadbare coat, and, with much exertion and outstretching of arms, finally got it on, turned up the collar, tied about his ears a not very robust scarf, and laid thereon, as the copestone of his apparel, a dingy high hat that had undergone, in point of nap, as many reverses as its wearer in point of fortune. Thus attired, he tipped his hat to his employer, all ready, like himself, to depart, and started out.

Before he reached the door, a cry from Mr. Griffin arrested him, and he came hastily back; for, although it would have required a thumbscrew to have made him confess it, yet he had all day long looked forward to the time of parting, when he half expected Emanuel Griffin, Esq., contrary to his custom though it was, would offer him some little gift out of the increased profits of a business he had done no little to advance. But no such design had Mr. Griffin conceived, or if he had it was very soon suppressed as entirely unworthy of a man of purely business habits, and all he had to say was,–

“I know, David, there is something I was to have told you to do. Mrs. Griffin impressed it on me this morning, but,”–here he stood thinking for a moment,–“no matter,” he resumed. “I guess it was nothing very important, so good-by, David, and a–good-by!” He was going to say “and a merry Christmas;” but for a man of purely business habits to unbend so far and become cheerful–why, it’s subversive of all business discipline, and so he thought to himself.