How could the little man be otherwise than bewildered , after labouring for so many years to destroy his own identity , and that of all the objects that had any bearing on it ? `` There we are , '' said Caleb , falling back a pace or two to form the better judgment of his work ; `` as near the real thing as sixpenn ` orth of halfpence is to sixpence . What a pity that the whole front of the house opens at once ! If there was only a staircase in it now , and regular doors to the rooms to go in at ! But that 's the worst of my calling , I 'm always deluding myself , and swindling myself . '' `` You are speaking quite softly . You are not tired , father ? '' `` Tired ! '' echoed Caleb with a great burst of animation . `` What should tire me , Bertha ? I was never tired . What does it mean ? '' To give the greater force to his words , he checked himself in an involuntary imitation of two half-length stretching and yawning figures on the mantel-shelf , who were represented as in one eternal state of weariness from the waist upwards ; and hummed a fragment of a song . It was a Bacchanalian song , something about a Sparkling Bowl . He sang it with an assumption of a Devil-may-care voice , that made his face a thousand times more meagre and more thoughtful than ever . `` What ! You 're singing , are you ? '' said Tackleton , putting his head in at the door . `` Go it ! I ca n't sing . ''
Nobody would have suspected him XXXXX it .
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