I was slow to make friends, and my evenings were spent reading a number of story books that I had brought with me from London.

One night, not long after the beginning of my new life in Liverpool, I was lying in bed listening to the wind and rain beating over the housetops and driving against the windows, when suddenly there came a loud rap at my door.

"Who's there?" I demanded, jumping out of bed.

I heard no answer, so I repeated my question, standing there and listening for a moment. I still heard nothing, however, except for the wind and the rain. Lighting a candle and dressing myself quickly, I opened the door. I could just make out the figure of a bent old man standing in the hallway, when a gust of wind suddenly blew out the candle. The door leading to the street was open, and the old man was probably a straggler come to beg me for shelter or for something to eat.