diff options
Diffstat (limited to '43190-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 43190-0.txt | 16602 |
1 files changed, 16602 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/43190-0.txt b/43190-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aaad53c --- /dev/null +++ b/43190-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16602 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43190 *** + +Transcriber's Notes: + + 1. Page scan provided by: + Google Books: http://books.google.com/books?id=ycsBAAAAQAAJ + (Oxford University) + + 2. The diphthong ae is represented by [ae]. + + 3. Table of Contents added by Transcriber. + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +BLADE-O'-GRASS. + +INTRODUCTION. + + STONEY-ALLEY. + + + +PART I. + + A STRANGE EVENT OCCURS IN STONEY-ALLEY. + + HOW SHE ACQUIRED THE NAME OF BLADE-O'-GRASS. + + THE LEGEND OF THE TIGER. + + THE BATTLE OF LIFE. + + MR. MERRYWHISTLE RELIEVES HIMSELF ON THE SUBJECT OF + INDISCRIMINATE CHARITY. + + MRS. SILVER'S HOME. + + MR. MERRYWHISTLE MEETS THE QUEER LITTLE OLD MAN. + + JIMMY VIRTUE INTRODUCES MR. MERRYWHISTLE TO HIS PLACE + OF BUSINESS. + + THE STRANGE IDEA OF HALLELUJAH ENTERTAINED BY BLADE-O'-GRASS. + + THE INTERLUDE. + + + +PART II. + + THE PRISON WALL. + + ONE OF MANY HAPPY NIGHTS. + + FACE TO FACE--SO LIKE, YET SO UNLIKE. + + ROBERT TRUEFIT ALLOWS HIS FEELINGS TO MASTER HIM. + + TOO LATE. + + HELP THE POOR. + + + + +GOLDEN GRAIN. + + + I. THROUGH COUNTRY ROADS TO SOME GREEN PLEASANT SPOT. + + II. THANK GOD FOR A GOOD BREAKFAST! + + III. THEY LISTENED WITH ALMOST BREATHLESS ATTENTION TO EVERY WORD + THAT FELL FROM HER LIPS. + + IV. FOR MERCY'S SAKE, TELL ME! WHOSE VOICE WAS IT I HEARD JUST NOW? + + V. YOU'RE A PARSON, SIR, AND I PUT IT TO YOU. WHAT DO _YOU_ SAY TO + PARTING MOTHER AND CHILD? + + VI. FOR THESE AND SUCH AS THESE. + + VII. HEALTHY BODY MAKES HEALTHY MIND. + + VIII. THIS 'ERE FREE AND 'LIGHTENED COUNTRY OF OUR'N'S CRAMMED FULL + O' TEMPLES O' LIBERTY. + + IX. OPEN YOUR EYES, BABY! SPEAK TO ME! LOOK AT MOTHER, MY LIFE! + + X. NO, NO! BORN IN LOVE! IN LOVE! + + XI. ONCE UPON A TIME THERE LIVED ON AN ISLAND---- + + XII. IN THE DIM TWILIGHT OF THAT HOLY DAY. + + XIII. HIS SOUL IS IN YOUR HANDS TO SAVE AND PURIFY! + + XIV. IT IS SUNRISE. A GOLDEN MIST IS RISING FROM THE WATERS. + + XV. FAIRHAVEN. + + + + +BREAD AND CHEESE AND KISSES. + +Introduction. + +PART I. + + COME AND SHOW YOUR FACE, LIKE A MAN! + + AND SO THE LAD GOES ON WITH HIS BESSIE AND HIS BESSIE, UNTIL ONE + WOULD THINK HE HAS NEVER A MOTHER IN THE WORLD. + + YOU WORE ROSES THEN, MOTHER. + + IF I DID NOT LOVE HER, I WOULD NOT GO AWAY. + + WITH THE DAWNING OF A NEW YEAR, BEGIN A NEW LIFE. + + DEAR LOVE, GOOD-BYE. + + TOTTIE IS READY TO TEAR OLD BEN SPARROW LIMB FROM LIMB. + + HERE AND THERE ARE FORGET-ME-NOTS. + + BATTLEDOOR AND SHUTTLECOCK. + + TOTTIE'S DREAM. + + I CAN SEE YOU NOW, KISSING HER LITTLE TOES. + + ONE KISS FOR HOPE, ONE FOR FAITH, AND ONE FOR LOVE. + + YOU ALONE, AND MY MOTHER, ARE TRUE; ALL THE REST OF THE + WORLD IS FALSE. + + + +PART II. + + THEY SAW, UPON ONE OF THE NEAREST PEAKS, A MAN STANDING, WITH + SUNSET COLOURS ALL AROUND HIM. + + MORE PRECIOUS THAN GOLD, PURER THAN DIAMONDS, ARE THESE SWEET + AND DELICATE WAYS. + + +PART III. + + I HAVE COME TO RETURN YOU SOMETHING. + + WELL, MOTHER, DO YOU WANT ANY WASHING DONE? + + THE MAN IN POSSESSION. + + SOFTLY, SWEETLY, PROCEEDS THE HYMN OF HOME. + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "She grew to love these emerald leaves."] + + + + + + + _CHRISTMAS STORIES_. + + * * * * * + + + BLADE-O'-GRASS. GOLDEN GRAIN. + + AND + + BREAD AND CHEESE AND KISSES. + + BY + + B. L. FARJEON, + AUTHOR OF + "GRIF," "JOSHUA MARVEL," AND "LONDON'S HEART." + + * * * * * + + + + + LONDON: + TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. + 1874. + [_All Rights reserved_.] + + + + + + + BLADE-O'-GRASS. + + By B. L. FARJEON, + AUTHOR OF 'GRIF' and 'JOSHUA MARVEL.' + + +[Illustration] + + + INTRODUCTION. + + STONEY-ALLEY. + + + +[Illustration] + + +In the heart of a very maze of courts and lanes Stoney-alley proclaims +itself. It is one of multitude of deformed thoroughfares, which are +huddled together--by whim, or caprice, or in mockery--in a populous +part of the City, in utter defiance of all architectural rules. It is +regarded as an incontrovertible law, that everything must have a +beginning; and Stoney-alley could not have been an exception to this +law. It is certain that the alley and its surrounding courts and lanes +must once upon a time have been a space where houses were not; where, +perhaps, trees grew, and grass, and flowers. But it is difficult to +imagine; more difficult still to imagine how they were commenced, and +by what gradual means one wretched thoroughfare was added to another, +until they presented themselves to the world in the shapes and forms +they now bear; resembling an ungainly body with numerous limbs, every +one of which is twisted and deformed. Easier to fancy that they and +all the life they bear sprang up suddenly and secretly one dark night, +when Nature was in a sullen mood; and that being where they are, +firmly rooted, they have remained, unchangeable and unchanging, from +generation to generation. Records exist of fair islands rising from +the sea, clothed with verdure and replete with animal fife; but this +is the bright aspect of phenomena which are regarded as delusions by +many sober persons. Putting imagination aside, therefore, as a thing +of small account in these days (if only for the purpose of satisfying +unbelievers), and coming to plain matter of fact, it is not to be +doubted that Stoney-alley and its fellows grew upon earth's surface, +and did sot spring up, ready-made, from below--although, truth to +tell, it was worthy of such a creation. In the natural course of +things, the neighbourhood must have had architects and builders; but +no record of them is extant, and none is necessary for the purposes of +this story. Sufficient that Stoney-alley rears its ugly body--though +lowly withal--in the very heart of London, and that it may be seen any +day in the week in its worst aspect. It has no other: it is always at +its worst. + +Out of it crawl, from sunrise until midnight, men and women, who, when +they emerge into the wide thoroughfare which may be regarded as its +parent, not uncommonly pause for a few moments, or shade their eyes +with their hands, or look about them strangely, as if they have +received a surprise, or as if the different world in which they find +themselves requires consideration. Into it crawl, from sunrise until +midnight, the same men and women, who, it may be observed, draw their +breath more freely when they are away from the wide thoroughfares, and +who plunge into Stoney-alley as dusty, heat-worn travellers might +plunge into a refreshing bath, where the cool waters bring relief to +the parched skin. What special comfort these men and women find there, +would be matter for amazement to hundreds of thousands of other men +and women whose ways of life, happily, lie in pleasanter places. But +Stoney-alley, to these crawlers, is Home. + +Its houses could never have been bright; its pavements and roads--for +it has those, though rough specimens, like their treaders--could never +have been fresh. Worn-out stones and bricks, having served their time +elsewhere and been cashiered, were probably brought into requisition +here to commence a new and unclean life. No cart had ever been seen in +Stoney-alley: it was too narrow for one. A horse had once lived +there--a spare sad blind horse belonging to a costermonger, who worked +his patient servant sixteen hours a-day, and fed it upon Heaven knows +what. It was a poor patient creature; and as it trudged along, with +its head down, it seemed by its demeanour to express an understanding +of its meanness. That it was blind may have been a merciful +dispensation; for, inasmuch as we do not know for certain whether such +beasts can draw comparisons as well as carts, it may have been spared +the pangs of envy and bitterness, which it might have experienced at +the sight of the well-fed horses that passed it on the road. It was as +thin as a live horse well could be--so thin, that a cat might have +been forgiven for looking at it with contempt, as being likely to +serve no useful purpose after its worldly trudgings were ended. Its +mane was the raggedest mane that ever was seen; and it had no tail. +What of its hair had not been appropriated by its master the +costermonger, had been plucked out ruthlessly, from time to time, by +sundry boys and girls in Stoney-alley--being incited thereto by an +ingenious youth, who plaited the horsehair into watchguards, and who +paid his young thieves in weak liquorice-water, at the rate of a +teaspoonful for every dozen hairs--long ones--from the unfortunate +horse's tail. For years had this poor beast been wont to stumble over +the stones in Stoney-alley when its day's work was over, and wait like +a human being before its master's house for the door to open--rubbing +its nose gently up and down the panels when a longer delay than usual +occurred. The door being opened, it used to enter the narrow passage, +and fill the house with thunderous sound as it walked into a little +dirty yard, where a few charred boards (filched from a fire) had been +tacked together in the form of a shed, which offered large hospitality +to wind and rain. In this shed the wretched beast took its ease and +enjoyed its leisure, and died one night so quietly and unexpectedly, +that the costermonger, when he learnt the fact in the morning, cursed +it for an ungrateful 'warmint,' and declared that if his dumb servant +had yesterday shown any stronger symptoms of dying than it had usually +exhibited, he would have sold it for 'two-pun-ten to Jimmy the +Tinman.' So deeply was he impressed by the ingratitude of the animal, +that he swore he would have nothing more to do with the breed; and he +bought a donkey--a donkey with such a vicious temper, and such an +obstinate disposition, that the costermonger, in his endeavours to +render it submissive, became as fond of it as if it were one of his +own kindred, and soon grew to treat it in exactly the same manner as +he treated his wife. It would have been difficult, indeed, to decide +which was the more important creature of the two--the wife or the +donkey; for on two distinct occasions the costermonger was summoned +before magistrate--once for ill-treating his wife, and once for +ill-treating his donkey--and the sentence pronounced on each occasion +was precisely the same. It may be noted as a curious contrast +(affording no useful lesson that I am aware of), that when the +costermonger came out of prison for ill-treating his wife, he went +home and beat the poor creature unmercifully, who sat sobbing her +heart out in a corner the while; and that when he came out of prison +for ill-treating his donkey, he went into the rickety shed in his +back-yard and belaboured the obstinate brute with a heavy stick. But +the donkey, cunning after its kind, watched its opportunity, and gave +the costermonger such a spiteful kick, that he walked lame for three +months afterwards. + +It would be unfair to the costermonger not to state, that he was not +the only husband in those thoroughfares who was in the habit of +beating his wife. He was but one of a very numerous Brute family, in +whose breasts mercy finds no dwelling-place, and who marry and bring +up children in their own form and likeness, morally as well as +physically. It is to be lamented that, when the inhumanity of the +members of this prolific family is brought before the majesty of the +law for judgment--as is done every day of our lives--the punishment +meted out is generally light and insignificant as compared to the +offence. Yet it may be answered, that these wife-beaters and general +Brutes were children once; and the question may be asked, Whether, +taking into consideration that no opportunity was offered to them of +acquiring a knowledge of a better condition of things, they are fully +responsible for their actions now that they are men? We wage war +against savage beasts for our own protection. But how about savage +men, who might have been taught better--who might have been humanised? +We press our thumb upon them, and make laws to punish the exercise of +their lawless passions. But have they no case against us? Is all the +right on our side, and all the wrong on theirs? That the problem is an +old one, is the more to be lamented; every year, nay, every hour, its +roots are striking deeper and deeper into the social stratum. The +proverb, 'when things are quiet, let them be quiet,' is a bad proverb, +like many others which are accepted as wisdom's essence. Not by a +man's quiet face, but by his busy brain and heart, do we judge him. If +there be benevolence in statesmanship, the problem should be +considered in its entirety, without delay. By and by it may be too +late. + + + + + PART I. + + + + + A STRANGE EVENT OCCURS IN STONEY-ALLEY. + + +Delicate feather-flakes of snow were floating gently down over all the +City. In some parts the snow fell white and pure, and so remained for +many hours. In other parts, no sooner did it reach the ground than it +was converted into slush--losing its purity, and becoming instantly +defiled. This was its fate in Stoney-alley; yet even there, as it +rested upon the roofs and eaves, it was fresh and beautiful for a +time. In which contrasted aspects a possible suggestion might arise of +the capability of certain things for grace and holiness, if they are +not trodden into the mire. + +An event had just occurred in Stoney-alley which was the occasion of +much excitement. This was nothing more or less than the birth of +twin-girls in one of the meanest houses in the alley. The mother, a +poor sickly woman, whose husband had deserted her, was so weakened and +prostrated by her confinement, and by the want of nourishing food, +that she lived but a dozen days after the birth of her babes. No one +knew where the father was; he and his wife had not lived long in the +neighbourhood, and what was known of him was not to his credit, +although with a certain class he was not unpopular. He was lazy, surly +fellow, who passed his waking hours in snarling at the better +condition of things by which he was surrounded. The sight of carriage +made his blood boil with envy; notwithstanding which he took delight +in walking in the better thoroughfares of the City, and feeding his +soul with the bitter sight of well-dressed people and smiling faces. +Then he would come back to his proper home, and snarl at society to +pot-house audiences, and in his own humble room would make his unhappy +wife unhappier by his reviling and discontent He called himself +working-man, but had as much right to the title as the vagabond-beggar +who, dressed in broadcloth, is wheeled about in an easy-chair, in the +West-end of London, and who (keeping a sharp look-out for the police +the while) exhibits placard proclaiming himself to be a respectable +commercial traveller, who has lost the use of his limbs. He traded +upon the title, however, and made some little money out of it, hoping +by and by to make more, when he had become sufficiently notorious as a +public agitator. In the mean time, he (perhaps out of revenge upon +society) deserted his wife when she was near her confinement, and left +her to the mercy of strangers. She could not very well have fared +worse than she did in that tender charge. She bore two babes, and died +without a sign. + +The mother was buried the day before Christmas, and the babes were +left to chance charity. There were many women lodgers in the house in +which the twin-girls had been born; but not one of them was rich +enough to take upon herself the encumbrance of two such serious +responsibilities. The station-house was spoken of, the Foundling, the +workhouse; but not a soul was daring enough to carry out one of the +suggestions. This arose from a fear of consequences--in the shape +perhaps of an acknowledged personal responsibility, which might prove +troublesome in the event of the station-house, the workhouse, or the +Foundling refusing to take charge of the infants. Moses in the +bulrushes was not in a worse plight than these unfortunate babes in +Stoney-alley. + +What on earth was to be done with them? Every person in the house +might get into trouble, if they were left to die. The house, small as +it was, accommodated five or six distinct families--each occupying +room--in addition to two bachelors--one a vagrant, the other hawker in +cheap glassware. These last could not be expected to assume the +slightest shadow of responsibility. At length, a bright idea struck a +charitable woman in the house. Armed only with calico apron with a +large bib and an immense pocket in front (like stomacher), the +charitable soul went about to solicit contributions in aid of the +infants. As she walked round and about the narrow alleys and courts, +soliciting from everybody, she made quite a stir in the neighbourhood +by the vigorous manner in which she rattled the coppers in her +capacious pocket. A great many gave, farthings and halfpence being in +the ascendant--the largest contribution being given by the bachelor +vagrant above mentioned, who gave twopence with the air of a +gentleman--better still, with the true spirit of one; for he gave more +than he could afford, and took no glory to himself for the action. +Attracted by the rattle of the coppers, a singular-looking little man, +with a shrivelled face, came to the door of his shop, and was +instantly accosted by the kindhearted soul. + +'_You'll_ give a copper or two, I know, Mr. Virtue,' said the woman. + +'Then you know more than I do,' replied the man. 'I don't give. I +lend.' + +'What'll you lend on 'em, then?' asked the woman good-humouredly. + +'Lend on what?' + +'On the poor little twins that was born in our house a fortnight ago?' + +'O, that's what you're up to,' exclaimed the man, whose eyes were the +most extraordinary pair that ever were seen in human face--for one was +as mild as London milk, and the other glared like fury. 'That's what +you're up to. Collectin' for them brats afore they learn to tell lies +for theirselves.' + +'They're as sweet a pair as ever you see,' said the woman. 'Just give +it a thought, Mr. Virtue; you're a man o' sense----' + +'Yah!' from the man, in the most contemptuous of tones, and with the +fiercest of glares from his furious eye. + +'There they are, without mother, as 'elpless as 'elpless can be,' +persisted the woman, with wonderful display of cheerfulness. 'Come, +now, you'll give a copper although you _do_ look so grumpy.' + +The cynic turned into his dark shop at this last appeal, but as he +turned a penny dropped from his pocket. The woman picked it up with a +pleasant laugh, and adding it to her store proceeded on her charitable +mission. But industrious and assiduous as she was, the sum-total +collected was very small; about sufficient to keep the infants for +half a week. The kindhearted woman took the babes, and nursed them +_pro tem_. She had a family of dirty children of her own, who were +bringing themselves up in the gutters; for she could not attend to +them, so fully was her time occupied in other ways. She could not, +therefore, be expected to take permanent charge of the motherless +babes. And so her husband told her, grumblingly, when he came home +from his work on Christmas-eve. All that she said was, 'Poor little +things!' and fell to--rough as she was--detecting imaginary beauties +in the babies' faces--a common trick of mothers, which no man can +afford to be cross with, especially in his own wife, and the woman who +has borne him children. + +'Can't put 'em out in the cold, the pretty dears!' said the woman +tenderly. + +'We've got enough of our own,' responded her husband not unkindly, and +yet with a certain firmness; 'and there's more coming--worse luck!' +But these last two words he said beneath his breath, and his wife did +not hear them. + +'All the more reason for being kind to these,' said the woman. +'They'll be handsome girls when they grow up. Look'ee here, Sam, this +one's got a dimple, just like--like----' Her voice trailed off softly, +and her husband knew that she was thinking of their first-born, that +had lived but a few weeks. + +I am aware that it is the fashion with a large class to regard the +portrayal of sentiment among very common people as fanciful and untrue +to nature. I differ from this class, I am glad to say. True love for +women, and true tenderness for children, are common to all of us, +whether high or low. Cynics cannot alter what is natural--in others. + +The man felt kindly towards his wife and the babes, but he was not at +all inclined to saddle himself with a couple of ready-made infants. He +saw, however, that his wife was in a foolishly tender mood, and he let +the subject drop for the present. + +It may have been eight o'clock in the white night, and the bright snow +was still falling like feathers from angels' wings, when at the door +of the house in which the twins had been born and the mother had died, +a lady and gentleman stopped, and, obtaining entrance, asked for the +landlady. Unmistakably lady and gentleman, though plainly dressed. Not +highly born, but as truly lady and gentleman as the best in the land. +They were strangers to the landlady of the house; but she rose the +instant they entered her apartment, and remained standing during the +interview. + +'We have to apologise for this intrusion,' commenced the lady, in a +gentle voice; 'but although we are strangers to you, we are not here +out of rudeness.' + +'I'm sure of that, ma'am,' replied the landlady, dusting two chairs +with her apron. 'Will you and the gentleman take a seat?' + +'This is my husband,' said the lady, seating herself. 'Every year, on +the anniversary of this evening, with the exception of last year, we +have been in the habit of coming to some such place as this, where +only poor people live----' + +'Ah, you may say that, ma'am! The poorest!' + +----'It is so, unfortunately. God help them! Every year until the last +we have been in the habit of coming to some such place in furtherance +of a scheme--a whim, perhaps, you'll call it--the development of which +gives us the chief pleasure of our lives. We have no family of our +own, no children that can properly call me mother and my husband +father; so every year we adopt one and bring it up. We have six now, +as many as we have been able to keep; for last year we lost part of +our means through unwise speculation, for which I and my husband were +equally to blame----' + +'I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am,' interposed the landlady +sympathisingly, standing in an attentive attitude, with the corner of +her apron between her fingers. + +'And having as many little responsibilities on us as our means would +enable us to take proper care of, we were unable to add another to our +family of little ones. But this year a fortunate thing has occurred to +us. A kind friend has placed a small sum at our disposal, which will +enable us to take a seventh child, and rear it in comfort and +respectability.' + +'And a lucky child that seventh 'ull be,' remarked the landlady. 'I'm +a seventh child myself, and so was my mother before me, and we was +both born on a 7th.' + +The lady smiled, and continued, + +'Every child we have is an orphan, without father or mother, which we +believe to be necessary for the proper furtherance of our scheme. We +feed them and nourish them properly--indeed, as if they were really +our own--and when they are old enough, they will be put to some +respectable occupation, which will render them independent of the +world. Among the many poor children round about here, do you know of +one who, having no natural protectors, would be bettered by coming +under our charge? These letters will satisfy you of our fitness for +the task, and that we are in earnest.' + +'Lord bless me!' exclaimed the landlady, impelled to that exclamation +by sudden thought of the twins upstairs, and not casting a glance at +the papers which were placed in her hands. 'You don't mean what you +say?' + +'Indeed, we do. You will be kind enough to understand that we do not +desire to take a child who has parents living, but one whom hard +circumstance has placed in the world friendless and alone. These poor +courts and alleys abound in children----' + +'Ah, that they do; and a nice pest they are, a many on 'em. They're as +thick as fleas.' + +----'And at this season it is good to think of them, and to try to do +some little thing in their behalf. It is but little that we can +do--very, very little. Do you know of such a child as we seek for +now?' + +'A girl? + +'A girl or boy.' + +'God Almighty bless you, ma'am!' cried the landlady. 'Stop here +minute, and I'll let you know.' + + +[Illustration] + + +She ran in haste upstairs to where her kind-hearted lodger was nursing +the twins. + +'I beg you a thousand pardons, Mrs. Manning,' she said, panting, 'and +you too, Mr. Manning, and I wish you a merry Christmas, and many on +'em! I'm that out of breath and that astonished, that I don't know if +I'm on my head or my heels. Stay a minute, my good souls; I'll be back +in a jiffey.' + +With that, she ran out of the room and downstairs, to assure herself +that her visitors had not flown, or that she had not been dreaming. +Having satisfied herself she ran upstairs again, and sat down, in +more panting state than before. + +'I thought I was dreaming, and that they was apparitions.' she gasped. + +Mr. Manning, being one of those Englishmen who look upon their +habitations as their castles, was inclined to resent these intrusions. +Unconsciously throwing a large amount of aggressiveness in his tone +and manner, he asked his landlady if he owed her any rent, and +received for answer, No, that he didn't, and the expression of a wish +that everybody was like him in this respect. + +'Very well, then,' said Mr. Manning, not at all mollified by the +landlady's compliment, and speaking so surlily that (as the landlady +afterwards said, in relating the circumstance) if it had not been for +her being out of breath and for thinking of those two precious babes, +he would have 'put her back up' there and then; 'if I don't owe you +anything, what do you mean by coming bouncing into my room in this +manner?' + +'I asks your pardon,' said the landlady, with dignity; but instantly +softening as she thought of her visitors down-stairs; 'but you've got +a 'art in your bosom, and you've got the feelings of a father. The +long and the short of it is'----and here she proceeded to explain the +visit she had had, and the object of her visitors. 'Ah, Mr. Manning,' +she continued, following the direction of his eyes towards the two +babes lying in his wife's lap, 'you've got the same idea as I had in +coming up here. Here's these two blessed babes, with no mother, and no +father to speak of; for I don't believe he'll ever turn up. What's to +become of 'em? Who's to take care of 'em? I'm sure you can't.' + +'No, that I can't; and don't intend to.' + +'And no one expects you, sir. You've got a big-enough family of your +own. Well, here's this lady and gentleman setting downstairs this +blessed minute as wants a child, and as'll do what's right and proper +by it.' + +'But there's a pair of 'em. Won't they take the two?' + +'One they said, and one they mean. They can't hardly afford that, they +said. And I'm as certain as I am that I'm setting here, that if they +knew there was two of 'em, they wouldn't part 'em for the world. No, +they'd go somewhere else; and the chance 'd be lost.' + +'But they want a child that ain't got no father nor mother. Now, these +young uns have a father; and that you know.' + +'No, I don't; I don't know nothing of the kind. 'Taint the first story +I've told by a many,' said the landlady, in answer to Mr. Manning's +look of astonishment; 'and I don't mind telling this one to do a +little baby good.' + +'What's to become of the other? 'We'll look after her between us. + +One'll take her one day, and one another. Lord bless you, Mr. +Manning, we shall be able to manage.' + +'And if the father comes back?' + +'I'll get the lady's address, and give it to him; and then he can do +as he likes.' + +'It's the best thing that can be done; said Mr. Manning; 'though I've +nothing to do with it, mind you; it's none of my business. I've got +troubles enough of my own. But it ain't every young un that gets such +a chance.' + +'No, that it ain't;' and the landlady pulled her chair close to that +of Mrs. Manning. 'Which shall it be, my dear?' + +This proved to be a very difficult question to answer. First they +decided that it was to be this one, then that; then soft-hearted Mrs. +Manning began to cry, and said it was a sin to part them. And the +babes lay sleeping unconsciously the while this momentous point was +being discussed, the decision of which might condemn one to want and +dirt and misery--to crime perhaps--and the other to a career where +good opportunity might produce a happy and virtuous life. At length it +was decided, and one was chosen; but when the landlady prepared to +take the child, she found that the fingers of the babes were tightly +interlaced; so she left them in Mrs. Manning's lap, with instructions +to get the chosen one ready, and went down to her visitors. + +'Poor child!' said the lady, at the conclusion of the landlady's +recital; 'and the mother was only buried yesterday!' + +'Only yesterday, ma'am,' responded the landlady; 'and the dear little +thing is left without a friend. There's not one of us that wouldn't be +glad to take care of it; but we're too poor, ma'am; and that's the +fact.' + +'The child's younger than we could have wished,' mused the lady, with +a glance at her husband; 'but it would seem like a cruel desertion, +now that we have heard its sad story.' + +Her husband nodded, and the landlady, keenly watchful, said eagerly: + +'I'll bring it down to you, ma'am. One of the lodgers is nursing it; +but her husband's grumbling at her, and making her miserable about it +He says he's got enough of his own; and so he has.' + +By this time Mrs. Manning had the baby ready--she had dressed the +child in some old baby-clothes of her own--and before she let it go +out of her arms, she said, as if the little thing could understand: + +'Kiss sister, baby. You'll never see her again, perhaps; and if you +do, you won't know her.' + +She placed their lips close together; and at that moment they opened +their eyes, and smiled prettily on one another. The man and the two +women stood by, gazing earnestly at the babes. Tears were in Mrs. +Manning's eyes, as she witnessed the strange parting; the landlady was +silent and pensive; and the man, with his hands behind him, seemed to +be suddenly engrossed in the consideration of some social problem, +which he found too perplexing for him. His wife raised the fortunate +babe to his face. + +'A happy New-year to you, little un,' said the not unkindly man, as he +kissed the child. + +'Suppose they were our'n, Sam,' said his wife, softly and tearfully; +'we shouldn't like this to happen.' + +'But they're not our'n,' replied her husband; 'and that makes all the +difference.' + +And yet there was a wistful expression on his face, as the landlady +took the baby out of the room. + +'I've kept the prettiest one,' his wife whispered to him--'the one +with the dimple.' + + +The lady and gentleman--she with her new charge wrapped in her warm +shawl, and pressed closely to her bosom--walked briskly through the +cold air towards their home, which lay in a square, about a mile +from Stoney-alley. In the centre of the square was a garden, the +wood-growth in which, though bare of leaves, looked as beautiful in +their white mantle as ever they had done in their brightest summer. +The snow-lined trees stood out boldly, yet gracefully, and their every +branch, fringed in purest white, was an emblem of loveliness. They +gleamed grandly in the moon's light, mute witnesses of the greatness +of Him whose lightest work is an evidence of perfect wisdom and +goodness. + + + + HOW SHE ACQUIRED THE NAME OF BLADE-O'-GRASS. + + +Thus, whilst one little babe was tended and watched by benevolent +hands and eyes, the fate of the other--the prettier one, she with the +unfortunate dimple--was intrusted to the shapeless hands of chance. To +such tender care as had happily fallen to its lot, the fortunate one +may be left for a time. Turn we to the other, and watch its strange +bringing-up. + +Proverbially, too many cooks spoil the broth; and this forlorn babe +was left to the care of too many cooks, who, however, in this +instance, did not spoil the broth by meddling with it, but by almost +utterly neglecting it. The landlady's declaration that 'We'll look +after her between us; one'll take her one day, and one another,' +although uttered in all sincerity, turned out badly in its +application. What is everybody's business is nobody's business, and +for the most part the babe was left to take care of herself. For a +little while Mrs. Manning was the child's only friend; but in the +course of a couple of months she fulfilled her husband's apprehension, +and added another bantling to his already overstocked quiver. This new +arrival (which, it must be confessed, was not received with gratitude +by its father) was so fractious, and so besieged by a complication of +infantile disorders, that all Mrs. Manning's spare moments were fully +occupied, and she had none to devote to other people's children. The +motherless child threatened to fare badly indeed. But now and again a +mother who had lost her offspring came to the little stranger and +suckled her; so that she drew life from many bosoms, and may be said +to have had at least a score of wet-nurses. And thus she grew up +almost literally in the gutters, no one owning her, no one really +caring for her; and yet she throve, as weeds thrive--while her sister, +not a mile away, throve, in the care of kind friends, as flowers +thrive. Born in equality, with the same instincts for good and evil, +with the same capacity for good and evil, equally likely to turn out +good or bad, should it have been left entirely to chance that one +might live to prove a blessing, and the other a curse, to society? But +so it was. + +One of the most curious circumstances connected with the little +outcast was, that she was not known by any settled name. It grew to be +a fashion to call her by all sorts of names--now Polly, now Sally, now +Young Hussy, now Little Slut, and by a dozen others, not one of which +remained to her for any length of time. But when she was three years +of age, an event occurred which played the part of godmothers and +godfathers to her, and which caused her to receive a title by which +she was always afterwards known. + +There was not a garden in Stoney-alley. Not within the memory of +living man had a flower been known to bloom there. There were many +poor patches of ground, crowded as the neighbourhood was, which might +have been devoted to the cultivation of a few bright petals; but they +were allowed to lie fallow, festering in the sun. Thought of graceful +form and colour had never found expression there. Strange, therefore, +that one year, when Summer was treading close upon the heel of Spring, +sending warm sweet winds to herald her coming, there should spring up, +in one of the dirtiest of all the backyards in Stoney-alley, two or +three Blades of Grass. How they came there, was a mystery. No human +hand was accountable for their presence. It may be that a bird, flying +over the place, had mercifully dropped a seed; or that a kind wind had +borne it to the spot. But however they came, there they were, these +Blades of Grass, peeping up from the ground shyly and wonderingly, and +giving promise of bright colour, even in the midst of the unwholesome +surroundings. Our little castaway--she was no better--now three years +of age, was sprawling in this dirty backyard with a few other +children, all of them regular students of Dirt College. Attracted by +the little bit of colour, she crawled to the spot where it shone in +the light, and straightway fell to watching it and inhaling, quite +unconsciously, whatever of grace it possessed. Once or twice she +touched the tender blades, and seemed to be pleased to find them soft +and pliant. The other children, delighted at having the monopoly of a +gutter, that ran through the yard, did not disturb her; and so she +remained during the day, watching and wondering; and fell asleep by +the side of the Blades of Grass, and dreamed perhaps of brighter +colours and more graceful forms than had ever yet found place in her +young imagination. The next day she made her way again to the spot, +and seeing that the blades had grown a little, wondered and wondered, +and unconsciously exercised that innate sense of worship of the +beautiful which is implanted in every nature, and which causes the +merest babes to rejoice at light, and shapes of beauty, and harmony of +sound. What is more wonderful, in the eyes of a babe, than vivid +colour or light, however kindled? what more sweet to its senses than +that perfect harmony of sound which falls upon its ears as the mother +sings softly and lulls her darling to sleep? This latter blessing had +never fallen to the lot of our child; but colour and light were given +to her, and she was grateful for them. She grew to love these emerald +leaves, and watched them day after day, until the women round about +observed and commented upon her strange infatuation. But one evening, +when the leaves were at their brightest and strongest, a man, running +hastily through the yard, crushed the blades of grass beneath his +heel, and tore them from the earth. The grief of the child was +intense. She cast a passionate yet bewildered look at the man, and +picking up the torn soiled blades, put them in the breast of her +ragged frock, in the belief that warmth would bring them back to life. +She went to bed with the mangled leaves in her hot hand, and when she +looked at them the next morning, they bore no resemblance to the +bright leaves which had been such a delight to her. She went to the +spot where they had grown, and cried without knowing why; and the man +who had destroyed the leaves happening to pass at the time, she struck +at him with her little fists. He pushed her aside rather roughly with +his foot, and Mrs. Manning, seeing this, and having also seen the +destruction of the leaves, and the child's worship of them, blew him +up for his unkindness. He merely laughed, and said he wouldn't have +done it if he had looked where he was going, and that it was a good +job for the child that she wasn't a Blade-o'-Grass herself, or she +might have been trodden down with the others. The story got about the +alley, and one and another, at first in fun or derision, began to call +the child Little Blade-o'-Grass, until, in course of time, it came to +be recognised as her regular name, and she was known by it all over +the neighbourhood. So, being thus strangely christened, Little +Blade-o'-Grass grew in years and in ignorance, and became a worthy +member of Dirt College, in which school she was matriculated for the +battle of life. + + + + THE LEGEND OF THE TIGER. + + +At a very early age indeed was Blade-o'-Grass compelled to begin the +battle of life. Her greatest misfortune was that, as she grew in +years, she grew strong. Had she been a weakly little thing, some one +might have taken pity on her, and assumed the responsibility of +maintaining her. The contingency was a remote one; but all chance of +benefiting by it was utterly destroyed, because she was strong and +hardy. She may be said to have had some sort of a home up to the time +that she attained the age of nine years; for a corner for her to sleep +in was always found in the house in which she was born. But about that +time certain important changes took place, which materially affected +her, although she had no hand in them. The landlady gave up the house, +and some one else took it, and turned it into a shop. The lodgers all +received notice to leave, and went elsewhere to live. A great slice of +luck fell to the share of Mr. Manning. An uncle whom he had never seen +died in a distant land, and left his money to his relatives; and a +shrewd lawyer made good pickings by hunting up nephews and nieces of +the deceased. Among the rest, he hunted up Mr. Manning, and one day he +handed his client a small sum of money. Mr. Manning put his suddenly +acquired wealth to a good purpose--he got passage in a government +emigrant ship, and with his wife and large family, bade good-bye for +ever to Stoney-alley. He left the country, as hundreds and thousands +of others have done, with a bitter feeling in his heart because he was +not able to stop in it, and earn a decent livelihood; but, as hundreds +and thousands of others have done, he lived this feeling down, and in +his new home, with better prospects and better surroundings, talked of +his native land--meaning Stoney-alley--as the 'old country,' in terms +of affection and as if he had been treated well in it. It will be +easily understood that when Blade-o'-Grass lost Mrs. Manning, she lost +her best friend. + +To say that she passed an easy life up to this point of her career +would be to state what is false. The child was in continual disgrace, +and scarcely a day passed that was not watered with her tears. Blows, +smacks, and harsh words were administered to her freely, until she +grew accustomed to them, and they lost their moral force. She deserved +them, for she was the very reverse of a good little girl. In a great +measure her necessities made her what she was, and no counteracting +influence for good approached her. If she were sent for beer, she +would stop at corners, and taste and sip, and bring home short +measure. There was something fearful in her enjoyment; but she had no +power nor desire to resist the temptation. No tragedy queen, before +the consummation of the final horror, ever looked round with more +watchful, wary, fearsome gaze than did Blade-o'-Grass, when, having +nerved her soul to take a sip of beer, she stopped at a convenient +corner, or in the shadow of a dark doorway, to put her desire into +execution. And then she was always breaking things. The mugs she let +fall would have paved Stoney-alley. But there was a greater temptation +than beer: Bread. If she were sent for a half-quartern loaf, she +would not fail to dig out with liberal fingers the soft portions +between the crusts, and eagerly devour them. Even if she had not been +hungry--which would have been a white-letter day in her existence--she +would have done from habit what she almost invariably was urged to do +by the cravings of her stomach. And about that unfortunate stomach of +hers, calumnies were circulated and believed in. So persistent an +eater was Blade-o'-Grass, so conscientious a devourer of anything +that, legitimately or otherwise, came in her way--quality being not of +the slightest object--that a story got about that she had 'something' +in her inside, some living creature of a ravenous nature, that waited +for the food as she swallowed it, and instantly devoured it for its +own sustenance. Such things had been known of. At some remote period a +girl in the neighbourhood--whose personality was never traced, but +whom everybody believed in--had had such an animal--a few called it a +'wolf,' but the majority insisted that it was a 'tiger'--growing +inside of her, and this animal, so the story went, grew and grew, and +fed upon the girl's life till it killed her. The 'tiger' had been +found alive after the girl's death, and having been purchased of some +one for a fabulous price, was embalmed in a bottle in a great museum, +of which nobody knew the name or the whereabouts. As an allegory, this +'tiger' might have served to illustrate the mournful story of the +lives of Blade-o'-Grass and thousands of her comrades--it might have +served, indeed, to point a bitter moral; but there was nothing +allegorical about the inhabitants of Stoney-alley. They only dealt in +hard matter-of-fact, and the mythical story was fully believed in; and +being applied to the case of Blade-o'-Grass, became a great terror to +her. Many persons found delight in tormenting the helpless child about +her 'tiger,' and for a long time the slightest allusion to it was +sufficient to cause her the most exquisite anguish, in consequence of +certain malevolent declarations, that she ought to be cut open +and have the tiger taken out of her. Indeed, one miserable old +fellow, who kept a rag-shop, and who had in his window two or three +dust-coated bottles containing common-place reptiles preserved in +spirits-of-wine, took a malicious pleasure in declaring that the +operation ought to be really performed upon Blade-o'-Grass, and that, +in the interests of science, she ought not to be allowed to live. It +was the cruelest of sport thus to torture the poor child; for the +simple fact was, that Blade-o'-Grass was nearly always hungry. It was +nature tugging at her stomach--not a tiger. + +The very first night of Mrs. Manning's departure, Blade-o'-Grass found +herself without a bed. With a weary wretched sense of desolation upon +her, she lingered about the old spot where she used to sleep, and even +ventured to enter at the back of the house, when the sharp 'Come, get +out o' this!' of the new proprietor sent her flying away. She belonged +to nobody, and nobody cared for her; so she wandered and lingered +about until all the lights in the shops and houses were out. She had +gleaned some small pleasure in watching these lights; she had found +comfort in them; and when they were all extinguished and she was in +darkness, she trembled under the impulse of a vague terror. She did +not cry; it was not often now that she called upon the well of tender +feeling where tears lay; but she was terrified. There was not a star +in the sky to comfort her. She was in deep darkness, body and soul. +How many others are there at this present moment in the same terrible +condition? + + +[Illustration] + + +Too full of fear to stand upright, she crept along the ground slowly, +feeling her way by the walls, stopping every now and then to gather +fresh courage, at which time she tried to shut out her fears by +cowering close to the flagstones and hiding her face in her ragged +frock. She had a purpose in view. She had thought of a refuge where +she would find some relief from the terrible shadows. Towards that +refuge she was creeping now. It was a long, long time before she +reached her haven--a crazy old lamp-post, the dim light of which was +in keeping with the general poverty of its surroundings. At the foot +of this lamp-post, clasping it as if it were the symbol of a sacred +refuge, Blade-o'-Grass looked up at the light in agony of speechless +gratitude, and then, wearied almost to a state of unconsciousness, +coiled herself up into a ball, like a hedgehog, and soon was fast +asleep. + + + + THE BATTLE OF LIFE. + + +What followed? Remorseless Time pursued his way, and the minutes, +light to some, heavy to some, leaving in their track a train of woe +and joy, and grief and happiness; the leaden minutes, the golden +minutes, flew by until daylight came and woke the sleeping child. +Unwashed--but that was her chronic condition, and did not affect +her--forlorn, uncared-for, Blade-o'-Grass looked round upon her world, +and rubbed her eyes, and yawned; then, after a time, rose to her feet, +and cast quick eager glances about her. The tiger in her stomach was +awake and stirring, and Blade-o'-Grass had no food to give it to +satisfy its cravings. She prowled up and down, and round and about the +dirty courts, in search of something to eat; anything would have more +than contented her--mouldy crust, refuse food; but the stones of +Stoney-alley and its fellows were merciless, and no manna fell from +heaven to bless the famished child. She would have puzzled the wisest +philosopher in social problems, if he were not utterly blinded by +theory; for, looking at her from every aspect, and taking into +account, not only that she was endowed with mental, moral, and +physical faculties, but that she was a human being with a soul 'to be +saved,' he could have produced but one result from her--a yearning for +food. He could have struck no other kind of fire from out of this +piece of flint. What resemblance did Blade-o'-Grass bear to that +poetical image which declared her to be noble in reason, infinite in +faculty, express and admirable in form and bearing; like an angel in +action; like a god in apprehension? The beauty of the world! the +paragon of animals! Perhaps it will be best for us not to examine too +curiously, for there is shame in the picture of this child-girl +prowling about for food. Poor Blade-o'-Grass! with every minute the +tiger in her stomach grew more rabid, and tore at her vitals +tigerishly. In the afternoon she found a rotten apple in the gutter, +and she stooped and picked it up, joy glistening in her eyes. It was a +large apple, fortunately, and she devoured it eagerly, and afterwards +chewed the stalk. That was all the food she got that day; and when +night came, and she had watched the lights out, she coiled herself up +into a ball by the side of her lamp-post again and slept, and awoke in +the morning, sick with craving. Yesterday's experience whispered to +her not to look about for food in Stoney-alley; and she walked, with +painful steps into the wider thoroughfare, and stopped for a few +minutes to recover herself from her astonishment at the vast world in +which she found herself. She would have been content to stop there all +the day, but that the tiger cried for food, and she cried for food in +sympathy with the tiger. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the ground, and +never once raising her pitiful face to the faces that flashed past +her, hither and thither, she faltered onwards for a hundred yards or +so, and then, in a frightened manner, retraced her steps, so that she +should not lose herself. 'Give me food!' cried the tiger, and 'Give me +food!' cried Blade-o'-Grass from the innermost depths of her soul. At +about ten o'clock in the morning, her cry was answered; she saw a +cats'-meat man with a basket full of skewered meat hanging upon his +arm. Instinctively she followed him, and watched the cats running to +the doors at the sound of his voice, and waiting with arched backs and +dilating eyes for his approach. Blade-o'-Grass wished with all her +heart and soul that _she_ were a cat, so that she might receive her +portion upon a skewer; but no such happiness was hers. She followed +the man wistfully and hungeringly, until he stopped at the door of a +house where there were evidently arrears of account to be settled. He +placed his basket upon the doorstep, and went into the passage to give +some change to the woman of the house. Here was an opportunity for +Blade-o'-Grass. She crept stealthily and fearfully towards the basket, +and snatching up two portions of cats'-meat, ran for her life, with +her stolen food hidden in her tattered frock--ran until she reached +Stoney-alley, where she sank to the ground with her heart leaping at +her throat, and where, after recovering her breath, she devoured her +ill-gotten meat with unbounded satisfaction. She had no idea that she +had done a wrong thing. She was hungry, and had simply taken food when +the opportunity presented itself. The fear by which she had been +impressed had not sprung from any moral sense, but partly from the +thought that the man would hurt her if he caught her taking his +property, and partly from the thought (more agonising than the other) +that she might be prevented from carrying out her design. The next day +she watched for and followed the cats'-meat man again, and again was +successful in obtaining a meal; and so on for a day or two afterwards. +But the food was not over nice, and the tiger whispered to her that a +change would be agreeable. Success made her bold, and she looked about +her for other prey. Her first venture, after the cats'-meat man lost +her patronage, was an old woman who kept an apple-stall, and who went +to sleep as regularly as clockwork every afternoon at three o'clock +and woke at five. But even in her sleep this old apple-woman seemed to +be wary, and now and then would mumble out with drowsy energy, 'Ah, +would yer? I sees yer!' as if the knowledge that she was surrounded by +suspicious characters whose mouths watered for her fruit had eaten +into her soul. But as these exclamations to terrify poachers were +mumbled out when the old woman really was in an unconscious state, she +fell an easy victim to Blade-o'-Grass. She was a great treasure to the +little girl, for she dealt in nuts and oranges as well as apples. Then +there was a woman who sold a kind of cake designated 'jumbles,'--a +wonderful luxury, price four a penny. She also fell a victim, and +between one and another Blade-o'-Grass managed to pick up a precarious +living, and in a few months became as nimble and expert a little thief +as the sharpest policeman would wish to make an example of. She was +found out, of course, sometimes, and was cuffed and beaten; but she +was never given in charge. The persons from whom she stole seemed to +be aware of the hapless condition of the child, and had mercy upon +her; indeed, many of them had at one time or another of their lives +known what it was to suffer the pangs of hunger. + +Incredible as it may sound, Blade-o'-Grass still had one friend +left. His name was Tom Beadle. He was some five years older than +Blade-o'-Grass, but looked so delicate and sickly, and was of such +small proportions, that they might have been taken for pretty nearly +the same age. Delicate and sickly as he looked, he was as sharp as a +weasel. He had a mother and a father, who, when they were not in +prison, lived in Stoney-alley, but they--being a drunken and dissolute +pair--did not trouble themselves about their son. So he had to shift +for himself, and in course of time became cunningest of the cunning. +Between him and Blade-o'-Grass there had grown a closer intimacy than +she had contracted with any other of her associates, and whenever they +met they stopped to have a chat Blade-o'-Grass had a genuine affection +for him, for he had often given her a copper, and quite as often had +shared his meal with her. + +A few months after the change for the worse in the prospects of +Blade-o'-Grass, Tom Beadle, lounging about in an idle humour, saw +her sitting on the kerb-stone with her eyes fixed upon the old +apple-woman, who had begun to nod. There was something in the gaze of +Blade-o'-Grass that attracted Tom Beadle's attention, and he set +himself to watch. Presently the girl shifted a little nearer to the +fruit-stall--a little nearer--nearer, until she was quite close. Her +hand stole slowly towards the fruit, and a pear was taken, then +another. Tom Beadle laughed; but looked serious immediately +afterwards, for Blade-o'-Grass was running away as fast as her legs +could carry her. Assuring himself that there was no cause for alarm, +Tom Beadle ran after her, and placed his hand heavily on her shoulder. +She had heard the step behind her, and her heart almost leaped out of +her throat; but when she felt the hand upon her shoulder, she threw +away the stolen fruit, and fell to the ground in an agony of fear. + +'Git up, you little fool,' exclaimed Tom Beadle. 'What are you +frightened at?' Before he said this, however, he picked up the pears +and put them in his pocket. + +'O, Tom!' cried Blade-o'-Grass, the familiar tones falling upon her +ears like sweetest music; 'I thought it was somebody after me.' + +Then Tom told her that he ran after her to stop _her_ running, and +instructed her that it was the very worst of policy, after she had +'prigged' anything, to run away when nobody was looking. And this was +the first practical lesson in morals that Blade-o'-Grass had received. + +'But, I say, Bladergrass,' observed Tom, 'I didn't know as you'd taken +to prig.' + +'I can't help it, Tom. The tiger's always at me.' + +Tom implicitly believed in the tiger story. + +'Well, that's all right,' said Tom; 'only take care--and don't you run +away agin when nobody's a-lookin'.' + +Months passed, and Blade-o'-Grass lived literally from hand to mouth. +But times grew very dull; her hunting-ground was nearly worked out, +and she was more often hungry than not. One day she hadn't been able +to pick up a morsel of food, and had had insufficient for many +previous days. The day before she had had but one scanty meal, so that +it is not difficult to imagine her miserable condition. Her guardian +angel, Tom Beadle, discovered her crouching against a wall, with fear +and despair in her face and eyes. He knew well enough what was the +matter, but he asked her for form's sake, and she returned him the +usual answer, while the large tears rolled down her cheeks into her +mouth. + +It so happened that Tom Beadle had been out of luck that day. He +hadn't a copper in his pocket. He felt about for one, nevertheless, +and finding none, whistled--curiously enough, the 'Rogues' +March'--more in perplexity than from surprise. + +'Ain't yer had _any_think to eat, Bladergrass?' + +'Not a blessed bite,' was the answer. + +It was about five o'clock in the evening; there were at least a couple +of hours to sunset. An inspiration fell upon Tom Beadle, and his +countenance brightened. + +'Come along o' me,' he said. + +Blade-o'-Grass placed her hand unhesitatingly in his, and they walked +towards the wealthier part of the City, until they came to a large +space surrounded by great stone buildings. In the centre of the space +was a statue. Blade-o'-Grass had never been so far from her native +place as this. The crowds of people hurrying hither and thither, as if +a moment's hesitation would produce, a fatal result; the apparently +interminable strings of carts and cabs and wagons and omnibuses +issuing from half-a-dozen thoroughfares, and so filling the roads with +moving lines and curves and angles, that it seemed to be nothing less +than miraculous how a general and disastrous crash was avoided, +utterly bewildered little Blade-o'-Grass, and caused her for a moment +to be oblivious of the cravings of the tiger in her stomach. + +'Now, look 'ere, Bladergrass,' whispered Tom Beadle: 'you keep tight +'old of my 'and; if anybody arks yer, I'm yer brother a-dyin' of +consumption. I'm a-dyin' by inches, I am.' + +Forthwith he called into his face such an expression of utter, +helpless woe and misery, that Blade-o'-Grass cried out in terror, + +'O, what's up, Tom? O, don't, Tom, don't!' really believing that her +companion had been suddenly stricken. + +'Don't be stoopid!' remonstrated Tom, smiling at her to reassure her, +and then resuming his wobegone expression; 'I'm only a-shammin'.' + +With that he sank upon the bottom of a grand flight of stone steps, +dragging Blade-o'-Grass down beside him. There they remained, silent, +for a few moments, and perhaps one in a hundred of the eager bustling +throng turned to give the strange pair a second glance; but before +sympathy had time to assume practical expression, a policeman came up +to them, and bade them move on. Tom rose to his feet, wearily and +painfully, and slowly moved away: a snail in its last minutes of life +could scarcely have moved more slowly, if it had moved at all. He took +good care to keep tight hold of the hand of Blade-o'-Grass, lest she +should be pushed from him and be lost in the crowd. A notable contrast +were these two outcasts--she, notwithstanding her fright and the pangs +of hunger by which she was tormented, strong-limbed and sturdy for her +age; and he drooping, tottering, with a death-look upon his face, as +if every moment would be his last. You would have supposed that his +mind was a blank to all but despair, and that he was praying for +death; but the cunning and hypocrisy of Tom Beadle were not to be +measured by an ordinary standard. He was as wide awake as a weasel, +and although his eyes were to the ground, he saw everything that +surged around him, and was as ready to take advantage of an +opportunity as the sharpest rascal in London. As he and his companion +made their way through the busy throng, they attracted the attention +of two men--both of them elderly men, of some sixty years of age; one, +well-dressed, with a bright eye and a benevolent face; the other, +poorly but not shabbily dressed, and with a face out of which every +drop of the milk of human kindness seemed to have been squeezed when +he was a young man. When he looked at you, it appeared as if you were +undergoing the scrutiny of two men; for one of his eyes had a +dreadfully fixed and glassy stare in it, and the other might have been +on fire, it was so fiercely watchful. + +Now, overpowered as Tom Beadle might have been supposed to be in his +own special ills and cares, he saw both these men, as he saw +everything else about him, and a sly gleam of recognition passed from +his eyes to the face of the odd-looking and poorly-dressed stranger; +it met with no response, however. The next moment Tom raised his white +imploring face to that of the better-dressed man, whose tender heart +was stirred by pity at the mute appeal. He put his hand in his pocket, +but seemed to be restrained from giving; some impulse within him +whispered, 'Don't!' while his heart prompted him to give. But the +struggle was not of long duration. The words, 'Indiscriminate charity +again,' fell from his lips, and looking round cautiously as if he were +about to commit a felony, he hastily approached close to the two +children, and, with an air of guilt, slipped a shilling in Tom +Beadle's hand. After which desperate deed, he turned to fly from the +spot, when he saw something in the face of the odd-looking man (who +had been watching the comedy with curious interest) which made him +first doubtful, then angry. Although they were strangers, he was +impelled to speak, and his kind nature made him speak in a polite +tone. + +'Dreadful sight, sir, dreadful sight,' he said, pointing to the +creeping forms of Tom Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass. 'A penny can't be +thrown away there, eh?' + +The odd-looking man shrugged his shoulders. The shrug conveyed to the +benevolent stranger this meaning: 'You are an imbecile; you are an old +fool; you are not fit to be trusted alone.' It was the most expressive +of shrugs. + +'I suppose you mean to say I've been imposed upon,' exclaimed the +benevolent stranger hotly. + +The odd-looking man chuckled enjoyably, and perked up his head at the +questioner in curiosity, as a magpie with its eye in a blaze might +have done. But he said nothing. His silence exasperated the benevolent +almsgiver, who exclaimed, 'You've no humanity, sir; no humanity;' and +turned on his heel. But turned round again immediately and said, 'I've +no right to say that, sir--no right, and I beg your pardon. But d'ye +mean to tell me that that lad is an impostor, sir? If you do, I deny +it, sir, I deny it! D'ye mean to say that I've been taken in, and that +those two children are not--not HUNGRY, sir?' + +Some words seemed to be rising to the odd-looking man's lips, but he +restrained the utterance of them, and closed his lips with a snap. He +touched his shabby cap with an air of amusement, and turned away, +chuckling quietly; and the next minute the two men were struggling in +different directions with the human tide that spread itself over all +the City. + +In the mean time, Tom Beadle, keeping up the fiction of 'dyin' by +inches,' crept slowly away. He had not seen the coin which had been +slipped into his hand, but he knew well enough by the feel that it was +a shilling. 'A regular slice o' luck,' he muttered to himself, beneath +his breath. When they had crept on some fifty yards, he quickened his +steps, and Blade-o'-Grass tried to keep up with him. But all at once +her hands grew quite cold, and a strong trembling took possession of +her. + +'Come along, Bladergrass,' urged Tom, in his anxiety to get safely +away; ''ow you creep!' + +The child made another effort, but, as if by magic, the streets and +the roar in them vanished from her sight and hearing, and she would +have fallen to the ground, but for Tom's arm thrown promptly round her +poor fainting form. + +Near to them was a quiet court--so still and peaceful that it might +have hidden in a country-place where Nature was queen--and Tom Beadle, +who knew every inch of the ground, bore her thither. His heart grew +cold as he gazed upon her white face. + +'I wish I may die,' he muttered to himself, in a troubled voice, 'if +she don't look as if she was dead. Bladergrass! Bladergrass!' he +called.' + +She did not answer him. Not a soul was near them. Had it not been that +he liked the child, and that, little villain as he was, he had some +humanity in him--for her at least--he would have run away. He stood +quiet for a few moments, debating within himself what he had best do. +He knelt over her, and put his lips to hers, and whispered coaxingly, +'Come along, Bladergrass. Don't be a little fool. Open your eyes, and +call Tom.' + +The warmth of his face and lips restored her to consciousness. She +murmured, 'Don't--don't! Let me be!' + +'What's the matter, Bladergrass?' he whispered. 'It's me--Tom! Don't +you know me?' + +'O, let me be, Tom!' implored Blade-o'-Grass. 'Let me be! The tiger's +a-eatin' the inside out o' me, and I'm a-dyin'.' + +She closed her eyes again, and the sense of infinite peace that stole +upon her, as she lay in this quiet court, was like heaven to her, +after the wild roar of steps and sounds in which a little while since +she had been engulfed. Had she died at that moment, it would have been +happier for her; but at whose door could her death have been laid? + +Tom Beadle, whispering hurriedly and anxiously, and certainly quite +superfluously, 'Lay still, Bladergrass! I'll be back in a minute,' ran +off to buy food, and soon returned with it. He had a little difficulty +in rousing her, but when she began to taste the food, and, opening her +eyes, saw the store which Tom had brought, she tore at it almost +deliriously, crying out of thankfulness, as she ate. Tom was +sufficiently rewarded by seeing the colour return to her cheeks; +before long, Blade-o'-Grass was herself again, and was laughing with +Tom. + +'But I thought you _was_ a-dyin', Bladergrass,' said Tom, somewhat +solemnly, in the midst of the merriment. + +'No, it was you that was a-dyin', Tom!' exclaimed Blade-o'-Grass, +clapping her hands. 'A-dyin' by inches, you know!' + +Gratified vanity gleamed in Tom Beadle's eyes, and when Blade-o'-Grass +added, 'But, O Tom, how you frightened me at first!' his triumph was +complete, and he enjoyed an artist's sweetest pleasure. Then he +gloated over the imposition he had practised upon the benevolent +stranger, and cried in glee, + +'Wasn't he green, Bladergrass? _He_ thought I was dyin' by inches, as +well as you. O, O, O!' and laughed and danced, to the admiration of +Blade-o'-Grass, without feeling a particle of gratitude for the +benevolent instinct which had saved his companion from starvation. + + +[Illustration] + + +After this fashion did Blade-o'-Grass learn life's lessons, and learn +to fight its battles. Deprived of wholesome teaching and wholesome +example; believing, from very necessity, that bad was good; without +any knowledge of God and His infinite goodness, she, almost a +baby-child, went out into the world, in obedience to the law of +nature, in search of food. A slice of bread-and-butter was more to her +than all the virtues, the exercise of which, as we are taught, bestows +the light of eternal happiness. And yet, if earnest men are to be +believed, and if there be truth in newspaper columns, the vast +machinery around her was quick with sympathy for her, as one of a +class whom it is man's duty to lift from the dust. Such struggles for +the amelioration (fine word!) of the human race were being made by +earnest natures, that it was among the most awful mysteries of the +time, how Blade-o'-Grass was allowed to grow up in the ignorance which +deprives crime of responsibility; how she was forced to be dead to the +knowledge of virtue; how she was compelled to earn the condemnation of +men, and to make sorrowful the heart of the Supreme! + + + + MR. MERRYWHISTLE RELIEVES HIMSELF ON THE SUBJECT OF + INDISCRIMINATE CHARITY. + + +The name of the man who gave Tom Beadle the shilling was Merrywhistle. +He was a bachelor, and he lived in the eastern part of the City, in +Buttercup-square, next door to his best friends, the Silvers. Although +Buttercup-square was in the east of the City, where the greatest +poverty is to be found, and where people crowd upon each other +unhealthfully, it was as pretty and comfortable a square as could be +found anywhere; and you might live in any house in it and fancy +yourself in the country, when you looked out of window. The trees in +the square were full of birds' nests, and the singing of the birds of +a summer morning was very sweet to the ear. + +Mr. Merrywhistle had no trade or profession. When the last census was +taken, and the paper was given to him to fill-in, he set himself down +as 'Nothing Particular,' and this eccentric definition of himself +coming under the eyes of his landlady--who, like every other landlady, +was mighty curious about the age, religion, and occupation of her +lodgers, and whether they were single, widowed, or divorced men--was +retailed by her to her friends. As a necessary consequence, _her_ +friends retailed the information to _their_ friends; and for some +little time afterwards, they used to ask of the landlady and of each +other, jocosely, how Nothing Particular was getting along, and whether +he had lately done Anything Particular; and so on. But this mildest of +jokes soon died out, and never reached Mr. Merrywhistle's ears. He had +an income more than sufficient for his personal wants; but at the +year's end not a shilling remained of his year's income. A pale face, +a look of distress, a poor woman with a baby in arms, a person looking +hungrily in a cook-shop window--any one of these sights was sufficient +to melt his benevolent heart, and to draw copper or silver from +his pocket. It was said of him that his hands were always in his +pockets--a saying which was the occasion of a piece of sarcasm, which +grew into a kind of proverb. A lady-resident of Buttercup-square, +whose husband was of the parsimonious breed, when speaking of Mr. +Merrywhistle's benevolence, said, with a sigh, 'My husband is just +like Mr. Merrywhistle; his hands are always in his pockets.' 'Yes, +ma'am,' said an ill-natured friend, 'but there the similarity ends. +Your husband's hands _never come out_.' Which produced a lifelong +breach between the parties. + +Mr. Merrywhistle was in a very disturbed mood this evening. He was +haunted by the face of the old man who had been amused, because he had +given a poor child, a shilling. The thought of this old man proved the +most obstinate of tenants to Mr. Merrywhistle; having got into his +mind, it refused to be dislodged. He had never seen this man before, +and here, in the most unaccountable manner, he being haunted and +distressed by a face which presented itself to his imagination with a +mocking expression upon it, because he had been guilty of a charitable +act. 'I should like to meet him again,' said Mr. Merrywhistle to +himself; 'I'd talk to him!' Which mild determination, hotly expressed, +was intended to convey an exceedingly severe meaning. As he could not +dislodge the thought of the man from his mind, Mr. Merrywhistle +resolved to go to his friends next door, the Silvers, and take tea +with them. He went in, and found them, as he expected, just sitting +down to tea. Only two of them, husband and wife. + +'I am glad you have come in,' said Mrs. Silver to him. Her voice might +surely have suggested her name, it was so mild and gentle. But +everything about her was the same. Her dress, her quiet manner, her +delicate face, her hands, her eyes, where purity dwelt, breathed peace +and goodness. She and her sisters (and there are many, thank God!) are +the human pearls of the world which is so often called 'erring.' + +'How are the youngsters?' asked Mr. Merrywhistle, stirring his tea. + +'All well,' answered Mr. Silver; 'you'll stay and see them?' + +Mr. Merrywhistle nodded, and proceeded with his tea. The meal being +nearly over, Mrs. Silver said, 'Now, friend, tell us your trouble.' + +'You see it in my face,' responded Mr. Merrywhistle. + +'Yes; I saw it when you entered.' + +'You have the gift of divination.' + +'Say, the gift of sympathy for those I love.' + +Mr. Merrywhistle held out his hand, and she grasped it cordially. Then +he told them of the occurrence that took place on the Royal Exchange, +and of the singular manner in which he was haunted by the mocking face +of the old man who had watched him. + +'You have an instinct, perhaps,' said Mrs. Silver, 'that he was one of +the men who might have preached at you, if he had had the opportunity, +against indiscriminate charity?' + +'No, I don't know, I don't know, I really don't know,' replied Mr. +Merrywhistle excitedly. 'I think he rather enjoyed it; he seemed to +look upon it as an amusing exhibition, for he was almost convulsed by +laughter. Laughter! It wasn't laughter. It was a series of demoniac +chuckles, that's what it was--demoniac chuckles. But I can't exactly +describe what it was that set my blood boiling. It wasn't his demoniac +chuckling alone, it was everything about him; his manner, his +expression, his extraordinary eyes; one of which looked like the eye +of an infuriated bull, as if it were half inclined to fly out of +its head at you, and the other as if it were the rightful property +of the meekest and mildest of baa-lambs. Then his eye-brows--lapping +over as if they were precipices, and as thick as blacking-brushes. +Then his face, like a little sour and withered apple. Your +pro-indiscriminate-charity men would not have behaved as he did. They +would have asked me. How dare I--how dare I?--yes, that is what they +would have said--How dare I encourage pauperism by giving money to +little boys and girls and ragged men and women, whom I have never seen +in my life before, whom I have never heard of in my life before? This +fellow wasn't one of _them_. No, no--no, I say, he wasn't one of +_them_. I wouldn't swear that he wasn't drunk--no, I won't say that; +tipsy, perhaps--no, nor that either. Uncharitable of me--very. Don't +laugh at me. You wouldn't have laughed at the poor little boy if you +had seen him.' + +'I am sure we should not.' + +'That's like me again,' cried the impetuous old bachelor remorsefully; +'throwing in the teeth of my best friends an accusation of +inhumanity--yes, inhumanity--positive inhumanity. Forgive me--I am +truly sorry. But that indiscriminate-charity question cropped up again +to-day, and that, as well as this affair, has set my nerves in a +jingle. A gentleman called upon me this morning, and asked me for a +subscription towards the funds of an institution--a worthy +institution, as I believe. I hadn't much to spare--I am so +selfishly extravagant that my purse is always low--and I gave him +half-a-sovereign. He took it, and looked at it and at me +reproachfully. "I was given to understand," he said in the meekest of +voices, so meek, indeed, that I could hot possibly take offence--"I +was given to understand that from Mr. Merrywhistle, and in aid of +_such_ an institution as ours, I should have received a much larger +contribution."' + +'That savoured of impertinence,' observed Mr. Silver. + +'I daresay, Silver, I daresay. Another man might have thought +so; but I couldn't possibly be angry with him, his manner was so +humble--reproachfully humble. I explained to him that at present I +couldn't afford more, and that, somehow or other, my money melted away +most surprisingly. "I hope, sir," he then said, "that what I was told +of you is not true, and that you are not in the habit of giving away +money indiscriminately." I could not deny it--no, indeed, I could not +deny it--and I commenced to say, hesitatingly (feeling very guilty), +that now and then---- But he interrupted me with, "Now and then, +sir!--now and then! You will pardon my saying so, Mr. Merrywhistle, +but it may not have struck you before that those persons who give away +money indiscriminately are making criminals for us--are filling our +prisons--are blowing a cold blast on manly self-endeavour--are +crippling industry--are paying premiums to idleness, which is the +offspring of the----hem!" And continued in this strain for more than +five minutes. When he went away, my hair stood on end, and I felt as +if sentence ought to be pronounced upon me at once. And here, this +very afternoon, am I caught again by a pitiful face--you should +have seen it! I thought the poor boy would have died as I looked at +him--and I give away a shilling, indiscriminately. Then comes this +strange old fellow staring at me--sneering at me, shrugging +his shoulders at me, and walking away with the unmistakable +declaration--though he didn't declare it in words--that I wasn't fit +to be trusted alone. As perhaps I'm not,--as perhaps I'm not!' And Mr. +Merrywhistle blew his nose violently. + +His friends knew him too well to interrupt him. The tea-things had +been quietly cleared away, while he was relieving his feelings. He had +by this time got rid of a great portion of his excitement; and now, in +his cooler mood, he looked round and smiled. At that moment a lad of +about fifteen years of age entered the room. All their countenances +brightened, as also did his, as he entered. + +'Well, Charley,' said Mr. Merrywhistle, as the lad, with frank face, +stood before him, 'been knocking anything into "pie" to-day?' + +'No, sir,' replied Charley. 'I'm past that now; I'm getting along +handsomely, the overseer said.' + +'That's right, my boy; that's right. You'll be overseer yourself, some +day.' + +Charley blushed; his ambition had not yet reached that height of +desire, and it seemed almost presumption to him to look so far ahead. +The overseer in the printing-office where Charley was apprenticed was +a great man in Charley's eyes; his word was law to fifty men and boys. +The lad turned to Mr. Silver, and said in a pleased tone: + +'A new apprentice came in today, and swept out the office instead of +me.' + +'So you are no longer knight of the broom? + +'No, sir, and I'm not sorry for it; and there's something else. Dick +Trueman, you know, sir--' + +'You told us, Charley; he was out of his time last week, and they gave +him a frame as a regular journeyman.' + +'Yes, sir; and he earnt thirty-four shillings last week--full wages. +And what do you think he did today, sir?' And Charley's bright eyes +sparkled more brightly. These small items of office-news were of vast +importance to Charley--almost as important as veritable history. 'But +you couldn't guess,' he continued, in an eager tone. 'He asked for +three hours' holiday--from eleven till two--and he went out and got +married!' + +'Bless my soul!' exclaimed Mr. Merrywhistle, 'he can't be much more +than twenty-one years of age.' + +'Only a few weeks more, sir. But he's a man now. Well, he came back at +two o'clock, in a new suit of clothes, and a flower in his coat. All +the men knew, directly they saw him, that he had asked for the +three hours' holiday to get married in. And they set up such a +clattering--rattling on their cases with their sticks, and on the +stone with the mallets and planers--that you couldn't hear your own +voice for five minutes; for every one of us likes Dick Trueman. You +should have seen Dick blush, when he heard the salute! He tried to +make them believe that he didn't know what all the clattering was +about. But they kept it up so long, that he was obliged to come to the +stone and bob his head at us. It makes me laugh only to think of it. +And then the overseer shook hands with him, and Dick sent for three +cans of beer, and all the men drank his health and good luck to him.' +Charley paused to take breath. The simple story, as he told it in his +eager way, was a pleasant story to hear. Now came the most important +part of it Charley's eyes grew larger as he said, with much +importance, 'I saw her.' + +'Who?' they asked. + +'Dick's wife; she was waiting at the corner of the street for him--and +O, she's Beautiful!' + +'Quite a day of excitement, Charley,' said Mr. Silver. + +'There's something more, sir.' + +'What is it, Charley?' + +'Our wayz-goose comes off next week, sir.' + +'Yes, Charley.' + +'Only two of the apprentices are asked, and I'm one of them,' said +Charley, with a ring of pardonable pride in his voice. 'May I go? + +'Certainly, my boy,' said Mr. Silver. And Mrs. Silver smiled +approvingly, and told Charley to run and wash himself and have tea; +and Charley gave them all a bright look, and went out of the room as +happy a boy as any in all London. + +Then said Mr. Merrywhistle: + +'Charley's a good lad.' + +'He's our first and eldest,' said Mrs. Silver, bringing forward a +basket filled with socks and stockings wanting repair; 'he will be a +bright man.' + +Mr. Merrywhistle nodded, and they talked of various subjects until the +sound of children's happy voices interrupted them. 'Here are our +youngsters,' he said, rubbing his hands joyously; and as he spoke a +troop of children came into the room. + + + + MRS. SILVER'S HOME. + + +There were five of them, as follows: + +The eldest, Charles, the printer's apprentice, fifteen years of +age--with a good honest face and a bright manner. The picture of a +happy boy. + +Then Mary, fourteen years. She looked older than Charley, and, young +as she was, seemed to have assumed a kind of matronship over the +younger branches. That the position was a pleasing one to her and all +of them was evident by the trustful looks that passed between them. + +Then Richard, twelve years; with dancing eyes, open mouth, and quick, +impetuous, sparkling manner--filled with electricity--never still for +a moment together; hands, eyes, and every limb imbued with +restlessness. + +Then Rachel, eleven years; with pale face and eyes--so strangely +watchful of every sound, that it might almost have been supposed she +listened with them. She was blind, and unless her attention were +aroused, stood like a statue waiting for the spark of life. + +Lastly, Ruth. A full-faced, round-eyed child, the prettiest of the +group. Slightly wilful, but of a most affectionate disposition. + +Rachel inclined her head. + +'There's some one here,' she said. + +'Who, my dear?' asked Mrs. Silver, holding up a warning finger to Mr. +Merrywhistle, so that he should not speak. + +Rachel heard his light breathing. + +'Mr. Merrywhistle,' she said, and went near to him. He kissed her, and +she went back to her station by the side of Ruth. + +They were a pleasant bunch of human flowers to gaze at, and so Mr. and +Mrs. Silver and Mr. Merrywhistle thought, for their eyes glistened at +the healthful sight. Ruth and Rachel stood hand in hand, and it was +easily to be seen that they were necessary to each other. But pleasant +as the children were to the sight, a stranger would have been struck +with amazement at their unlikeness to one another. Brothers and +sisters they surely could not be, although their presence there and +their bearing to each other betokened no less close a relationship. +They were not indeed related by blood, neither to one another, nor to +Mr. and Mrs. Silver. They were Mrs. Silver's foundlings--children of +her love, whom she had taken, one by one, to rear as her own, whom she +had snatched from the lap of Destitution. + +Her marriage was one of purest affection, but she was barren; and +after a time, no children coming, she felt a want in her home. Her +husband was secretary in a sound assurance office, and they possessed +means to rear a family. Before their marriage, they had both dwelt in +thought upon the delight and pure pleasure in store for them, and +after their marriage she saw baby-faces in her dreams. She mused: 'My +husband's son will be a good man, like his father, and we shall train +him well, and he will be a pride to us.' And he: 'In my baby daughter +I shall see my wife from her infancy, and I shall watch her grow to +girlhood, to pure womanhood, and shall take delight in her, for that +she is ours, the offspring of our love.' But these were dreams. No +children came; and his wife still dreamt of her shadow-baby, and +yearned to clasp it to her bosom. Years went on--they had married when +they were young--and her yearning was unsatisfied. Pain entered into +her life; a dull envy tormented her, when she thought of homes made +happy by children's prattle, and her tears flowed easily at the sight +of children. Her husband, engrossed all the day in the duties and +anxieties of his business, had less time to brood over the +deprivation, although he mourned it in his leisure hours; but she, +being always at home, and having no stern labour to divert her +thoughts from the sad channel in which they seemed quite naturally to +run, mourned with so intense a grief, that it took possession of her +soul and threatened to make her life utterly unhappy. One day he awoke +to this, and quietly watched her; saw the wistful looks she cast about +her, unaware that she was being observed; felt tears flowing from her +eyes at night. He questioned her, and learnt that her grief and +disappointment were eating into her heart; that, strive as she would, +her life was unhappy in its loneliness while he was away, and that the +sweetest light of home was wanting. + +'I see baby-faces in my dreams,' she said to him one night, 'and hear +baby-voices--so sweet, O, so sweet!' She pressed him in her arms, and +laid his head upon her breast. 'And when I wake, I grieve.' + +'Dear love,' he said, all the tenderness of his nature going out in +his words, 'God wills it so.' + +'I know, I know, my love,' she answered, her tears still flowing. + +'How can I fill up the void in her life?' he thought, and gave +expression to his thought. + +Then she reproached herself, and asked his forgiveness, and cried, in +remorse, 'How could she, how could she grieve him with her sorrow?' + +'I have a right to it,' he answered. 'It is not all yours, my dear. +Promise me, you in whom all my life's cares and joys are bound, never +to conceal another of your griefs from me.' + +She promised, and was somewhat comforted. This was within a couple of +months of Christmas. A few nights before Christmas, as he was walking +home, having been detained later than usual at his office, he came +upon a throng of people talking eagerly with one another, and crowding +round something that was hidden from his sight. It was bitterly cold, +and the snow lay deep. He knew that nothing of less import than a +human cause could have drawn that concourse together, and could have +kept them bound together on such a night, and while the snow was +falling heavily. He pushed his way through the crowd to the front, and +saw a policeman gazing stupidly upon two forms lying on the ground. +One was a man--dead; the other a baby--alive in the dead man's arms. +He had them--the living and the dead--conveyed to the station-house; +inquiries were set afoot; an inquest was held. Nothing was learnt of +the man; no one knew anything of him; no one remembered having ever +seen him before; and the mystery of his life was sealed by his death. +He told his wife the sad story, and kept her informed of the progress, +or rather the non-progress, of the inquiry. The man was buried, and +was forgotten by all but the Silvers. Only one person attended the +parish funeral as mourner, and that was Mr. Silver, who was urged to +the act by a feeling of humanity. + +'The poor baby? said Mrs. Silver, when he came from the funeral--'what +will become of it?' + +In the middle of the night she told her husband that she had dreamt of +the baby. 'It stretched out its little arms to me.' + +Her husband made no reply; but a few nights afterwards, having +arranged with the parish authorities, he brought home the child, and +placed it in his wife's arms. Her heart warmed to it immediately. A +new delight took possession of her; the maternal instinct, though not +fully satisfied, was brought into play. During the evening she said, +'How many helpless orphans are there round about us, and we are +childless!' And then again, looking up tenderly from the babe in her +lap to her husband's face, 'Perhaps this is the reason why God has +given us no children.' + + +[Illustration] + + +From this incident sprang the idea of helping the helpless; and year +after year an orphan child was adopted, until they had six, when their +means were lessened, and they found they could take no more. Then Mr. +Merrywhistle stepped in, and gave sufficient to lift another babe from +Desolation's lap. This last was twin-sister to Blade-o'-Grass, and +they named her Ruth. From this brief record we pass to the present +evening, when all the children are assembled in Mrs. Silver's house in +Buttercup-square. + +Some little time is spent in merry chat--much questioning of the +children by Mr. Merrywhistle, who is a great favourite with them, and +to whom such moments as these are the sweetest in his life. Charley +tells over again the stirring incidents of the day, and they nod their +heads, and laugh, and clap their hands, and cluster round him. Charley +is their king. + +'Come, children, sit down,' presently says Mr. Silver. + +They sit round the table, Charley at the head, next to Mrs. Silver; +then come Ruth and Rachel, with hands clasped beneath the tablecloth; +then Mary and Richard. Mr. Silver produces a book; they hold their +breaths. The blind girl knows that the book is on the table, and her +fingers tighten upon Ruth's, and all her ears are in her eyes. It is a +study to watch the varying shades of expression upon her face. As Mr. +Silver opens the book you might hear a pin drop. Ruth nestles closer +to Rachel, and Charley rises in his excitement. Mr. Merrywhistle sits +in the armchair, and as he looks round upon the happy group, is as +happy as the happiest among them. It is the custom every evening +(unless pressing duties intervene) to read a chapter of a good work of +fiction, and the reading-hour is looked forward to with eager delight +by all the children. Last week they finished the _Vicar of Wakefield_, +and this week they are introduced to the tender romance of _Paul and +Virginia_. The selection of proper books is a grave task, and is +always left to Mrs. Silver, who sometimes herself reads aloud. + +'Where did we leave off last night, children?' asks Mr. Silver. + +'Where Madame de la Tour receives a letter from her aunt,' answers +Mary. + +'Yes, from her spiteful old aunt,' adds Richard, 'and where Paul +stamps his feet and wants to know who it is that has made Virginia's +mother unhappy.' + +A 'Hush-sh-sh!' runs round the table; and Mr. Silver commences the +beautiful chapter where Virginia gives food to the poor slave woman, +and induces her master to pardon her. With what eagerness do the +children listen to how Paul and Virginia are lost in the woods! They +gather cresses with the young lovers, and they help Paul set fire to +the palm-tree, and they see the Three Peaks in the distance. Then they +come to the famous part where Paul and Virginia stand by the banks of +a river, the waters of which roll foaming over a bed of rocks. 'The +noise of the water frightened Virginia, and she durst not wade through +the stream; Paul therefore took her up in his arms, and went thus +loaded over the slippery rocks, which formed the bed of the river, +careless of the tumultuous noise of its waters.' [Thinks Richard, 'O, +how I wish that I were Paul, carrying Virginia over the river!'] '"Do +not be afraid," cried Paul to Virginia; "I feel very strong with you. +If the inhabitant of the Black River had refused you the pardon of his +slave, I would have fought with him."' ['And so would I,' thinks +Richard, clenching his fists.] Night comes, and the lovers are almost +despairing. Profound silence reigns in the awful solitudes. Will they +escape? Can they escape? Paul climbs to the top of a tree, and cries, +'Come, come to the help of Virginia!' But only the echoes answer him, +and the faint sound of 'Virginia, Virginia!' wanders through the +forest. Despairing, they try to comfort each other, and seek for +solace in prayer. Hark! they hear the barking of a dog. 'Surely,' says +Virginia, 'it is Fidèle, our own dog. Yes, I know his voice. Are we, +then, so near home? At the foot of our own mountain?' So they are +rescued, and this night's reading ends happily. The delight of the +children, the intense interest with which they hang upon every word, +cannot be described. Their attention is so thoroughly engrossed, that +the figures of the young lovers might be living and moving before +them. When Mr. Silver shuts the book, a sigh comes from the youthful +audience. A pause ensues, and then the children talk unreservedly +about the story, and what the end will be--all but Ruth, who is too +young yet to form opinions. It is of course this and of course that +with them all, and not one of them guesses the truth, or has any idea +of the tragic ending of the story. + +'Charley,' says little Ruth, 'you are like Paul.' + +They all clap their hands in acquiescence. + +'But where's my Virginia?' asks Charley. + +'_I'll_ be Virginia,' cries Ruth somewhat precociously; 'and you can +carry me about where you like.' + +They all laugh at this, and Ruth is quite proud, believing that she +has distinguished herself. It is strange to hear the blind girl say, +'I can see Paul with Virginia in his arms.' And no doubt she can, +better than the others who are blessed with sight. The three grown-up +persons listen and talk among themselves, and now and then join in the +conversation. The clock strikes--nine. It is a cuckoo-clock, and the +children listen to the measured 'Cuckoo! Cuck-oo!' until the soulless +bird, having, with an egregious excess of vanity, asserted itself nine +times as the great 'I am' of all the birds in town or country, retires +into its nest, and sleeps for an hour. Then a chapter from the Bible +and prayers, and in the prayers a few words to the memory of two--a +brother and a sister--who have gone from among them. For last year +they were seven; now they are five. Their faces grow sad as the memory +of their dear brother and sister comes upon them in their prayers, and +'Poor Archie!' 'Poor Lizzie!' hang upon their lips. The night's +pleasures and duties being ended, the three youngest children go to +bed, the last kind nod and smile being given to Ruth, sister to poor +Blade-o'-Grass, who lingers a moment behind the others, and with her +arm round Rachel's neck, cries 'Cuck-oo! Cuck-oo!' as her final +good-night. But the proud bird in the clock takes no notice, and +preserves a disdainful silence, although Ruth, as her custom is, waits +a moment or two, and listens for the reply that does not come. Charley +and Mary stop up an hour later than the others, reading; but before +that hour expires, Mr. Merrywhistle bids his friends good-night, and +retires. + + + + MR. MERRYWHISTLE MEETS THE QUEER LITTLE OLD MAN. + + +But not to his bed. He was restless, and, the night being a fine one, +he strolled out of Buttercup-square into the quiet streets. It was a +favourite custom of his to walk along the streets of a night with no +companions but his thoughts. Almost invariably he chose the quiet +streets, for there are streets in London--north and south and east and +west--which never sleep; streets which are healthy with traffic in the +day, and diseased with traffic in the night. + +Mr. Merrywhistle walked along and mused, in no unhappy frame of mind. +A visit to the Silvers always soothed and comforted him; and on this +occasion the sweet face of Mrs. Silver, and the happy faces and voices +of the children, rested upon him like a peaceful cloud. So engrossed +was he, that he did not heed the pattering of a small urchin at his +side, and it was many moments before he awoke from his walking dream, +and became conscious of the importunate intruder. + +'If you please, sir!' said the small urchin, for the twentieth time, +in a voice of weak pleading. + +Mr. Merrywhistle looked down, and saw a face that he fancied he had +seen before. But the memory of the happy group in Buttercup-square +still lingered upon him. What he really saw as he looked down was a +little boy without a cap, large-eyed, white-faced, and bare-footed. No +other than Tom Beadle in fact, making hay, or trying to make it, not +while the sun, but while the moon shone. + +'If you please, sir!' repeated the boy, 'will you give me a copper to +buy a bit o' bread?' + +Then the dawn of faint suspicion loomed upon Mr. Merrywhistle. He +placed his hand lightly upon Tom Beadle's shoulder, and said in a +troubled voice, 'My boy, haven't I seen you before to-day?' + +'No, sir,' boldly answered Tom Beadle, having no suspicion of the +truth; for when the shilling was slipped into his hand, his eyes were +towards the ground, and he did not see Mr. Merrywhistle's face. + +'Were you not on the Royal Exchange with a little girl, and didn't I +give you a--a shilling?' + +For a moment Tom Beadle winced, and he had it in his mind to twist his +shoulder from Mr. Merrywhistle's grasp and run away. For a moment +only: natural cunning and his inclination kept him where he was. To +tell the honest truth, a lie was a sweet morsel to Tom Beadle, and he +absolutely gloried in 'taking people in.' So, on this occasion, he +sent one sharp glance at Mr. Merrywhistle--which, rapid as it was, had +all the effect of a sun-picture upon him--and whined piteously, 'Me +'ave a shillin' guv to me! Never 'ad sich a bit o' luck in all my born +days. It was some other boy, sir, some cove who didn't want it. They +allus gits the luck of it. And as for a little gal and the Royal +Igschange, I wish I may die if I've been near the place for a week!' + +'And you are hungry?' questioned Mr. Merrywhistle, fighting with his +doubts. + +''Aven't 'ad a ounce o' bread in my mouth this blessed day;' and two +large tears gathered in Tom Beadle's eyes. He took care that Mr. +Merrywhistle should see them. + +Mr. Merrywhistle sighed, and with a feeling of positive pain gave +twopence to Tom Beadle, who slipped his shoulder from Mr. +Merrywhistle's hand with the facility of an eel, and scudded away in +an exultant frame of mind. + +Mr. Merrywhistle walked a few steps, hesitated, and then turned in the +direction that Tom Beadle had taken. + +'Now, I wonder,' he thought, 'whether the collector was right this +morning, and whether I have been assisting in making criminals today.' + +Truly this proved to be a night of coincidences to Mr. Merrywhistle; +for he had not walked a mile before he came upon the queer little old +man, whom he had met on the Royal Exchange. The old fellow was leaning +against a lamp-post, smoking a pipe, and seemed to be as much at home +in the wide street as he would have been in his own parlour. He looked +surly and ill-grained, and his eyebrows were very precipitous. His +mild eye was towards Mr. Merrywhistle, as that gentleman approached +him, and when Mr. Merrywhistle slowly passed him, his fierce eye came +in view and lighted upon the stroller. Before he had left the old man +three yards behind him, Mr. Merrywhistle fancied he heard a chuckle. +He would have dearly liked to turn back and accost the old man, but a +feeling of awkwardness was upon him, and he could not muster +sufficient courage. Chance, however, brought about an interview. Not +far from him was a building that might have been a palace, it was so +grand and light. It was a triumph of architecture, with its beautiful +pillars, and its elaborate stonework. Great windows, higher than a +man's height, gilt framed, and blazing with a light that threw +everything around them in the shade, tempted the passer-by to stop and +admire. There were three pictures in the windows, and these pictures +were so cunningly surrounded by jets of light, that they could not +fail to attract the eye. Awful satires were these pictures. Two of +them represented the figure of a man under different aspects. On the +left, this man was represented with a miserably-attenuated face, every +line in which expressed woe and destitution; his clothes were so +ragged that his flesh peeped through; his cheeks were thin, his lips +were drawn in, his eyes were sunken; his lean hands seemed to tremble +beneath a weight of misery: at the foot of this picture was an +inscription, to the effect that it was the portrait of a man who did +_not_ drink So-and-so's gin and So-and-so's stout, both of which +life's elixirs were to be obtained within. On the right, this same man +was represented with full-fleshed face, with jovial eyes, with +handsome mouth and teeth, with plump cheeks, with fat hands--his +clothes and everything about him betokening worldly prosperity and +happiness: at the foot of this picture was an inscription, to the +effect that it was the portrait of the same man who (having, it is to +be presumed, seen the error of his ways) _did_ drink So-and-so's gin +and So-and-so's stout. A glance inside this palace, crowded with +Misery, would have been sufficient to show what a bitter satire these +pictures were. But the centre picture, in addition to being a bitter +satire, was awfully suggestive. It was this: + + +[Illustration] + + +Whether to the artist or to the manufacturer was due the credit of +ingeniously parading 'Old Tom' in a coffin, cannot (through the +ignorance of the writer) here be recorded. But there it shone--an +ominous advertisement. As Mr. Merrywhistle halted for a moment before +these pictures, there issued from the Laboratory of Crime and Disease +a man and a woman: he, blotched and bloated; she, worn-eyed and +weary--both of them in rags. The woman, clinging to his arm, was +begging him to come home--for his sake; for hers; for the children's; +for God's! With his disengaged hand he struck at her, and she fell to +the ground, bleeding. She rose, however, and wiped her face with her +apron, and implored him again and again to come home--and again he +struck at her: this time with cruel effect, for she lay in the dust, +helpless for a while. A crowd gathered quickly, and a hubbub ensued. +In the midst of the Babel of voices, Mr. Merrywhistle, looking down +saw the strange old man standing by his side. The same surly, sneering +expression was on the old man's countenance, and Mr. Merrywhistle felt +half inclined to quarrel with him for it. But before he had time to +speak, the old man took the pipe out of his mouth, and pointing the +stem in the direction of the chief actors in the scene, said, 'I knew +them two when they was youngsters.' + +'Indeed,' replied Mr. Merrywhistle, interested immediately, and +delighted at the opportunity of opening up the conversation. + +'She was a han'some gal; you'd scarce believe it to look at her now. +She 'ad eyes like sloes; though whether sloes is bird, beast, or fish, +I couldn't tell ye, but I've heard the sayin' a 'undred times. +Anyways, she 'ad bright black eyes, and was a good gal too; but she +fell in love'--(in a tone of intense scorn)--with that feller, and +married him, the fool!' + +'What has brought them to this?' + +'Gin!' said the old man, expelling the word as if it were a bullet, +and bringing his fierce eye to bear with all its force upon Mr. +Merrywhistle. + +Short as was the time occupied by this dialogue, it was long enough to +put an end to the scene before them. The woman was raised to her feet +by other women, many of whom urged her to 'Give him in charge, the +brute!' but she shook her head, and staggered away in pain. Very +quickly after her disappearance the crowd dissolved, by far the +greater part of it finding its way through the swing-doors of the +gin-palace, to talk of the event over So-and-so's gin and So-and-so's +stout. Not that there was anything new or novel in the occurrence. It +was but a scene in a drama of real life that had been played many +hundred times in that locality. Presently the street was quite clear, +and Mr. Merrywhistle and the old man were standing side by side, +alone. A handy lamp-post served as a resting-place for the old man, +who continued to smoke his pipe, and to chuckle between whiles, as if +he knew that Mr. Merrywhistle wanted to get up a conversation, and did +not know how to commence. As he saw that the old man was determined +not to assist him, and as every moment added to the awkwardness of the +situation, Mr. Merrywhistle made a desperate plunge. + +'When I was on the Royal Exchange to-day----' he commenced. + +The old man took his pipe out of his mouth, and expelled a cloud and a +chuckle at the same moment. + +'I thought you was a-comin' to that,' he said. 'You owe me a bob.' + +'What for?' + +'I made a bet with you--_to_ myself--that the first thing you'd speak +about was the Royal Exchange. I bet you a bob--_to_ myself--and I won +it.' + +Without hesitation Mr. Merrywhistle took a shilling from his pocket, +and offered it to the old man, who eyed it with his fierce eye for a +moment, doubtingly and with curiosity, and then calmly took possession +of it, and put it in his waistcoat-pocket. + +'When you was, on the Royal Exchange to-day,' he said, repeating Mr. +Merrywhistle's words, 'you sor a boy and a girl a-beggin'.' + +'No,' exclaimed Mr. Merrywhistle warmly; 'they were _not_ begging.' + +'_You_ may call it what you like,' said the old man; 'but _I_ call it +beggin'; and so would that identical boy, if I was to ask him. He +wouldn't tell _you_ so, though. The boy he looked as if he was goin' +to die, and you give him a copper or a bit of silver; and you wasn't +pleased because I laughed at you for it. Now, then, fire away.' + +'Was that boy starving? Was he as ill as he looked? Was I----' + +'Took in?' added the old man, as Mr. Merrywhistle hesitated to express +the doubt 'Why? D'ye want your money back? Lord! he's a smart little +chap, is Tom Beadle!' + +'You know him, then?' + +'Know him!' replied the old man, with a contemptuous snort; 'I'd like +to be told who it is about 'ere I don't know. And I'd like to know who +_you_ are. I'm almost as fond of askin' questions as I am of answering +'em. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. If you expect +Jimmy Wirtue to answer your questions, you must make up your mind to +answer his'n.' + +'You're Mr. Virtue, then?' + +'You're at it agin. No, I'm not Mr. Virtue' (he had to struggle with +the 'V' before it would pass his lips), 'but Jimmy Wirtue--and that's +not Jimmy Wice. What's your'n?' + +'Merrywhistle,' replied that gentleman shortly. + +Jimmy Virtue was pleased at the quick answer. + +'Merrywhistle!' he exclaimed. 'That's a rum name--rummer than mine. +What more would you like to know? What am I? I keep a leavin'-shop. +Where do I live? In Stoney-alley. Now, what are you; and where do +_you_ live? Are you a Methody parson, or a penny-a-liner, or a +detective, or a cove that goes about studyin' human nater, or a +feelanthrofist. We've lots o' _them_ knockin' about 'ere.' + +Mr. Merrywhistle was constrained to reply, but found himself +unexpectedly in a quandary. + +'I'm a--a--O, I'm Nothing Particular,' blurting it out almost in +desperation. + +'You look like it,' chuckled Jimmy Virtue, so tickled by his smart +retort as to be satisfied with Mr. Merrywhistle's vague definition +of his calling. 'We've lots of _your_ sort, too, knockin' about +here--more than the feelanthrofists, I shouldn't wonder. But I don't +think there's any 'arm in you. Jimmy Wirtue's not a bad judge of a +face; and he can tell you every one of your organs. 'Ere's +Benevolence--you've got that large; 'ere's Ideality--not much o' that; +'ere's Language--shut your eyes; 'ere's Causality--no, it ain't; you +'aven't got it. I can't see your back bumps, nor the bumps atop o' +your 'ead; but I could ferret out every one of 'em, if I 'ad my +fingers there.' + +At this moment an individual approached them who would have attracted +the attention of the most unobservant. Mr. Merrywhistle did not see +his face; but the gait of the man was so singular, that his eyes +wandered immediately in the direction of the man. At every three steps +the singular figure paused, and puffed, as if he were a steam-engine, +and was blowing off steam. One--two--three; puff. One--two--three; +puff. One--two--three; puff. + +'What on earth is the matter with the man?' exclaimed Mr. Merrywhistle +to Jimmy Virtue. + +'Nothing that I knows of,' replied Jimmy Virtue; 'he's been goin' on +that way for the last twenty year. If you're lookin' out for +characters, you'll get plenty of 'em 'ere. Perhaps you're a artist for +one of the rubbishy picter-papers--one of the fellers who sees a +murder done in a Whitechapel court one day, and takes a picter of it +on the spot from nater; and who sees a shipwreck in the Atlantic the +next day, and takes a picter of _that_ on the spot from nater. That +there man's worth his ten 'undred golden sovereigns a-year, if he's +worth a penny; and he lives on tuppence a-day. The girls and boys +about here calls him Three-Steps-and-a-Puff. If you was to go and +offer him a ha'penny, he'd take it.' + +By the time that Three-Steps-and-a-Puff was out of sight, the tobacco +in Jimmy Virtue's pipe had turned to dust and smoke, and he prepared +to depart also. But seeing that Mr. Merrywhistle was inclined for +further conversation, he said: + + +[Illustration] + + +'Perhaps you'd like to come down and see my place?' + +Mr. Merrywhistle said that he _would_ very much like to come down and +see Jimmy Virtue's place. + +'Come along, then,' said Jimmy Virtue, but paused, and said, 'Stop a +bit; perhaps you wouldn't mind buyin' a penn'orth o' baked taters +first.' + +A baked-potato can, with a man attached to it, being near them, Mr. +Merrywhistle invested a penny, thinking that Jimmy Virtue intended the +potatoes for supper. + +'Did you ever consider,' said the eccentric old man, as they turned +down the narrowest of lanes, 'that a big city was like a theaytre?' + +'No, it never struck me.' + +'It is, though I there's stalls, and dress-circle, and pit, and +gallery, in a big city like London. The west, that's the stalls and +private boxes; the north, that's the dress-circle; the south, that's +the pit; the east, that's the gallery. This is the penny-gallery of +the theaytre; 'taint a nice place to lay in.' + +He stopped before the forms of two children--a boy and a girl--who, +huddled in each other's arms, were fast asleep in a gateway. He +stirred them gently with his foot; and the boy started to his feet +instantaneously, wide awake, and on the alert for his natural enemies, +the police. Mr. Merrywhistle was standing in the abutment of the +gateway, and the boy couldn't see his face; but the well-known form of +Jimmy Virtue was instantly recognised; and as the boy sank to the +ground, he muttered: + +'What's the good of waking us up just as we was a-gettin' warm? You +wouldn't like it yourself, Mr. Wirtue, you wouldn't.' + +Then he crept closer to his companion, and said sleepily: + +'Come along, Bladergrass; let's turn in agin.' + +The girl, who had been regarding the two dark shadows with a +half-frightened, half-imploring look, as if she dreaded that they were +about to turn her out of her miserable shelter, nestled in the lad's +arms, and the next minute they were asleep again. All blessings were +not denied to them. + +'I know that lad,' said Mr. Merrywhistle. + +'You ought to; it's Tom Beadle.' + +'And he was at the Royal Exchange to-day with that poor little girl?' + +'Yes, that was him. You thought he was dyin'. What do you think now? + +Jimmy Virtue seemed to take positive pleasure in putting the affair in +the worst light. + +Mr. Merrywhistle did not answer the question, but said, in a sad tone, +'He begged of me again to-night.' + +'Did he, though!' exclaimed Jimmy Virtue admiringly. + +'And when I asked him if any one had given him a--a shilling on the +Royal Exchange to-day, he took an oath that he hadn't been near the +Royal Exchange for a month, and that he had never had a shilling given +to him in all his life.' + +'And did you believe him, and give him anythin'?' + +'Yes' (hesitatingly), 'I gave him a trifle.' + +Jimmy Virtue stopped by a post, and held his sides. When he had had +his laugh out, he said: + +'Tom's a smart little thief. But you're not the first gent he's taken +in twice in one day. Come, now, he's taken you in twice with your eyes +shut; let him take you in once more with your eyes open.' + +'I don't understand.' + +'Them baked taters--' + +'Well?' + +'It wouldn't be a bad thing--like returnin' good for evil, as the +preachers say--if you was to go and put them taters in the little +girl's lap.' + +'No--no--no!' exclaimed Mr. Merrywhistle, a little violently, and +pausing between each negative, 'it'll be paying a premium for +dishonesty and lies.' + +The good fellow's heart was filled with pain as he uttered these +words, which, hotly spoken, served as fuel to flame; for Jimmy Virtue +turned upon him almost savagely, and snarled: + +'You're a nice article, you are, a-givin' and repentin'! I've been +took in by you, I 'ave. If I 'ad my fingers on the back o' your 'ead, +I'd find something that would do away with your bumps o' benevolence. +Dishonesty and lies! What'd you want, you and the likes? The boy's got +to live, ain't he? The boy's got to eat, ain't he? If he can't work +and don't beg, what's he to do? Steal? Yah! D'you think he's got money +in the bank? D'you think, if he 'ad his pockets full, he'd sleep in +the open air, in a gateway?' + +'Stop, stop, my good friend!' implored Mr. Merrywhistle, overcome by +remorse at his hard-heartedness. He ran quickly to where the children +were lying, and deposited the baked potatoes, and a few coppers as +well, in the girl's lap and hands. When he came back to where Jimmy +Virtue was standing, he found that worthy only half mollified. + +'A-givin' and repentin',' muttered the old man, as he walked towards +Stoney-alley, 'that's a nice kind o' charity!' Impelled by a sudden +thought, he turned back to the gateway, and kneeling by the side of +Blade-o'-Grass, opened her hot hand in which the pence were. + +'He's not a bad chap, after all,' he murmured, as he retraced his +steps, 'but it's enough to rile a feller and put a feller's back up, +when a man gives and repents.' + + + + JIMMY VIRTUE INTRODUCES MR. MERRYWHISTLE TO HIS PLACE + OF BUSINESS. + + +The moment Mr. Merrywhistle entered the habitation of Jimmy Virtue he +felt as if he were mildewed, and an impression stole upon him that he +had been lying on a musty shelf for a dozen years at least, and had +not been washed during the whole of the time. The place was dark when +they entered, and as Mr. Merrywhistle advanced cautiously, he came in +contact with soft bundles, from which a mouldy smell proceeded, and +which so encompassed him on all sides, that he was frightened at every +step he moved, lest he should bring confusion on himself. When Jimmy +Virtue lighted two melancholy wicks--tallow twelves--Mr. Merrywhistle +looked about him in wonder. It was the queerest and the dirtiest of +shops, and was filled with bundles of rags. Pocket-handkerchiefs, +trousers, coats, waistcoats, and underclothing of every description +met his eye whichever way he turned; faded dresses and dirty +petticoats (many with mud still on them, as if they had been taken off +in the streets in bad weather) so choked the shelves, that some of +them were in danger of bursting out; old boots hung from the ceiling; +old crinolines loomed upon him from the unlikeliest of places, and, as +he looked timorously up at them, yawned to ingulf him. One, hanging +behind the parlour-door, in the gloomiest corner, was so disposed, +that Mr. Merrywhistle's disturbed fancy added the lines of a woman's +form hanging in it; and the fancy grew so strong upon him, that +although he turned his back to the spot immediately, he could not +dismiss the figure of the hanging woman from his imagination. There +was an apartment behind the shop which Jimmy Virtue called his +parlour; but that was almost as full of rubbish as the shop. Neither +in shop or parlour was there fairly room to turn round in; if you +wanted to perform that movement, you had to tack for it. + +'And this is your dwelling,' Observed Mr. Merrywhistle, feeling it +incumbent upon him to speak, as Jimmy Virtue led the way into the +parlour, and motioned him to a seat. + +'I don't call it by that name myself,' replied Jimmy Virtue, in a not +over-polite tone. 'It's where I live and gets my livin', and I don't +give you more than a quarter of an hour.' + +By which Mr. Merrywhistle understood, that beyond a quarter of an hour +it would not be politeness for him to stay. + +'Ever been in a leavin'-shop before?' asked the old man. + +'No,' replied Mr. Merrywhistle; 'not that I am aware of. May I ask you +what a leaving-shop is?' + +'This is,' said Jimmy. 'All them things you see in the shop and in the +parlour--all them crinolines and peddicuts, and boots and dresses-- +belongs to poor people round about 'ere. I lend 'em a trifle on 'em, +and takes care of 'em; and charges 'em a trifle when they take 'em +out.' + +'They don't seem worth much,' observed Mr. Merrywhistle reflectively. + +'Perhaps not--to you. But they're worth a deal to them they belongs +to. There's a many o' them crinolines and peddicuts that comes in and +out like a Jack-in-a-box. Their movements are as regular as clockwork. +Monday afternoon in, Sunday mornin' out.' + +Here, to Mr. Merrywhistle's consternation, Jimmy Virtue took out his +mild eye--it being a glass one--and with the laconic remark, 'A damp +night makes it clammy,' wiped it calmly, and put it in again. The +effect of this upon Mr. Merrywhistle was appalling. To see that mild +eye--knowing that it was a glass one, and that a damp night made it +clammy--side by side with that fierce eye which, as he had described, +seemed inclined to fly out of its owner's head at you, was almost too +much for human endurance. And as Mr. Merrywhistle looked at them--he +could not help doing so, there was such a fascination in them--_both_ +eyes seemed to glare at him, and the glare of the glass was more +dreadful and overpowering than the glare of the flesh. Jimmy Virtue, +whose one organ of sight was as potent as if he were Argus-eyed, +remarked Mr. Merrywhistle's perturbation, and quietly enjoyed it; he +did not refer to the subject, however, but considerately treated Mr. +Merrywhistle to as much of his glass eye as he could conveniently +bestow upon him. + +'Speakin' of crinolines and peddicuts,' observed Jimmy, recurring to +his stock, 'they're not the only women's things that's left. We're in +the fashion down 'ere, I can tell you. In that box that you're +a-settin' on, there's a matter of seven chinons, that I takes care of +regularly a week-days--real 'air three of 'em are; them as belongs to +'em I do believe would sooner go without their stockin's a Sundays +than without their chinons. And now, jumpin' from one thing to +another, I should like to know whether you've got over your repentin' +fit, and whether you think Tom Beadle ought to be put in quod for +takin' your shillin' to-day.' + +'No; I've no doubt he did it out of necessity. But I wish he hadn't +told me----' + +'Lies. Don't stop at the word. Out of necessity! Ay, I should think +he did, the clever little thief. And necessity's the mother of +invention--consequently, necessity's the mother o' lies. You want a +friend o' mine to talk to you. He'd argue with you; but I fly into a +passion, and ain't got the patience that he's got. He'd talk to you +about Tom Beadle and little Blade-o'-Grass, and put things in a way +that ud stun you to 'ear.' + +'Little what?' + +'Blade-o'-Grass--the little girl that's sleepin' with Tom Beadle in +the gateway.' + +'What a singular name!--has she a mother and father?' + +'No mother; I can't say about father. I remember _him_ before the +young uns was born. He lived in this alley, and used to come into the +shop and leave his wife's things, and talk about the rights of man. +The rights of man! I tell you what he thought of them: a little while +before his wife was brought to bed, he cut away and left her. She was +brought to bed with twins--girls--and after that, she died.' + +'Then Blade-o'-Grass has a sister?' + +'Who said she 'as? I didn't. No, she ain't got a sister. I don't know +what came o' the other; but that don't matter to Blade-o'-Grass. Here +_she_ is, poor little devil, and that's enough for her, and more than +enough, I'll take my davy on. Time's up.' + +This was an intimation that it was time for Mr. Merrywhistle +to take his departure. Wishing to stand well in the eyes of Jimmy +Virtue--notwithstanding the dreadful effect the glass eye had upon +him--he rose, and said that he hoped they would meet again; to which +Jimmy Virtue said, that _he_ had no objection. + +'What do you say, now,' suggested Mr. Merrywhistle, 'to you and your +friend that you would like to talk to me coming to take a cup of tea +or a bit of dinner with me?' + +'Which?' asked Jimmy Virtue. 'Tea I don't care for.' + +'Dinner, then.' + +'A good dinner?' + +'Yes.' + +'Wine?' + +'Yes.' + +Something very like a twinkle shone in the old man's fierce eye. He +rubbed his hand over his chin, and said, + +'It's worth considerin' on.--When?' + +'Next Saturday; any time in the afternoon you like to name.' + +'That ud suit my friend,' said Jimmy Virtue, evidently impressed by +the prospect of a good dinner; 'he leaves off work a Saturdays at two +o'clock----' + +'Then we'll consider it settled,' said Mr. Merrywhistle eagerly. + +'----But I don't know that it ud suit _me_,' continued Jimmy, the +twinkle vanishing, and a calculating look taking its place. 'There's +the shop. I'd 'ave to shut it up--and then what would the customers +do? To be sure, I could put up a notice sayin' that it ud be open at +nine o'clock. I keep open till twelve Saturday night.' + +'Very well; manage it that way.' + +'I think you told me that you was Nothink Particular when I asked you +what you was, and bein' Nothink Particular, time's no account to you. +Now it _is_ some account to me--it's money.' Here he turned his blind +eye to Mr. Merrywhistle. 'If you want me to shut up my shop for six +hours, say, you must make it up to me. If you want Jimmy Wirtue's +company, you must pay for Jimmy Wirtue's time.' + +'That's fair enough,' said Mr. Merrywhistle readily, scarcely hearing +the suppressed chuckle to which Jimmy Virtue gave vent at the answer. +'What do you value your time at? + +'Sixpence an hour--three shillings for the six hours. Then there's the +disappointment to the customers, and the injury to the business; but +I'll throw them in.' + +Without a word, Mr. Merrywhistle took three shillings from his pocket +and placed them on the table. Still keeping his blind side to Mr. +Merrywhistle, Jimmy Virtue tried the coins with his teeth, and said, +'Done!' + +Whether he meant that he had 'done' Mr. Merrywhistle, or that the word +referred to the binding of the invitation to dinner, he did not stop +to explain, but asked, + +'Where?' + +'At the Three Jolly Butcher Boys, Cannon-street,' replied Mr. +Merrywhistle, not being confident that the resources of his +establishment in Buttercup-square would be sufficient to satisfy his +new and eccentric acquaintance. + +'That's settled, then,' said Jimmy, 'and I'll bring my friend at four +o'clock. And now, if you don't mind takin' a bit of advice, take +this--never you go talkin' to strangers agin at such a time o' night +as this, and never you accept another invitation to visit a man you +don't know nothin' of.' + +'But I knew I could trust you,' said Mr. Merrywhistle, smiling. + +'Did you!' exclaimed Jimmy. 'Then I wouldn't give the snuff of a +candle for your judgment. I'll see you out of this, if you please.' + +So saying, he led his visitor out of the shop. Mr. Merrywhistle could +not, for the life of him, help casting a hurried glance over his +shoulder in the direction of the special crinoline which had so +distressed him; and again the fancy came upon him, that he saw a woman +hanging behind the door. When he was in the open, however, this fancy +vanished, and he breathed more freely. They stopped to look at the +sleeping forms of Tom Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass in the gateway. The +children were fast locked in each other's arms, and were sleeping +soundly. + +In the wider thoroughfare, Jimmy Virtue bade Mr. Merrywhistle +'good-night,' and as he walked back to his shop in Stoney-alley, amused +himself by polishing his glass eye with a dirty pocket-handkerchief, and +chuckling over the remembrances of the night. + +In the mean time, Mr. Merrywhistle made his way to Buttercup-square, +not ill pleased with his adventure. But in the night he was tormented +by singular dreams, the most striking one of which contained the +horrible incident of Jimmy Virtue glaring at him with his glass eye, +and swallowing at one gulp a huge baked potato, with Tom Beadle and +Blade-o'-Grass sticking in the middle of it. + + + + THE STRANGE IDEA OF HALLELUJAH ENTERTAINED BY BLADE-O'-GRASS. + + +Punctually at four o'clock oh Saturday, Jimmy Virtue, accompanied by +his friend, presented himself to Mr. Merrywhistle at the Three Jolly +Butcher Boys. It might reasonably have been expected, that Jimmy would +have made some change for the better in his appearance, in honour of +the occasion; but Mr. Merrywhistle fancied that, out of defiance, +Jimmy had allowed the accumulated dust of days to lie thick upon his +clothes, and that he had purposely neglected to brush them. Indeed, he +almost asserted as much by his manner: You saw what I was, and you +forced yourself upon me; you invited me and my friend to dinner, and +you must take the consequences. His only eye, as it blazed at Mr. +Merrywhistle from under its precipice of bushy hair, seemed to be +asking of that gentleman how he liked its owner's appearance: and it +softened somewhat in the kindly glances from Mr. Merrywhistle, whose +countenance was beaming with amiability and good-nature. + +'This is my friend that I spoke of,' said Jimmy Virtue; 'his name is +Truefit, Robert Truefit. Truefit by name, and Truefit by nature. This +is Mr. Merrywhistle, who sometimes gives and repents.' + +Robert Truefit came forward, with a manly bow, and, when Mr. +Merrywhistle offered his hand, shook it cordially. + +'My friend, Mr. Virtue, here--' he said, and was about to proceed, +when the old man struck in with, + +'Now, I won't have it. Bob; I won't have it. None of your misters +because we're before company. It's Jimmy Wirtue when we are alone, and +it's Jimmy Wirtue now; and if you're a-goin' to say anythin' in +apology for me, don't. I don't want apologies made for me, and I won't +'ave 'em.' + +Robert Truefit laughed, and said, 'We must let old Jimmy have his way, +sir, so I won't say what I was going to say.' Robert Truefit was about +thirty years of age, and was a stonemason by trade. He had a shrewd +intelligent face and clear brown eyes, which, young as he was, already +showed the signs of much thought. He was as manly a fellow as you +would wish to look upon, and in his speech and manner there was a +straightforwardness which at once won for him the good opinion of +those with whom he came in contact. So conspicuous was this +straightforwardness of speech and manner, that he was often called +Straightforward Bob by his comrades and those who knew him intimately. +Directly you set eyes upon him, you received the impression, not only +that he was a man to be depended upon, but that he was one who was apt +to form his own opinions, and would stand by them through thick and +thin, unless absolutely convinced, through his reason, that they were +wrong. He had a wife who adored him, and children who looked up to him +in love and respect, as to a king. He was a true type of English +manhood and English shrewd common sense. + +By the time the few words were exchanged, dinner was on the table, and +Mr. Merrywhistle motioned his guests to be seated. But Jimmy Virtue, +turning his blind eye to his host, said, with an odd smile, 'I've got +two more friends outside. May I bring them in?' + +Without waiting for Mr. Merrywhistle's consent, he went to the door +and brought forward Tom Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass. Presenting them to +Mr. Merrywhistle, he went through a kind of mock introduction. Mr. +Thomas Beadle, Miss Blade-o'-Grass, Mr. Merrywhistle. + +Tom Beadle made an awkward bow, and Blade-o'-Grass made a still more +awkward curtsey. Blade-o'-Grass was the only one of the four guests +who had thought fit to do honour to the occasion in the matter of +dress. Jimmy Virtue, as you have seen, had made himself shabbier than +usual; Robert Truefit was in his working clothes; and it would have +been simply impossible for Tom Beadle to have made any change in his +garments, unless he had stolen them, or had had them given to him. But +Blade-o'-Grass, who, like Tom Beadle, possessed no other clothes than +those she stood upright in--and those were as ragged as clothes could +be--had by some strange means acquired a bonnet, and it was on her +head now. Such a bonnet! If it had been gifted with a tongue, it could +doubtless have told a strange story of its career. For although now it +was only fit for a dunghill, it had been a fine bonnet once, and, torn +and soiled as it was, the semblance of a once fashionable shape was +still dimly recognisable. But Blade-o'-Grass was proud of it, wrecked +and fallen as it was from its high estate. + +Now it may as well be confessed at once, that Tom Beadle was not at +his ease. When he had made his awkward bow, he raised his eyes to the +face of Mr. Merrywhistle, and recognised him. He did not know where he +was going to when Jimmy Virtue had asked him if he would like to have +a good dinner; and when he recognised Mr. Merrywhistle, he sent a +reproachful look at Jimmy Virtue, and involuntarily squared his arms +and elbows to ward off the knock on the head he expected to receive. +But as Jimmy Virtue only chuckled (knowing the fear that possessed Tom +Beadle), and as Mr. Merrywhistle was gentleness itself, the lad, after +a time, became reassured--though he still kept his elbows ready. + + +[Illustration] + + +'You sit down in the corner,' said Jimmy Virtue to the children, 'and +when we've finished dinner, you may eat what's left.' + +'Nay,' said Mr. Merrywhistle, chiming in with the humour of his guest; +'there is more than enough for all. Let them eat with us.' And he +placed the children at the table, where they sat watching the filling +of their plates with gloating wonderment. + +'Stop a minute, young uns,' said Jimmy Virtue, arresting their +uplifted forks, which they were clumsily handling, 'Grace before meat. +Repeat after me: For this bit o' luck----' + +'For this bit o'luck,' they repeated. + +'Let us say----' he. + +'Let us say----' they. + +'Hallelujah!' + +'Alleloojah.' + +'Now, you can fire away.' + +And fire away they did, eating as hungry children only can eat--never +lifting their heads once from their plates until they had cleaned them +out; then they looked up for more. + +Jimmy Virtue was quite as busily employed as the children, and ate and +drank with an air of intense enjoyment. Robert Truefit had more +leisure. He ate very little, having had his dinner at one o'clock. +Scarcely any conversation took place until dinner was over. Tom Beadle +and Blade-o'-Grass had eaten their fill, but they still held their +knives and forks in their hands, and looked eagerly at the remains of +the meal. Jimmy Virtue's face had a purplish tinge on it, and his +fierce eye had a mellow light in it, as he saw the children looking +eagerly at the food. + +'What was it you found in your' lap the other mornin'?' he asked of +Blade-o'-Grass. + +'Nothin',' was the reply. + +'Not baked taters? + +'No; we didn't 'ave 'em in the mornin'. Tom and me woke up in the +middle o' the night, and eat 'em.' + +'Wasn't you astonished to find baked taters in your lap when you woke +up?' + +'No; we was pleased.' + +'Do you know who put 'em there?' + +'The baked-tater man?' asked Blade-o'-Grass, after a little +consideration. + +'No; it wasn't him. Guess agin.' + +Blade-o'-Grass considered, and shook her head; but suddenly a gleam +lighted up her face. She pulled Tom Beadle to her, and whispered in +his ear. + +'She ses, if yer please,' said Tom, 'that p'r'aps it was Alleloojah.' + +At this suggestion, Jimmy Virtue was seized with one of his fits of +noiseless laughter; but both Mr. Merrywhistle and Robert Truefit +looked grave. Blade-o'-Grass and Tom Beadle saw nothing either grave +or ludicrous in the suggestion, for their attention was fully occupied +in the contemplation of the food that was on the table. Mr. +Merrywhistle, who was observing their rapt contemplation of the +remains of the feast, observed also Jimmy Virtue's fiery eye regarding +him. + +'It's your'n? questioned the old man of his host. + +'Yes, I suppose so.' + +'You pay for it, whether it's eat or not?' + +'Yes.' + +'Give it to the young uns.' + +'How win they take it away?' + +'In a newspaper.' + +Sharp Tom Beadle followed every word of the dialogue, and his lynx +eyes were the first that saw a newspaper on a sofa in the room. He +jumped from his seat, and brought forward the paper, his eyes +glistening with hope. Mr. Merrywhistle and Jimmy Virtue wrapped up +what remained of the joint of meat in the newspaper. + +'Food for mind and body,' said Robert Truefit, as the parcel was given +to Tom. + +Tom ducked his head, without in the least knowing what Robert Truefit +meant--and not caring either. His great anxiety was, to get away now +that he had as much as was likely to be given to him. Blade-o'-Grass +shared his anxiety. The gift of the food was such a splendid +one--there really was a large quantity of meat left on the joint--that +she feared it was only given to them 'out of a lark,' as she would +have expressed it, and that it would be taken from them presently. A +premonition was upon her, that she would be hungry to-morrow. + +The children stood in painful suspense before the grown-up persons. +Their anxiety to be dismissed was so great, that they threw restless +glances around them, and shuffled uneasily with their feet. But Mr. +Merrywhistle had something to say first. He had great difficulty in +commencing, however. He coughed, and hesitated, and almost blushed, +and looked at Jimmy Virtue in a shame-faced kind of way. + +'The other day,' at length he commenced, addressing himself to Tom +Beadle, 'when I saw you and Blade-o'-Grass on the Royal Exchange----' + +Tom, in the most unblushing manner, was about to asseverate, upon his +soul and body, that he was not near the Royal Exchange, when Jimmy +Virtue's warning finger, and Jimmy Virtue's ominous eye, stopped the +lie on his lips. + +'----On the Royal Exchange,' continued Mr. Merrywhistle, 'and gave +you--a--a shilling, were you really ill, as you seemed to me to be?' + +A look of triumphant delight flashed into Tom Beadle's eyes. 'Did I. +do it well, sir? he cried, nudging Blade-o'-Grass. 'Did I look as if I +was a-dyin' by inches?' + +Mr. Merrywhistle winced, as if he had received a blow. + +'O, Tom, Tom!' he exclaimed gently, 'are you not ashamed of yourself?' + +'No,' answered Tom, without hesitation, his manner instantly changing. + +Blade-o'-Grass perceiving, with her quick instinct, that something was +wrong, and that Tom was likely to get into disgrace because he had +made the gentleman believe that he was dying by inches, stepped +forward chivalrously to the rescue. + +'If you please, sir,' she said, 'you mus'n't blame Tom. It was all +along o' me he did it.' + +Thereupon the following colloquy took place: + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. Bravo, Blade-o'-Grass! + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE [_only too ready to receive justification_]. Come +here, child. How was it all along of you? + +TOM BEADLE [_taking moral shelter behind Blade-o'-Grass_]. Tell the +gent the truth, Bladergrass; he won't 'urt you. Tell him about the +tiger. + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE [_in amazement_]. The tiger! + +BLADE-O'-GRASS [_gravely_]. Yes, sir; I got a tiger in my inside. + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE. Who on earth put such a monstrous idea into the +child's head? + +BLADE-O'-GRASS. Mr. Wirtue knows all about it, and so does all the +others in Stoney-alley. + +JIMMY VIRTUE [_nodding gravely in confirmation_]. Yes, she's got a +tiger. Tell the gentleman what it does to you, Blade-o'-Grass. + +BLADE-O'-GRASS. Eats up everythink as goes down my throat, sir; +swallers every blessed bit I puts in my mouth; and when I ain't got +nothink to give it, tears at me like one o'clock. Tom's giv me grub +for it orfen and orfen, sir; I don't know what I should a' done lots +o' times if it 'adn't been for 'im. [_Mr. Merrywhistle sheds a kindly +glance on Tom Beadle, who receives it with an air of injured +innocence_.] Well, sir, last Monday the tiger was a'-goin' on orfle, +and I was so sick that I begins to cry. Then Tom comes up, and arks me +what I'm cryin' for; and I tells 'im that the tiger's a-worryin' the +inside out o' me. Tom feels in 'is pockets, but he ain't got a copper +to giv me, so he ses, 'Come along o' me,' ses Tom; and he ketches 'old +of my 'and, and takes me to the Royal Igschange. Then he ses, ses Tom, +'If anybody arks you, Bladergrass, just you say that I'm your brother, +a-dyin' of consumption. I'm a-dyin' by inches, I am.' And I cries out, +sir, for Tom looked jist as if he _was_ a-dyin' by inches. [_A smile +of triumph wreathes Tom Beadle's lips; he has the proper pride of an +artist_.] But Tom tells me not to be frightened, for he's only +a-shammin'. Then the peeler tells us to move on, and you comes up and +gives Tom a shillin'; and the first thing Tom does is to buy a poloney +for me and a 'unk o' bread for the tiger. + +TOM BEADLE. I wish I may die, sir, if she ain't told the truth, the +'ole truth, and nothin' but the truth, so 'elp me Bob! + +Blade-o'-Grass gazes at Mr. Merrywhistle eagerly, and with glistening +eyes, and seeing that her vindication of Tom has raised him in the +estimation of their benefactor, nods at her ragged companion two or +three times in satisfaction. Mr. Merrywhistle, in his heart of hearts, +forgives Tom for the deception--nay, finds justification for it; and +the children are allowed to depart with their spoil. + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE. That's a sad sight, and a sad tale. + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. England's full of such sights and such tales. + +Jimmy Virtue pricked up his ears. He knew when his friend Bob was +'coming out,' and he prepared himself to listen by taking out his +glass eye and contemplating it with his fierce eye, polishing it up +the while. + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE [_gently_]. Not full of such sights, surely? + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. Yes, full of them, unfortunately. Take London. There +are thousands and thousands of such children in such positions as Tom +Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass, hanging about the courts and alleys--pushed +out of sight, one might almost say. And as London is, so every other +large English city is. If they haven't shoals of boys and girls +growing up to men and women in one bad way, they have them in another +bad way. I know what old Jimmy got me here for to-day--he wanted me to +talk; he knows I'm fond of it. + +JIMMY VIRTUE. Bob ought to be in Parleyment. He'd tell 'em somethin'. + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. That's a specimen of old Jimmy's flattery, sir. I +don't see what good I could do in Parliament. I've got to work for my +living, and that takes up all my time; if I were in Parliament, I +should have to get money somehow to support my wife and family, and it +isn't in my blood to become a pensioner. Besides, I should be +contented enough with what's called 'the ruling powers,' if they'd +only turn their attention more to such social questions as this. + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE. Ah, I'm glad of that; I'm glad you're not a +republican. + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. Not I, sir--though I don't know what I might become by +and by; for there's no denying that things are unequal, and that +working men are talking of this inequality more and more every year. +You'd be surprised to know what they think about this and that. And +although I don't go so far as some of them do, I can't help agreeing +with them in many things. + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE. But what do they want? Equality? Such a thing is +impossible. + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. I know it is. You'd have to do away with brains before +you got that; though there _are_ a many who believe that it is to be +arrived at. Some of them are fools, and some of them are rogues; but +some of them have really worked themselves up into absolute belief. + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE. Discontented people are to be found everywhere, and +under any form of government. + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. Ay, that's the way a great many sum up; when they say +that, they think they have found out the cause, and that the matter is +settled. 'Tisn't the sensible way to view it. + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE. What is the reason, then, of this spread of feeling +among working-men? + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. That's a large question, and would take too long to +answer. But I think the penny newspaper is partly accountable for it. +They can afford to buy the penny and halfpenny newspaper, and they +read them, and talk more among themselves. You see, things press upon +them. They are arriving at a sort of belief that the laws are made +more for the protection and benefit of property than for the +protection and benefit of flesh and blood; and as _their_ value in the +market doesn't lie in land and money, but in bone and muscle, the idea +isn't pleasant to them. + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE. But surely they are not right in this idea? + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. Are they not? Read the newspapers, and you'll find +they are. Why, a man may do anything to flesh and blood, short +of murder, and the law won't be very hard on him. But let him +touch property, ever so little, and down it comes on him like a +sledge-hammer. I'll tell you what I read in the police reports this +morning. A man is had up at the police-court for beating his wife. The +woman is put into the box, with marks on her face and with her head +bandaged; the man doesn't deny that he beat her, and half-a-dozen +witnesses prove that he beat her cruelly; the floor of the room in +which they lived was covered with blood-stains. There is no excuse for +him; no aggravation on her part is set up; a doctor states, that if +one of the blows she received had been a little more on the left +of her head, she would have been killed; and the man gets three +months' hard labour. Afterwards, a man is brought up for stealing +three-and-sixpence. He is miserably dressed, and there is want in his +face. The evidence in this case is quite as clear as in the other. The +prisoner snatched a purse, containing three-and-sixpence, out of a +man's hand, and ran away. Being searched, not a farthing is found upon +him, nor anything of the value of a farthing. The man does not deny +the theft, and says he wanted a meal; the police know nothing of him; +and he gets three months' hard labour. Compare these equal sentences +with the unequal offences, and you will see the relative value of +property and human flesh in the criminal market. + +JIMMY VIRTUE. Bob puts it plainly, doesn't he? + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE. But these cases must be rare. + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. They are very common; and these two cases that I have +put side by side, are two of the mildest. Listen to this--another +wife-beating case: Husband comes home at noon. What kind of man he is +may be guessed from his first words to his wife: 'I've something to +tell thee, you----! I'm going to murder thee, you----!' He takes off +his jacket, calls his bulldog, and sets it at his wife. As the dog +flies at the woman, her husband hits her in the face; the dog drags +her from the sofa, with its teeth in her flesh (it is almost too +horrible to tell, but it is true, every word of it), and the husband +jumps upon her, and kicks her on the head and shoulders. Imploring him +to have mercy upon her, crying for help, the woman is dragged by the +dog from room to room, tearing flesh out of her. The frightful +struggle continues for some time, until the woman manages to make her +escape from the house. It is dreadful to read the doctor's description +of the state of the woman, and how he feared, for three or four days, +that mortification would set in. The man is sentenced to--what do you +think? Six months' hard labour. About the same time, a very young man +is found guilty of stealing twenty shillings' worth of metal, and he +gets seven years' penal servitude. But I could multiply these +instances. You may say, that such cases as these have nothing to do +with the broad question of misgovernment; but I maintain that they +have. You get your criminal material from such places as Stoney-alley, +where poor Blade-o'-Grass lives; and yet Stoney-alley is as bad +now--ay, and worse than it was fifty years ago. The law knows of its +existence, has its wakeful eye upon it; but what has the law done for +its good, or for the good of those who live there? Take the case of +Blade-o'-Grass. What does the law do for her?--and by the law you must +understand that I mean the governing machinery for keeping society in +order and for dispensing justice to all--out of our police-courts as +well as in them. Think of the story she told, and the way in which she +told it. There is capacity for good, in that child--ay, and in Tom +Beadle, too. Can you doubt that, but for your charity, she might have +died of hunger? + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE [_eagerly_]. Then you don't disapprove of +indiscriminate charity? + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. Not I; I don't disapprove of a man putting his +hand into his pocket and exercising a benevolent impulse. Your +lip-philanthropists, who preach against indiscriminate charity--what +would they do for Blade-o'-Grass? What _would_ they do! What _do_ they +do? 'Work,' they say. But they don't? give her work; don't even teach +her how to work, if such a miracle happened to fall in her way. And +all the while the policeman says, 'Move on.' I know something, through +Jimmy here, of Blade-o'-Grass--a hapless waif, an encumbrance, a blot, +serving as a theme for countless meetings and oceans of words. What +business has she in the world? But she came, unfortunately for +herself, and she is so legislated for, that to live is her greatest +affliction. + +JIMMY VIRTUE. It's my opinion that a good many of the fellers who +preach agin indiscriminate charity only do so as an excuse for +buttonin' up their pockets. + +ROBERT TRUEFIT [_laughing_]. And their hearts as well, Jimmy. You put +me in mind of something I saw last Sunday in Upper-street, Islington. +The people were coming out of church. A couple--evidently man and +wife-were walking before me, talking on religious matters--or, rather, +he was talking, and she was listening. I passed them just as he was +saying, 'If I haven't got the grace of God in my heart, I'd like to +know who _has_ got it?' and at the same moment as forlorn-looking a +woman as ever I set eyes on, intercepted him, and curtseyed, and held +out her hand imploringly. He pushed her aside surlily and with a sour +look on his face; and walked along talking of the grace of God. The +woman may have been an impostor--in other words, a professional +beggar; but I should be sorry to call that Grace-of-God man my friend. +No, sir, I don't think that it is a good thing to crush a kindly +impulse, or that we should treat our best feelings and emotions as so +many figures in a sum. It is not the giver who makes beggars. The +fault is in the system, which opens no road for them at the proper +time of their lives. + +Mr. MERRYWHISTLE [_sadly_]. But tell me: do you see no remedy for +these ills? + +ROBERT TRUEFIT. The remedy is simple. Commence at the right end. Train +up a child in the way it should go, and when it is old it will not +depart from it. And by the same rule, Train up a child in the way it +shouldn't go, and when it is old it will not depart from it. It is +almost time for me and Jimmy to be off. Jimmy wants to open his shop, +and I want to get home to my wife; but I'll just try to explain what I +mean. Two poor boys, one six and one nine years of age, lost their +mother; a few weeks afterwards they were caught taking some potatoes +from a garden. The presumption is, that they were hungry. The potatoes +were valued at one penny. The boys were sent to prison for fourteen +days, and the State thus commenced their education. I will conclude +with a personal experience. I had occasion to go to Liverpool some +little time ago, and on the day that I was to return to London I saw a +girl standing against a wall, crying bitterly. She was a pretty girl, +of about sixteen years of age. I went and spoke to her, and soon saw +that the poor girl was utterly bewildered. It appeared that she had +landed that morning in Liverpool, having been brought by her sister +from Ireland, and that her sister had deserted her. A more simple, +artless girl I never met, and she hadn't a penny in her pocket, nor a +friend in the Liverpool wilderness. I thought to myself. This girl +will come to harm. Hungry, friendless, pretty---- I went to a +policeman, and told him the story. The policeman scratched his head. +'Is she a bad girl?' he asked. I was shocked at the question, and said +no, I was sure she was not; that she was a simple good girl, almost a +child--and was as complete an outcast as if she were among savages. +The policeman shrugged his shoulders, and said civilly enough that he +couldn't do anything. 'What did you mean by asking if she was a bad +girl?' I asked. 'Well, you see,' he answered, 'if she was a bad girl, +and wanted to be took care of, I could take her somewhere.' 'Where she +_would_ be taken care of?' I asked. 'Yes,' he answered. 'And have food +given to her? 'Yes.' 'But a good girl,' I said, 'homeless, friendless, +and hungry----''Can't interfere with _them_,' said the policeman. +'She'll have to qualify herself for a refuge, then,' I could not help +saying bitterly, as I turned away, leaving the poor girl in her +distress; for I could do nothing, and had only enough money to take me +third-class to London. There, sir! You can draw your own moral from +these things. Many a working man is drawing conclusions from suchlike +circumstances, and the feeling that statesmen are ignoring the most +important problems of the day is gaining strength rapidly. For my own +part, I honestly confess that, without one tinge of socialism or even +republicanism in my veins, I am not satisfied with things as they are. + +With these words, spoken very earnestly, Robert Truefit, accompanied +by Jimmy Virtue, took his departure. But Jimmy Virtue found time to +whisper in Mr. Merrywhistle's ear, + +'Didn't I tell you Bob 'ud talk to you? It ain't dear at sixpence an +hour, is it? + +Mr. Merrywhistle said no; it was not at all dear, and he hoped soon to +see them again. + +'All right,' said Jimmy Virtue, with a last flash from his fierce eye; +'when you like;' and so departed. + + +[Illustration] + + + + THE INTERLUDE. + + +In times gone by, it used to be the sometime fashion in the theatres +to have an interlude between the acts of the melodrama, so that the +mind might find some relief from the thrilling horrors which had just +been enacted, and might prepare itself for the more profound horrors +to come. Usually, there was an interval of time between the acts--in +most cases seven years--during which the performers neither changed +their linen nor grew any older. This was probably owing to the joyous +efforts of those who enacted the interlude, which was invariably +composed of songs and dances. Of such material as these shall part of +this interlude be composed; striking out the songs, however, and +introducing flowers in their stead, as being infinitely more innocent +and graceful than the gross and impure lessons taught by the popular +songs of the day, which unfortunately flow too readily into such +neighbourhoods as that of which Stoney-alley forms a limb. Such +teaching, in its own sad time, will bear bitter fruit--nay, it is +bearing it even now, and the poisoned branches are bending beneath the +weight. + +Blade-o'-Grass was very young; but the few years she had lived +contained many imminent crises--any one of which, but for some timely +act of human kindness, might have put an end to her existence. But her +life had not been all shade, although it may appear to you and me to +have been so; there were lights in it, there were times when she +enjoyed. You and I stand in the sun, and contemplate with sadness our +fellow-creatures struggling and living in the dark. But it is not dark +to them, as it is to us; they were born in it, they live in it, they +are used to it. Such sunlight as we enjoy, and are, I hope, thankful +for, might make them drunk. + +Said Tom Beadle one day to Blade-o'-Grass, + +'I say, Bladergrass, why don't yer do somethin', and make a few +coppers?' + +And Blade-o'-Grass very naturally answered, + +'What shall I do, Tom?' + +Tom was prepared with his answer. + +'Lookee 'ere: why don't you be a flower-gal?' + +'O, Tom!' exclaimed Blade-o'-Grass, her face flushing, her heart +beating, at the prospect of heaven held out to her. 'A flower-gal, +Tom! A flower-gal! O, don't I wish I could be!' + +'You'd 'ave to wash yer face, yer know,' said Tom, regarding the dirty +face of Blade-o'-Grass from a business point of view, 'and put a clean +frock on.' + +Down to zero went the hopes of Blade-o'-Grass. A clean face she might +have compassed. But a clean frock! That meant a new frock, of course. +Blade-o'-Grass had never had a new frock in her life. A new frock! She +had never had anything new--not even a new bootlace. Despair was in +her face. Tom saw it, and said, + +'Don't be down in the mug, Bladergrass. We'll see if it can't be done +some'ow.' + +What a hero Tom was in her eyes! + +'O, Tom,' she cried, 'if I could be a flower-gal--if I could! I've +seen 'em at the Royal Igschange'--she was pretty well acquainted with +that locality by this time--'and don't they look prime!' She twined +her fingers together nervously. 'They've all got clean faces and nice +dresses. O, 'ow 'appy they must be!' + +'And they make lots o' money,' said Tom. + +'Do they! O, don't I wish I was them!' + +'And they go to theaytres.' + +'Do they! O, don't I wish I could go to the theaytre!' + +'There's Poll Buttons. Why, two year ago, Bladergrass, she was +raggeder nor you. And now she comes out--she _does_ come out, I can +tell yer! _She_ sells flowers at the Royal Igschange, and she looks as +'appy--as 'appy'--Tom's figures of speech and similes were invariably +failures--'as 'appy as can be. Why, I see her the other night at the +Standard, and she was in the pit. There was a feller with her +a-suckin' a stick. Didn't she look proud! And I 'eerd Bill Britton say +as how he saw her at 'Ighbury Barn last Sunday with another feller +a-suckin' a stick.' + +'Do all the swells suck sticks, Tom?' asked Blade-o'-Grass innocently. + +'All the real tip-toppers do,' answered Tom. + +'Perhaps there's somethin' nice in the knobs,' suggested +Blade-o'-Grass. + +'Perhaps; but I don't think it. You see, it looks swellish, +Bladergrass.' + +'If you 'ad a stick, would you suck it, Tom?' + +'I think I should,' replied Tom, after a little consideration; 'and +I'd 'ave one with a large knob. They're all the go.' Then Tom came +back to the subject of Poll Buttons. 'She makes a 'eap o' money. Why, +I 'eerd tell as 'ow she sells crocuses and wilets for a tanner a bunch +at first. The swells buy a bunch of wilets, and then she coaxes 'em, +and ses as 'ow wilets and crocuses ought to go together, and she uses +'er eyes and smiles sweet. Stand up, Bladergrass!' + +Blade-o'-Grass stood up, and Tom Beadle scrutinised her. + +'Poll Buttons is a reg'lar beauty, they say. But I wish I may die if +you won't be a reg'larer beauty when you're as old as Poll is.' + +'Shall I, Tom? Shall I?' And the eyes of Blade-o'-Grass sparkled, and +a bright colour came into her cheeks. Even in her ragged frock, and +with her dirty face, she looked pretty. 'Then I shall get a tanner a +bunch for my crocuses and wilets, and when the roses comes in, +I'll--I'll----' But her voice trailed off as she looked at her ragged +frock, and her lips trembled, and the little glimpse of heaven that +lay in the imaginary basket of flowers faded utterly away. + +'Don't take on so, Bladergrass,' said Tom Beadle; 'who knows? I may +'ave a bit o' luck. And if I do, I wish I may die if I don't set you +up as a flower-gal! You jist keep up your 'art, and wait a bit.' + +And one day Tom Beadle really went to Jimmy Virtue's leaving-shop, and +asked the price of a new cotton frock, which, after much bargaining, +he bought for two shillings and fourpence. + +'Who's it for, Tom?' asked Jimmy, testing the coins before he +delivered the frock to Tom. 'Got a new sweet'art?' + +'It's for Bladergrass,' replied Tom complacently. 'I'm a-goin' to set +her up as a flower-gal. I promised 'er I would when I 'ad a bit o' +luck.' + +'And you've 'ad a bit o' luck?' + +'Yes, a reg'lar slice.' + +'How was it, Tom?' + +'Arks no questions, and I'll tell 'you no lies,' responded Tom +saucily, walking away with his precious purchase. + +Neither will we be too curious about how the means were acquired which +enabled Tom to give Blade-o'-Grass an honest start in life. + +That first new common cotton dress! What joy and delight stirred the +heart of Blade-o'-Grass as she surveyed it! She devoured it with her +eyes, and was as delicate in handling it as if its texture had been of +the finest silk. All that she could say was, 'O, Tom! O, Tom!' She +threw her arms round Tom's neck, and kissed him a hundred times; and +Tom felt how sweet it is to give. But Tom's goodness did not end here. +He conducted Blade-o'-Grass to a room where she could wash herself and +array herself in her new dress. She came out of that room transformed. +She had smoothed her hair and washed her face, and the dress became +her. She smiled gratefully at Tom when she presented herself to him. + +'I'm blessed if Poll Buttons'll be able to 'old a candle to you!' +exclaimed Tom admiringly, and Blade-o'-Grass thrilled with joy. + +Thus it came about that Mr. Merrywhistle, walking near the Royal +Exchange one day, saw a clean little girl, with a basket of humble +flowers on her arm, and a bright little face looking earnestly at him. + +'Bless my soul!' exclaimed the benevolent gentleman. 'Blade-o'-Grass!' + +'Yes, sir, if you please. Tom's set me up as a flower-gal.' + +'Tom!' + +'Tom Beadle, sir; 'im as you guv a shillin' to once, and as come along +o' me when we 'ad that jolly dinner.' + +'Dear me! Dear me!' said Mr. Merrywhistle, honest pleasure beaming in +his eyes. 'And Tom's set you up, eh? And you're getting an honest +living, eh?' + +'Yes, sir, if you please, sir. Do you want a flower for your +button'ole, sir? 'Ere's a white rose, sir--a reg'lar beauty; and +'ere's a piece o' mingyonet to show it off', sir, and a bit o' maiden +'air to back it up.' + +And before Mr. Merrywhistle knew where he was, he had put the flowers +in his button-hole, and, instructed by Blade-o'-Grass, had fastened +them with a pin she took out of her frock. It was thirty years since +he had worn a flower, the good old fellow! and as he looked upon them +now, there came to him the memory of a few sunny months when he was +young. The crowds of people, the busy streets, the noise and turmoil, +vanished from sight and sense; and for one brief moment--which might +have been an hour, the vision was so distinct--he saw fair fingers +fastening a piece of mignonette in his coat, and a fair head bending +to his breast---- It was gone! But as Mr. Merrywhistle awoke to the +busy hum about him, there was a sweet breath in his nostrils, and a +dim sweet light in his eyes. Most unwisely he gave Blade-o'-Grass a +shilling for the flowers, and patted her head, and walked away; while +Blade-o'-Grass herself, almost fearing that the shilling was a bad +one, bit it with her strong teeth, and being satisfied of its +genuineness, executed a double-shuffle on the kerbstone. + +That very afternoon, Blade-o'-Grass, having had a good day, purchased +a walking cane of a street vendor. It was a cane with the largest knob +he had in his stock. This cane she presented to Tom Beadle the same +evening. Tom was immensely delighted with it. To the admiration of +Blade-o'-Grass, he put the knob in his mouth, to the serious danger of +that feature, and comported himself as became a tip-top swell. + +'You're a reg'lar little brick,' said Tom; 'and I'm blessed if I don't +take you to the theaytre.' + +Blade-o'-Grass jumped for joy and clapped her hands. How she had +longed to go to a theatre! And now the magic hour had come. She had +been rich enough lately to pay twopence a night for a bed, and she +went to the cheap lodging-house she patronised, and washed her face +and combed her hair, and made herself as smart as she could. Tom +Beadle had also smartened himself up, and to the theatre they went, +arm in arm, he with the knob of the stick in his mouth, and she, in +her rags, as proud as any peacock. + +In what words can the awe and wonder of Blade-o'-Grass be described? +She had her own ideas of things, and she was surprised to find the +interior of the theatre so different from what she had imagined. +Boxes, pit, and gallery, she knew there were. But she had set down in +her mind that the boxes were veritable boxes, in which the people were +shut, with little eye-holes to peep through; and the pit she had +imagined as a large dark space dug out of the earth, very low down, +where the people were all huddled together, and had to look up to see +what was going on. It was to the pit they went, and for some time +Blade-o'-Grass was too astonished to speak. A very, very large O would +fitly describe her condition. Tom Beadle, on the contrary, was quite +composed; theatres were but ordinary places to him. But used-up as he +was to the pleasures of the town, he derived a new pleasure from the +contemplation of the wonderment of Blade-o'-Grass. + +'O, Tom! O, Tom!' she whispered in ecstasy, edging closer to him, when +at last she found courage to use her tongue. It was a large theatre, +with a great deal of gold-leaf about it; and the audience were +evidently bent upon enjoying themselves, and vehemently applauded at +every possible opportunity. Thus, when the lights are turned up, and a +bright blaze breaks out upon the living sea of faces, there is much +clapping of hands, and much stamping of feet, and other marks of +approval. When the musicians straggle into the orchestra, they are +also vehemently applauded; but those 'high and mighty' might have been +by themselves in the Desert of Sahara, for all the heed they pay to +the audience. The occupiers of the gallery are very noisy in their +demonstrations, and issue their commands with stentorian lungs. 'Now, +then; scrape up, cat-gut!' 'Hoo-o-o-o! Scrape up! Up with the rag!' +with cries, and shouts, and whistles, which strike fresh wonderment to +the soul of Blade-o'-Grass. She is not frightened at the noise; for +even Tom Beadle puts his two little fingers to the corners of his +lips, and adds shrill whistles to the general confusion--in the +performance of which duty he stretches his mouth to such an extent +that, as a feature, it becomes a hideous mockery. But at length the +band strikes up with a crash, the sound of which is speedily drowned +in the roar of delight that follows. In due time--but not in time to +satisfy the impatient audience--the music ceases, and a general +shifting and rustling takes place among the audience. A moments +breathless expectation follows; a cracked bell gives the meanest of +tinkles; and Blade-o'-Grass bends a little more forward as that awful +and magic green curtain is drawn upwards by invisible hands. The piece +that is there and then represented to the wondering soul of +Blade-o'-Grass is a 'strong domestic drama,' as the playbill has it, +and Blade-o'-Grass gasps and sobs and catches her breath at the +'striking' situations with which the play is filled. The piece is a +narration of the struggles and vicissitudes of the poorest class of +the community--the class indeed, the lower stratum of which is +occupied by just such persons as Tom Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass; and a +curious commentary is made on it the next day by Blade-o'-Grass, who, +dilating upon its wonders and entrancements, declares that she 'never +seed sich a thing in all her born days.' There are of course in the +piece a painfully-virtuous wife, a desperate villain, to whom murder +is child's play, a delirium-tremens beggar, a Good Young Man, and a +vilified Jew; and as these characters play their parts, Blade-o'-Grass +thrills and quivers with delicious excitement. Tom Beadle also enters +into the excitement of the representation, and stamps and claps his +hands and whistles as vigorously as any one there. But when the +'strong domestic drama' is concluded, and the glories of the burlesque +are unfolded to the ravished senses of Blade-o'-Grass, then, indeed, +is she in heaven. Never has she conceived anything so enchanting as +this. It is the first fairy story that has ever been presented to her. +How she screams over the meaningless songs! How she devours with her +eyes the display of female limbs! 'O, 'ow lovely, Tom!' she whispers. +'O, don't I wish I was them!' + +'You'd look as well as any of 'em, Bladergrass,' says Tom, who knows +everything, 'if you was took in 'and, and if you could darnce.' + +'O no, Tom--O no!' exclaims Blade-o'-Grass: 'I ain't got sich legs.' + +Tom laughs, and whispers confidentially that 'them legs ain't all +their own. He knows a cove who knows a balley-gal, and she pads her +legs like one o'clock.' Blade-o'-Grass, in her heart of hearts, can't +believe it; but she is too much absorbed in the performance to enter +into argument. So the pageant passes before her eyes until all the +songs are sung and all the dances danced; and when the curtain falls +upon the brilliant last scene, she looks solemnly at Tom, and a great +sob escapes her because it is all over. She can scarcely repress her +tears. It is a wondrous night for Blade-o'-Grass, and lives in her +memory for long afterwards. Tom Beadle proposes 'a eel supper,' and +they sit in state, like the best nobles in the land, in a dirty box in +a dirty eel-pie shop; and as they eat their eels off a dirty plate, +with a dirty spoon and fork, Blade-o'-Grass looks up to her companion +as to a god; and Tom, noticing the girl's sparkling eyes and flushed +cheeks, says, with an approving nod, 'I'm blessed if you won't beat +Poll Buttons into fits.' Then they go home, and Blade-o'-Grass dreams +that she is an angel hanging from the flies. + +That first night at a theatre filled Blade-o'-Grass with a new +ambition, and her better prospects inspired her with confidence. She +determined to learn to dance. + +You will, I am sure, be amazed to hear, that every night in +Stoney-alley, when the weather was in any way propitious, there was a +ball--an open-air ball; the orchestra, an Italian organ-grinder; the +company, nearly all the dirty boys and girls in the neighbourhood. At +a certain hour every evening an Italian organ-grinder, on whose dark +face a fixed expression of stolid gloomy melancholy for ever rested, +made his appearance in Stoney-alley; and, as if he were a lost soul, +and this agony was his penance, ground out of his afflicted organ a +string of waltzes and polkas and quadrilles, so inexpressibly dismal +that the very dogs howled in despair, and fled. But directly the first +note sounded--and that first note always came out with a wail--the +children, from two years old and upwards, began to congregate, and +without any curtseying, or bowing, or engaging of partners, the +strangest ball commenced that ever was seen. + +Girls with babies in their arms glided round and round in the +entrancing waltz; children who could scarcely toddle toddled round; +and young ladies without encumbrances clasped each other by the waist, +and spun round in a state of beatific bliss. When the waltz music +ended with a groan, and the polka commenced with a wheeze, the big +children hopped and the toddlers toddled in perfect contentment. Then +came the quadrilles, in which many new figures were introduced, which +Belgravia might have profited by. But the strangest dance of all was a +Scotch reel, which, by some unearthly means, had got into this +decrepit organ, and which, being set to work by the inexorable handle, +came out of its hiding-place spasmodically, and with stitches in its +side. It was a sight to remember to see these ragged children dance +this Scotch reel, with their toes up to their knees, their right arms +elevated above their heads, and their left hands stuck in their sides +as if they grew there. Blade-o'-Grass had never had courage to join in +the revels; she had been too ragged and forlorn to claim equality with +even this ragged and forlorn troop. But now her prospects were +brightening, and her ambition was roused. The very evening following +that on which she visited the theatre she boldly joined the dancers. +And there she hopped and twirled and glided until the music ceased; +and every evening thereafter she made her appearance at the +entertainment as punctually as some people attend their places of +worship, and with more devotion than many. She was looked upon as a +guest of high distinction at the ball, for she was liberal with her +farthings and halfpence. In course of time she became one of the very +best dancers in the alley, and often and often dreamt that she was a +ballet-girl, and was twirling before an admiring audience, in the +shortest of short spangled skirts, and the pinkest of pink legs. + +These were the happiest days she had ever known. Now and then the +tiger set up its claims, and was not satisfied; but these occasions +were very rare. She went to the theatre often, and sometimes treated +Tom Beadle, who did not show a stupid pride and independence. She sold +flowers in the season, and lived how she could when there were no +flowers to sell. 'I wish they growed all the yeer round,' she said to +Tom many and many a time. She and Tom were always together, and it was +understood that they had 'taken up with one another.' + +This being an interlude, in which the promise set forth has been +faithfully carried out--for dances and flowers have been introduced +in profusion--it will perhaps be considered out of place to mention +that, excepting that she knew how to speak an intelligible language, +Blade-o'-Grass was as ignorant of morals and religion as if she had +been a four-footed animal. But it is necessary to state this, or you +might condemn her unjustly, and look down upon her uncharitably. And +while she grew in deeper and deeper ignorance, how the great world +laboured, in which she lived and moved and had her being! One section +was in agony because a man of science had by his writings thrown doubt +on the grand story of the Creation, and had attempted to prove that +Adam and Eve were not created; and nine-tenths of the people shrunk in +horror from a man who denied the truth of biblical miracles. Yet one +and all believed in a future state--a better one than this, a higher +one than this, a holier one than this--to be earned by living a good +life, and by doing unto others as we would others should do unto us. +And Blade-o'-Grass had never raised her eyes and hands to God; she had +never said a prayer. + + +[Illustration] + + + + + + PART II. + + THE PRISON WALL. + + +Seven years have passed, and the curtain rises upon a high gloomy +stone wall. Grouped about the pavement which skirts the wall are +nearly a score of persons, waiting in a state of painful expectancy. +They are waiting for friends and relatives; and this gloomy stone wall +encloses a prison. + +Although it is broad day, the aspect of the scene is inexpressibly +depressing. It is September; but the treacherous month has crept upon +November, and stolen one of its cheerless days, when dull sky and dull +atmosphere conspire to send the spirits down to zero. Not that these +unhappy mortals require any outward influence to render them +miserable; their countenances and attitude show that clearly enough. +There are among them young women, almost children, and they stand +about the prison with pale faces and clasped hands, with eyes cast +down to the earth. They exchange but few words; they have sufficient +special occupation in their thoughts to render them indisposed for +conversation. They are poorly clad, and some of them shiver as the +damp wind steals round the massive wall which shuts out hope. + +Near to the prison door are a young and an old woman--one seventeen +years of age on her last birthday, the other seventy. The young woman +has no covering on her head; the old woman wears an ancient bonnet, +which was the fashion once upon a time. Her little wrinkled face is +almost hidden in the bonnet, and her ancient cotton dress falls in +such straight lines about her, that, but for the pale wrinkled face +and the shrivelled hands that peep from out the folds of a faded +shawl, it might reasonably have been supposed it covers the limbs of a +child. The bonnet has moved several times in the direction of the +girl-woman, as if its owner were curious about her companion; but the +girl takes no notice. At length, a piping voice asks, 'Are you waiting +for some one, my dear?' + +The girl answers 'Yes,' but does not look at the questioner. + +'Who for, my dear?' + +No answer. + +'You needn't mind me,' pipes the old woman; 'I don't mean any harm; +and it does my old heart good to talk. Perhaps you've got a mother of +your own.' + +'Mother!' echoes the girl, somewhat bitterly, and yet with a certain +plaintiveness. 'No, I've got no mother; I never 'ad one as I knows +of.' + +'Poor dear, poor dear! Come, my dear, talk kindly to an old woman who +might be your grandmother. Ay, I might, my dear. I'm seventy-one come +the 10th of November, and I'm waiting for my daughter. You've got a +long time before you, my dear, before you come to my age.' + +'Seventy-one!' exclaims the girl, '_I_ shall never be seventy-one. I +shouldn't like to be. What's your daughter in for? How old is she? She +must be older than me.' + +'She's thirty, my dear, and she's in for begging. What's yours in +for?' + +'My what in for?' sharply and sullenly. + +'Your friend. You needn't be so sharp with an old woman like me. You +may be a mother yourself one day, poor dear!' + +The girl turns with a gasp--it may be of joy or pain--and takes the +old woman's hand and begs her pardon. + +_Her_ friend is in for worse than beggin', the girl says, and relapses +into silence, retaining the old woman's hand in hers, however, for a +little while. + +Many persons pass this way and that, but few bestow a second glance +upon the group; and even if pity enters the heart of one and another, +it does not take practical shape, and in its passive aspect it is, as +is well known, but cold charity. One man, however, lingers in passing, +walks a few steps, and hesitates. He has caught a glimpse of a face +that he recognises, and it is evident that he is distressed by it. He +turns boldly, and pauses before the forms of the old woman and the +girl. + +'Blade-o'-Grass!' he exclaims. + +She raises her head, and looks him in the face. No shame, no fear, no +consciousness of degradation, is in her gaze. She drops him a curtsey, +and turns her face towards the prison doors. + +Girl as she is, she is a woman, and well-looking. Her dress is of the +poorest, and she is not too tidy; but the grace of youth is upon her. +It is not upon all who are brought up as she has been. But she has +this charm, and good looks as well; and she is grateful for them, for +she likes to be called pretty. Remember that, at that momentous period +in the life of Blade-o'-Grass when her future hung on a chance, Mrs. +Manning 'kept the prettiest one, the one with the dimple.' + +What is it that causes the gravest of expressions to pass into the +countenance of Mr. Merrywhistle as Blade-o'-Grass looks up? He does +not say; but the grave expression remains upon his face during the +interview. He has not seen her since the spring. Somehow or other, he +lost sight of her. Years ago, when Tom Beadle 'set her up' as a +flower-girl, he had a strong inclination to do some substantial good +for her--to remove her from the associations by which she was +surrounded, and which dragged her down to the lowest level. But, in +the first place, he could ill afford it; and, in the second, when he +had spoken of his wish to Jimmy Virtue, that worthy had asked him if +he thought he could take all the world's work upon his one pair of +shoulders. 'And after all,' Jimmy Virtue had said, 'isn't the gal +gettin' a honest livin'?' + +The old woman peers into Mr. Merrywhistle's face, and as her ancient +bonnet goes up in the air, it seems capacious enough to bury her whole +body in. Mr. Merrywhistle gives her a kind look, and addresses himself +to Blade-o'-Grass. + +'This is not a fit place for you--' he is about to add, 'my poor +child,' but her womanly appearance checks him. + +'Ain't it?' she replies, with a smile on her lips that is not pleasant +to see. 'What is then?' + +He is surprised at her reckless manner. 'Have you business here? Are +you waiting for any one? + +'Yes.' + +'For whom?' + +'Ah, that's what I asked her,' pipes the old woman; 'but she wouldn't +tell me.' + +'I'm waitin' for Tom,' she says, answering him. + +'Tom Beadle?' + +'Yes, Tom Beadle.' + +'Is he in prison, then?' he asks, very gently. + +'Yes; he's been doin' a month.' + +'What for?' + +'What does it matter? Priggin'--anythin'.' + +Perceiving that Blade-o'-Grass does not wish to pursue the +conversation, Mr. Merrywhistle steps aside, sad at heart; but lingers, +looking pityingly at Blade-o'-Grass. As he does so, a clock strikes +the hour, and the eyes of the expectant group turn eagerly to the +prison door, which presently opens. Six or seven persons walk out. The +women blink their eyes as they come into the light; the men shake +themselves like dogs; some raise their hands to their brows, and look +about them as Gulliver might have done when he found himself in a +strange land. The little old woman hastens to her daughter, a +patient-looking woman, and for a moment two faces are hidden in the +ancient bonnet. One man, who has seven or eight friends waiting for +him, shakes his fist at the prison, and kicks the stone wall savagely. + +'That's how I'd like to serve the guvner of that there cussed hole!' +he exclaims. 'Give me something to drink, or I shall choke!' + +Another man looks around with a vacant stare: there is no one to meet +him. With something like a sigh his head sinks into his shoulders, and +he slinks away, hugging the wall as he goes. + +The last to come out is Tom Beadle. Blade-o'-Grass is by his side in +an instant. + +'Come along, Tom,' she says, clinging fondly to his arm, and pulling +his face down to hers and kissing it; 'I've got something nice to eat +at home.' + +'You're a good sort, Bladergrass,' says the thief. 'Let's get away +from this place quick, and go home.' + +Home! Yes, to Stoney-alley, not twenty yards from where her mother had +died. A room in an attic, which had been thoroughly cleaned and made +tidy for the return of the prodigal. No furniture to speak of; a fire, +and a saucepan on the hob; a mug of beer, a flat bottle with gin in +it; one chair and a stool, and a table; a bed in the corner. + +Tom surveys the room with satisfaction beaming in his eyes. +Blade-o'-Grass looks at him, and joy breaks like sunlight over her +face because he is pleased. + +'Drink some beer, Tom.' + +He takes a deep draught, puts the jug down, heaves a long breath, and +repeats, + +'You're a real good sort, Bladergrass. Give us another kiss, old gal!' + + + + ONE OF MANY HAPPY NIGHTS. + + +But that the gray streaks are thickening in Mrs. Silver's hair, and +that her husband is fast growing bald, it might have been but +yesterday that we were sitting with them in the cosy parlour in +Buttercup-square. Everything inanimate is the same as it was seven +years ago, and does not appear to have grown any older or shabbier; +the very cuckoo in the clock retains its youth, and its tones, as it +asserts itself to be the great 'I am,' are as fresh as ever they were. +Hark! it is speaking now, and 'Cuck-oo!' issues six times from its +throat, sparklingly, as if defying time. It is six o'clock. The days +are drawing in, and it is dark enough for lights. But Mr. and Mrs. +Silver sit in the dusk before the fire, talking of the matters nearest +to their hearts. Their married life has been a happy one--with clouds +in it, of course. Natural griefs and sorrows have come to them, as to +others. At first a storm threatened their future, but it did not burst +over them. The exercise of kindly impulse; the wise and good desire to +accept the inevitable, and to make the loneliness of their lives a +means of happiness to others; their dependence on one another, and +mutual love and faith; their recognition, in their every action, +of higher duties of life than are generally acknowledged in +practice,--turned the storm to sunshine, brought happiness to them. If +they were to die now, they would be blessed with the happy assurance +that their lives had been productive of good to others. So might we +all live; so should we all live. The world would be the better for it. +No man or woman is unblessed with the want of continual opportunity +for doing good or being kind. + +'Christmas will very soon be here once more,' says Mr. Silver. + +'We'll have a merry gathering,' Mrs. Silver answers. 'There will be +changes before the next comes round.' + +'Yes; our little children are men and women now.' + +'Good men and women, thank God!' + +'Wife,' he says, 'I have thought many times of your words when I +brought little Charley home twenty-three years ago. The child was +lying in your lap, and you said, "Perhaps this is the reason why God +has given us no children."' + +She looks at him with a tender light in her eyes. Between these two +love does not show itself in words, but in ministering to each other +unselfishly. + +'They have been a blessing to us, dear,' she says. 'Our household will +be smaller presently. Charley and Ruth, I think, are fond of each +other. He brings her home now every night.' + +'What did Charley earn last week? + +'Thirty-eight shillings.' + +'Is that sufficient to marry on?' + +'Quite sufficient, and to spare; and Charley has money put by to start +with. They must live near us. Charley would like to, I know, and Ruth +too; but it will be time enough to talk of these things by and by.' + +'Carry your mind ten years on, my dear.' + +'Well, I do so.' + +'What do you see?' + +'If we live?' + +'If we live.' + +She muses a little, looking into the fire. + +'Ourselves old people; Charley and Ruth happily married, with +children of their own; Mary married also, although her prince +is not yet come, and is a stranger to us. Richard will go abroad: +I can tell, by his reading and conversation, that his heart is set +upon it. And Rachel--poor Rachel!--stopping sometimes with us, and +sometimes--nearly always indeed--with Ruth and Charley. I can see +myself with hair perfectly white, and you with only a fringe of white +hair round your head.' + +He laughs softly and pleasantly, and caresses her hand. + +'I can see nothing but happiness, dear.' + +They sit quietly before the fire, and the darkness grows deeper. The +door opens, and Mr. Merrywhistle enters softly. + +'Don't stir,' he says; 'and don't light the gas. I was told you were +here, and I know how fond you are of sitting in the dark.' + +It was indeed a favourite habit with them when they were alone. He +sits by them in silence; for a minute or two no word is spoken. Then +Mrs. Silver places her hand lightly on his shoulder. + +'I understand, I understand,' he says; 'you are waiting for me to +speak. You always know when I am in trouble.' + +'How can I help knowing? Your face I cannot see, but I hear your heart +in your voice.' + +'Tell me: is it a good thing to make other persons' troubles ours?' + +'What is sympathy for?' she answers in return. + +'I have spoken to you now and again of a child--a girl--whom I have +seen occasionally---- + +'The flower-girl?' + +'Yes, the flower-girl; the girl whom I met for the first time in the +company of a boy who deceived me--a boy who told me the most +unblushing l---- stories, and who yet had some humanity in him.' + +'That is many years ago. The girl must be almost a woman now.' + +'She _is_ a woman, God help her!--more woman than her years warrant I +should think she is about the same age as Ruth. And it comes upon me +again, that fancy, when I speak of Ruth and think of this poor girl.' + +'Yes; you have told us there is a singular likeness between them.' + +'It is striking--wonderfully striking. But there can be nothing in it; +for Ruth, you have said, was the only child of a poor woman who died a +fortnight after the little thing was born.' + +'Yes, my friend.' + +'So that it is pure accident; but the fancy remains, for all that I +shall never forget the sad story that this poor Blade-o'-Grass told me +of the tiger that worried her, and clamoured for food. It was hunger, +my dear friends, hunger. I shall never forget her notion that +Hallelujah came to her while she was asleep, and put baked potatoes in +her lap. I shall never forget my pleasure when I first saw her with a +basket of flowers, and bought a flower of her. But I have told you of +these things before, and here I am babbling of them again, like an old +man that has lost his wits.' + +'Never mind, friend; go on.' + +'I saw poor Blade-o'-Grass this morning. I haven't seen her for many +months. I had occasion to pass by a certain prison early, and I saw +her, with a dozen others, waiting outside. She was waiting for this +boy that was--this man and thief that is. I lingered until the +prison doors were opened, and let him and others out. And when he +came'--there were tears in the old man's voice as he spoke--'and when +he came, this unhappy girl kissed him and clung to him as with less +shame she might have kissed and clung to a better man, had she been +taught something good when she was younger.' + +'My dear, dear friend!' says Mrs. Silver, taking his hand in hers. + +'I cannot tell you what I feared as I saw her, and spoke to her before +the prison doors were opened. Poor Blade-o'-Grass! poor child! Nay, +let me have my way.' + +And this good old man, whose heart is as tender as that of a good +woman, sheds tears and trembles; if a daughter's happiness had been at +stake, he could not have been more moved. Wisely, Mr. and Mrs. Silver +do not disturb him, but talk together of other subjects until Mr. +Merrywhistle exclaims, with something of his usual cheerfulness, 'What +on earth are we sitting in the dark for?' Whereat Mr. Silver smiles, +and lights the gas. As if the light is the means of suddenly waking up +the cuckoo from a nap, it immediately proclaims seven o'clock, and in +another hour the whole of Mrs. Silver's family are assembled in the +parlour. Rachel, the blind girl, has no outdoor occupation, but all +the others have. Charley, as you know, is a printer, and, being out of +his time, is earning good wages; Richard is a watchmaker, still an +apprentice, and making famous progress; and Mary and Ruth are both of +them in the postal telegraph office. For it has been part of Mrs. +Silver's plan to give her family the opportunity of making their way +in the world, and boys and girls have been taught that to work is one +of the chief duties and one of the best blessings of life. Charley and +Ruth come in together. He has grown quite a man since we last saw him, +and Ruth, Blade-o'-Grass's sister, is as bright and cheerful-looking a +lass as one can meet. She is particularly bright just now, and looks +particularly happy, for she and Charley have had a brisk walk; her +cheeks are glowing healthfully, and there is a bright sparkle in her +eyes. Then questions are asked and answered. The events of the day are +narrated, and it is wonderful what interest is manifested in these +trifles. Every few minutes the comfortable parlour in Buttercup-square +is filled with merry laughter. + +'Come, come, children,' says Mr. Silver, after nearly an hour has been +spent in this manner; 'are we to have any reading to-night?' + +The books are instantly brought forward, and the youngsters are busy +turning over the leaves. When last we were in their company they were +deep in the beautiful story of Paul and Virginia. Since then, they +have had rare nights with their favourite authors, and have laughed +and cried, as hundreds of thousands of others have done, over the +sayings and doings of the men and women and children who play their +parts in the pages of Thackeray and Scott and Dickens and Jerrold, and +authors of long ago. It is not a novel that engages their attention +now; this is one of their 'play' nights, when scenes from Shakespeare +are read. When the rustling of the leaves has ceased, they all with +one accord turn to Rachel, the blind girl. She knows they are looking +at her, and her face flushes as she says, 'Yes, I am ready.' Then says +Richard, in a deep bass voice, laying his finger on the first line of +the fourth act of _The Merchant of Venice_, 'What, is Antonio here?' +And Charley forthwith answers, 'Ready, so please your grace;' and the +play commences. They all take parts, with the exception of Mr. +Merrywhistle, who is the audience, and who applauds as if the house is +packed, and there is not standing room for one. Mr. Silver takes +Shylock (the villain's part generally falls to his share), and Ruth +reads the few lines that Nerissa has to say. But the great wonder of +the reading takes place when Richard, as the Duke, says, + + + 'You hear the learned Bellario, what he writes: + And here, I take it, is the doctor come.' + _Up rises Rachel, the blind girl_. + 'Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?' + + +And Rachel bows, and answers, in a gentle voice, 'I did, my lord.' The +scene proceeds, and Rachel speaks Portia's lines with grace and power, +and does not falter at a word. How they all praise her and cluster +round her when the act is finished, and the books are closed! + +But this is only one of very many such nights passed in that happy +home in Buttercup-square. + + + + FACE TO FACE--SO LIKE, YET SO UNLIKE. + + +On the following Saturday, Ruth and Charley had a holiday, which, with +the sanction of their kind guardians, they intended to spend at the +International Exhibition. The holiday had been planned a month before +its arrival, and had indeed been the occasion of an innocent +conspiracy between Ruth and Rachel and Charley, and of much mysterious +conversation. Rachel was to accompany them. The day, which had been +looked forward to with such rapturous anticipation as only the young +can experience and enjoy, at length arrived. In a very flutter of +delight, the two girls and their hero--for Charley was Rachel's hero +as well as Ruth's--bade Mrs. Silver good-morning, and went out into +the streets with joy in their hearts. Very tender were they to each +other, and very tender were Ruth and Charley to their blind companion. +No words of love had passed between Ruth and Charley, although their +attachment was known to their kind guardians, as you have read. But, +indeed, no words were required; their looks, their almost +unconsciously-exercised tenderness towards one another, were +sufficient confirmation of mutual affection. These two young persons +were enjoying the purest, happiest dream that life contains. May all +the grown-up people who read these pages have enjoyed such a pure and +happy dream! May all others live to enjoy it! + +Ruth and Charley, of course, with the usual blindness of lovers, +believed that no one noticed anything particular in their behaviour; +but in this respect they were as blind as Rachel--more so indeed, if +there be degrees in blindness, for even she guessed their secret In +the course of their rambles through the Exhibition, she sat down and +asked to be left alone for a while, and when Ruth and Charley +demurred, insisted, with a pretty and affectionate wilfulness, on +having her own way. + + +[Illustration] + + +'And don't hurry,' she said, turning her face to them and smiling +sweetly. 'You will find me here when you come back. I am tired, and +want a long, long rest.' + +And there the blind girl sat, seeing nothing, enjoying everything, +while unsuspecting Ruth and Charley wandered away into fairyland, arm +in arm. Soft strains of music came to Rachel's ears, and she listened +and drank them in, with clasped hands and head inclined, She was as +one inspired; visions of beauty passed before her, and the melodious +notes were imbued with palpable loveliness for her. Many a passer-by +paused to look at her beautiful face, and felt the better for it, and +a great lady came and sat down beside her. When the music ceased, the +lady said, 'My dear, are you here alone?' + +'O no,' replied Rachel, 'I have friends; I asked them to let me sit by +myself. I wanted to listen to the music. They will come for me +presently.' + +'You love music?' + +'Who can help loving it? I can see it' + +The lady's voice was soft and sweet, and Rachel _felt_ goodness in her +manner. 'Tell me,' she said, 'what is before me.' + +They were sitting opposite a piece of sculpture--a perfect work--and +the lady described it, and described it well, and told the story that +it illustrated. + +'Ah,' sighed the blind girl, 'it is beautiful!' + +The lady was accompanied by her husband and child. + +'Is this your little daughter?' asked Rachel. + +'My dear,' exclaimed the lady, 'I thought--thought----' + +'That I was quite blind,' said Rachel, smiling. 'So I am. But +see--your little girl's hand is in mine.' + +And indeed the child, who was standing by her mother's side, had +placed her hand in Rachel's, beneath the folds of the blind girl's +shawl. + +'And without that I think I could tell,' added Rachel. + +'Yes, my dear, it is my little girl,' said the lady. + +Rachel stooped and kissed the child, whose hand stole round Rachel's +neck, and caressed it. Lips purer and more innocent had never met. So +they sat, talking for a little while longer, until Rachel raised her +face, and smiled a happy greeting to Ruth and Charley, who were +standing before her. The lady and the child bade good-bye to Rachel, +and kissed her; and when they met again, an hour afterwards, the child +gave Rachel a flower. + +Like the incense of a breeze that has been wandering among +sweet-smelling plants; like the soft plash of water on a drowsy day; +like the singing of birds, are such small circumstances as these. +Thank God for them! + +And what had Ruth and Charley been doing? Dreaming--nothing +more--walking almost in silence among the busy eager bustling crowd, +standing before works of beauty, and enjoying. Everything was +beautiful in their eyes. Perfect harmony encompassed them; the +commonest things were idealised; their souls were filled with a sense +of worship. + +How quickly the hours passed! It seemed to them that they had been in +the place but a few minutes, and it was already time for them to go. +They left with many a sigh, and many a parting glance at the wonders +which lined the spaces through which they walked. Ruth's hand was +clasped in Charley's beneath her mantle, and a tender light was +in her eyes as they made their way through the restless throng. +It was still light when the omnibus put them down within a mile of +Buttercup-square. The tramway carriage would have carried them to the +avenue that led to Buttercup-square; but both Ruth and Rachel +expressed a desire to walk, wishful perhaps to prolong the happy time. +Charley, nothing loth, gave an arm to each of the girls, and they +walked slowly onwards, Rachel being nearest to the wall. They were +passing a man and a girl, who were talking together. The girl had just +uttered some words to the man, who was leaving her, when Rachel cried +suddenly in a voice of alarm, + +'Ruth, was it you who spoke?' + +Her face was deadly pale, and her limbs were trembling. + +'No, Rachel,' answered Ruth, surprised at the blind girl's agitation. + +As she replied, both she and Charley turned, and saw Blade-o'-Grass. +Thus, for the first time since their infancy, the sisters looked each +other in the face. Each saw, instantaneously, such a resemblance to +herself, that they leant towards each other in sudden bewilderment +Their gaze lasted scarcely as long as one might count three, for +Charley hurried Ruth and Rachel on; he also had seen with amazement +the likeness that Blade-o'-Grass bore to Ruth, and that there +should be any resemblance to his treasure in such a forlorn +disreputable--looking creature as Blade-o'-Grass, smote him with a +sense of pain. Ruth walked along, dazed; but before they had gone a +dozen yards she stopped, and pressed her hand to her heart. + +'Ruth! dear Ruth!' exclaimed Charley, placing his arm round her, for +indeed she was almost falling. She released herself, and said in a +faint voice: + +'Rachel, why did you ask if it was I who spoke?' + +'The tone was so exactly like yours, Ruth,' answered Rachel, 'that the +words slipped out from me unaware. Who was it that spoke?' + +'It must have been a poor girl whom we have just passed.' + +'What is she like?' Ruth's lips trembled, but she did not answer the +question. + +'Why must the words have slipped from you unaware, Rachel?' + +'Because, if I had considered an instant, I should not have asked. You +could not have said such a thing.' + +'What thing?--Nay, Charley, don't interrupt me,' said Ruth, in such an +imploring tone, that he was mute from fear, for Ruth's eyes were +filled with tears, and her face was very pale. 'What thing, Rachel?' + +'Just, then,' answered Rachel slowly and solemnly, 'a voice said, "For +God's sake, Tom, bring home some money, for there's not a bit of bread +in the cupboard!"' + +'Charley!' cried Ruth hurriedly, 'stand here with Rachel for a few +moments. Don't follow me; let me go alone.' + +She was his queen, and he obeyed her; but his apprehensive looks +followed her, although he did not stir from the spot Ruth hastened to +where Blade-o'-Grass was standing. The poor outcast was very wan and +wretched. Ruth knew part of her own history; for Mrs. Silver, when her +adopted children arrived at a proper age, had told them, gently, as +much of the story of their lives as she deemed it right and necessary +for them to know. The hours in which she unfolded their stories to her +children were quiet and solemn; there was no one present but she and +her adopted one; and she told them their history so gently and with +such sweet words of love, that they were never unhappy when they +learnt the truth. Ruth therefore knew that she was an orphan; and she, +in common with the others, had shed many grateful tears, and had +offered up many grateful prayers, for the merciful heart that had made +life a blessing to her. As she stood before her sister, so like, yet +so unlike--her sister never to be recognised, or acknowledged as of +her blood--the thought came to her, 'But for my dear good mother I +might have been like this--ragged, forlorn, hungry, with not a bit of +bread in the cupboard!' + +Blade-o'-Grass, whose wistful eyes had followed the strange likeness +to herself, saw Ruth turn back, and dropped a curtsey as her sister in +her warm soft dress stood before her. + +Then said Ruth timidly, 'It _was_ you who said that?' She herself +might have been the suppliant, her voice and manner were so quiet and +humble. + +'Said what, miss?' + +'That you hadn't a bit of bread in the cupboard.' + +'It's true, miss, and to-morrow's Sunday.' + +Ruth thought of what a happy day the Sabbath was to her and hers in +Buttercup-square, the goodness of it, the peacefulness of it! And this +forlorn girl before her, the sight of whom had so strangely unnerved +her, had only one thought of that happy Sabbath to-morrow--whether she +would be able to get bread to eat. Tears choked her voice as she +asked, 'Will you tell me your name?' + +'Blade-o'-Grass, miss.' + +Ruth looked up in surprise. 'Is that your real name?' + +'Yes, miss, I ain't got no other.' Ruth's hand had been in her pocket +from the first, with her purse in it; but she could scarcely muster +sufficient courage to give. She judged poor Blade-o'-Grass with the +eyes of her own sensitive soul, and felt that if money were offered to +her, she would sink to the earth in shame. + +'Will you pardon me,' she said hesitatingly, the hot blood flushing +her neck and face; 'will you pardon me if I offer you--if I beg of you +to--to----' + +The hand of Blade-o'-Grass was held out eagerly, imploringly, and Ruth +emptied her purse into it. Blade-o'-Grass wondered at the munificence +of the gift, and the modesty with which it was given, and her fingers +closed greedily on the silver coins. + +'God Almighty bless you, miss!' she exclaimed, taking Ruth's hand and +kissing it 'God Almighty bless you!' The tears were streaming down +both their faces. A warm hand pressure, a last grateful look from +Blade-o'-Grass, and the sisters parted. + +'O, Charley! Charley!' sobbed Ruth, as she clasped his arm, 'I might +have been like that!' They walked in silence to their home, and Ruth +whispered to her companions not to say anything to their kind +guardians of what had taken place. 'It might make them sad,' she said. + +It was dusk when they went indoors. Rachel went to her room first, and +Ruth and Charley lingered in the passage. + +'Ruth!' he whispered. + +She laid her head upon his breast with the confidence and innocence of +a child. He stooped and kissed her cheek, still wet with her tears. +She clung to him more closely--hid her face in his neck. A wondering +happiness took possession of them. + + + + ROBERT TRUEFIT ALLOWS HIS FEELINGS TO MASTER HIM. + + +The chance acquaintanceship which had so strangely sprung up seven +years ago between Mr. Merrywhistle, Robert Truefit, and Jimmy Virtue +had ripened into intimacy, and it was not unusual for the three to +meet in the old man's leaving-shop in Stoney-alley. The shop and the +stock were, on the whole, less fragrant than on the occasion of Mr. +Merrywhistle's first introduction to them. An additional seven years' +mouldiness lay heavy on the shelves; but familiarity had rendered the +musty vapour less objectionable to the benevolent gentleman. There was +no perceptible change of importance in Jimmy Virtue; his skin +certainly had got tougher and dryer and yellower, but otherwise he did +not seem to be a day older. His eyebrows were as precipitous, and his +glass eye as mild, and his fierce eye as fierce, as ever they were. No +perceptible change either was to be observed in the articles which +filled his shop: the same faded dresses and dirty petticoats were +crammed into inconvenient corners; the same crinolines loomed from +unlikely places; the same old boots hung from the ceiling; and +doubtless the same vanities of vanities were enclosed in the box which +served as a resting-place in Jimmy Virtue's parlour. + +It was a dull, miserable November night. A thick fog had lain upon +Stoney-alley during the day, necessitating the use of candles and gas; +towards the evening the fog had cleared away, and a dismal rain had +set in; Stoney-alley and its neighbouring courts and lanes were +overlaid with dirty puddles. It was by a strange chance, therefore, +that Mr. Merrywhistle and Robert Truefit found themselves in Jimmy +Virtue's parlour on this evening; they said as much to each other. +Each of them had some special business which brought them in Jimmy's +neighbourhood, and he expressed his pleasure when he saw them. They +were the only living friends he had; other friends he had, but they +were not human; notwithstanding which some hours would have hung +dreadfully upon Jimmy's hands, if he had been deprived of them. These +friends were aces, deuces, knaves, and the like; in other words, a +pack of cards. Very dirty, very greasy, very much thumbed and +dog's-eared, but very useful. Jimmy spent comfortable hours with these +friends. Sitting in his chair, he would place an imaginary opponent on +the seat opposite to him, and would play blind All-Fours with his +unreal foe for large sums of money. 'Jack' was the name of his +opponent, and Jimmy often talked to him, and called him a fool for +playing, and abused him generally for incapacity. For Jimmy nearly +always won; and many and many a night Jack was dismissed a ruined and +brokenhearted shadow, while Jimmy, after putting up his shutters, let +down his turn-up bedstead, and went to bed a winner of hundreds, +sometimes of thousands of pounds. For Jack's wealth was enormous; he +never refused a bet, never declined 'double or quits.' So reckless a +player was he--being egged on by Jimmy--that it was impossible he +could have come by his money honestly. Be that as it may, his +ill-gotten gains were swept into Jimmy's imaginary coffers, to the old +man's delight and satisfaction. It is a positive fact, that Jimmy had +grown into a sort of belief in Jack's existence, and often imagined +that he saw a shadowy opponent sitting opposite him. There was a very +good reason why Jimmy so invariably won and Jack so invariably lost. +Jimmy cheated. He often slipped into his own cards an ace or a knave +that properly belonged to Jack. When Jimmy did this, his manner was as +wary and cautious as though flesh and blood opposed him. It was a +picture to see this old man playing All-Fours with Jack for ten pounds +a game, or for 'double or quits,' and cheating his helpless adversary. + +When Mr. Merrywhistle and Robert Truefit entered Jimmy's parlour--they +had met at the door of the leaving-shop--he was playing greasy +All-Fours with Jack, and had just scored a winning game. Robert +Truefit always had something new to speak of: a trade-union outrage, a +strike, a flagrant instance of justices' justice, a mass meeting and +what was said thereat, and other subjects, of which a new crop springs +up every day in a great country where tens of millions of people live +and have to be legislated for. The late war, of course, was a fruitful +theme with Robert Truefit, who spoke of it as an infamous outrage upon +civilisation. Especially indignant was he at the sacrilege which lay +in one king invoking 'the God of Battles,' and in the other praying to +the Supreme to assist him in bringing desolation and misery to +thousands of homes. But this is no place for the outpourings of +Robert's indignation on those themes. From those lofty heights they +came down, after a time, to Blade-o'-Grass. It was Mr. Merrywhistle +who introduced her name. He asked Jimmy if he had seen her lately. No; +Jimmy hadn't seen her for a month. + +'You see,' said Jimmy, 'she's a woman now, and 'as been on 'er own +'ook this many a year. Besides which, once when I spoke to her she +was sarcy, and cheeked me because I wanted to give 'er a bit of +advice--good advice, too. But she was up in the stirrups then.' + +'Has she ever been prosperous?' inquired Mr. Merrywhistle. + +'Well, not what _you_ would call prosperous, I daresay; but she's 'ad +a shillin' to spare now and agin. And then, agin, she 'asn't, now and +agin. She's 'ad her ups and downs like all the other gals about 'ere; +you couldn't expect anythin' else, you know. And of course you've +'eerd that Tom Beadle and 'er----' + +'Tom Beadle and her--what? asked Mr. Merrywhistle, as Jimmy paused. + +'O, nothin',' replied Jimmy evasively; 'it's sich a common thing that +it ain't worth mentionin'.' + +'I saw her myself about six weeks ago,' said Mr. Merrywhistle; and he +narrated how he had met Blade-o'-Crass outside the prison, and what +had passed between them, and what he had seen. 'Tell me,' he said, +'is she married to Tom Beadle?' + +Jimmy Virtue's eye of flesh expressed that Mr. Merrywhistle +outrivalled Simple Simon in simplicity. 'I do believe,' thought Jimmy, +'that he gits greener and greener every time I see him.' Then he said +aloud contemptuously, 'Married to Tom! As much as I am!' + +Mr. Merrywhistle twisted his fingers nervously, and otherwise so +comported himself as to show that he was grieved and pained. + +'I wouldn't 'ave a 'art as soft as yours,' thought Jimmy, as Mr. +Merrywhistle rested his head upon his hand sadly, 'and as green as +yours--no, not for a 'atful of money.' + +'Poor child! poor child!' exclaimed Mr. Merrywhistle. 'I wish I could +do something for her.' + +'Too late,' said Jimmy shortly. + +'Yes, too late, I'm afraid,' said Robert Truefit. 'Blade-o'-Grass is a +woman now. Her ideas, her principles, her associations, are rooted. +When she was a sapling, good might have been done for her, and she +might have grown up straight. But she had no chance, poor thing! And +Jimmy's tone and your fears point to something worse than hunger. You +fear she is leading a bad life.' + +'No, no!' interposed Mr. Merrywhistle earnestly; 'not that--indeed, +not that. But I would give more than I could afford if I knew that she +was married to Tom Beadle.' + +'Thief as he is? questioned Robert Truefit. + +'Thief as he is,' replied Mr. Merrywhistle. + +His grief was contagious: Robert Truefit turned away, with a troubled +look on his face; Jimmy Virtue preserved a stolid silence, as was his +general habit on such occasions. 'What can one good man do?' presently +said Robert Truefit, in a low tone; but his voice was singularly +clear. 'What can a hundred good men do, each working singly, according +to the impulse of his benevolent heart? I honour them for their deeds, +and God forbid that I should harbour a wish to check them! Would that +more money were as well spent, and that their numbers were increased a +hundredfold! They do _some_ good. But is it not cruel to know that +Blade-o'-Grass is but one of thousands of human blades who are cursed, +shunned, ignored, through no fault of theirs, and who, when +circumstances push them into the light, are crushed by System? If they +were lepers, their condition would be better. And they might be so +different! To themselves, and all around them. To the State; to +society. In actual fact, and putting wordy sops in the pan out of the +question, what do statesmen do for such poor places as these? Give +them gin-shops and an extra number of police. No prompt effort made in +the right direction; no clearing away of nest-holes where moral +corruption and physical misery fester and ripen. Where legislation is +most needed, it moves at a snail's pace. So wrapt up are statesmen in +the slow hatching of grand schemes, that they cannot stoop to pour oil +upon these festering social wounds. And what is the result? While they +legislate, Blades-o'-Grass are springing up all around them, and +living poisoned lives. And while they legislate, if there be truth in +what preachers preach, souls are being damned by force of +circumstance. What should be the aim of those who govern? So to govern +as to produce the maximum of human happiness and comfort, and the +minimum of human misery and vice. Not to the few--to the many, to +all.' He paused, and turned to Mr. Merrywhistle. 'Seven years ago,' he +continued, 'we talked of poor Blade-o'-Grass. I told you then--I +remember it well--that England was full of such pictures as that +hungry ignorant child, with the tiger in her stomach, presented. Seven +years before that, it was the same. During that time Blade-o'-Grass +has grown up from a baby to a woman. What a childhood must hers have +been! I wonder if she ever had a toy! And see what she is now: a woman +for whom you fear--what I guess, but will not say. What will she +be--where will she be--in seven years from now? Seventy years is the +fulness of our age. Carry Blade-o'-Grass onwards for seven years more, +and find her an old woman long before she should have reached her +prime. What has been done in the last seven years for such as she? +What will be done in the next--and the next? There are thousands upon +thousands of such babes and girls as she was seven years and twice +seven years ago growing up as I speak; contamination is eating into +their bones, corrupting their blood, poisoning their instincts for +good. What shall be done for them in the next seven years? Pardon me,' +he said, breaking off suddenly; 'I have let my feelings run ahead of +me perhaps; but I'll stick to what I've said, nevertheless.' + +With that he wished them goodnight, and took his leave. Mr. +Merrywhistle soon followed him, first ascertaining from Jimmy Virtue +the address of Blade-o'-Grass. + + +[Illustration] + + +Jimmy, being left to his own resources, went to the door to see what +sort of a night it was. The rain was still falling drearily. It was +too miserable a night for him to take his usual pipe in the open air, +and too miserable a night for him to expect to do any business in. So +he put up his shutters, and retired to his parlour. Then he took out +his greasy pack of cards, and conjured up Jack for a game of +All-Fours. With his eye on his opponent, he filled his pipe carefully, +lighted it, puffed at it, and cut for deal. He won it, and the first +thing he did after that was to turn up a knave (slipping it from the +bottom of the pack) and score one. He was in a more than usually +reckless and cheating mood. He staked large sums, went double or +quits, and double or quits again, and cheated unblushingly. He won a +fortune of Jack in an hour; and then contemptuously growled, 'I'll try +you at cribbage, old fellow,' The cribbage-board was his table, and he +scored the game with a bit of chalk. Jack fared no better at cribbage +than he had done at All-Fours. Jimmy had all the good cribs, Jack all +the bad ones. By the time that the table was smeared all over with +chalk figures, Jimmy was sleepy. He played one last game for an +enormous stake, and having won it and ruined Jack, he went to bed +contentedly, and slept the sleep of the just. + + + + TOO LATE. + + +Mr. Merrywhistle had no very distinct plan in his mind when he left +Jimmy Virtue's shop to visit Blade-o'-Grass. Sincerely commiserating +her condition, he wished to put her in the way to get an honest and +respectable living, but was deeply perplexed as to the method by which +she was to arrive at this desirable consummation. Some small +assistance in money he might manage to give her; but in what way could +it be applied? by what means was she to be lifted out of that slough +into which she had been allowed to sink? And then he feared that she +was past training. As Robert Truefit had said, Blade-o'-Grass was a +woman now, with a grown-up person's passions and desires firmly rooted +in her nature. And he feared something else, also. But he would see +her and speak to her freely; good might come of it. + +The room she occupied was at the extreme end of Stoney-alley, and Mr. +Merrywhistle was soon stumbling along dark passages and up flights of +crippled stairs. When he reached the top of the house, as he thought, +he tapped at a door, and receiving no answer, turned the handle, and +entered. A very old woman, sitting before a very small fire, smiled +and mumbled in reply to his questions; and he soon discovered that she +was deaf and childish, and that he was in the wrong apartment. As he +stumbled into the dark again, a woman, with a child in her' arms, came +on to the landing with a candle in her hand, and showed Mr. +Merrywhistle that there was still another flight of stairs to mount. +Blade-o'-Grass lived up there, the woman said; first door on the right +She didn't know if the girl was at home. And then she asked if he was +a doctor. No, he answered, surprised at the question; he was not a +doctor. The crazy stairs complained audibly as he trod them. He +knocked at the first door on the right, and paused. + +'You'd better go in, and see, sir,' called the woman from below; +'perhaps she's asleep.' Mr. Merrywhistle hesitated. What right, he +thought, had he to intrude on the girl's privacy, and at this time of +night? But the knowledge that he was there for no bad purpose made him +bold, and he opened the door. A candle that was burning on the table +threw a dim light around, but the corners of the miserible apartment +were in shade. The woman was right in her conjecture: Blade-o'-Grass +was in the room, asleep. She was lying on the ground, dressed, before +a mockery of a fire; her head was resting on a stool, round which one +arm was thrown. The faintly-flickering flames threw occasional gleams +of light on the girl's face, over which, strange to say, a smile was +playing, as if her dreams were pleasant ones. The benevolent old +gentleman looked round upon the miserable apartment, and sighed. It +was a shelter, nothing more--a shelter for want and destitution. Then +he looked down upon the form of the sleeping girl, clothed in rags. +Child-woman indeed she was. Her pretty face was thin and pale; but +there was a happy expression upon it, and once her arm clasped the +stool with fond motion, as if she were pressing to her breast +something that she loved. Yet, doubtless, there are many stern +moralists, philanthropic theorists, and benevolent word-wasters, +who would have looked coldly upon this sleeping child, and +who--self-elected teachers as they are of what is good and +moral--would only have seen in her and her surroundings a text for +effervescent platitudes. But the school in which they learn their +lessons is as cruel and harsh as the school in which Blade-o'-Grass +learns hers is unwholesome and bitter. + +Mr. Merrywhistle was debating with himself whether he should arouse +her, when a slight motion on his part saved him the trouble of +deciding. 'Is that you, Tom?' she asked softly, opening her eyes, and +then, seeing a strange figure before her, scrambled to her feet. + +'I have come to see you,' said Mr. Merrywhistle. + +Although she curtseyed, she was scarcely awake yet. But presently she +said, 'O, yes, sir; I arks yer pardon. It's Mr. Merrywhistle? + +'Yes, child; may I sit down?' + +She motioned him to the only chair the room contained. 'It's very +late, ain't it?' she asked. And then anxiously, 'Is anythink up?' + +Mr. Merrywhistle was sufficiently versed in vulgar vernacular to +understand her meaning. No, he said, there was nothing the matter. She +gave a sigh of relief as she said, 'I thought you might 'ave come to +tell me somethin' bad.' + +'How long have you lived here?' + +'O, ever so long.' + +'Alone?' he asked, after a slight pause. + +But to this question she made no reply. + +'Times are hard with you, are they not, my child?' he said, +approaching his subject. + +'Very 'ard,' she answered, with a weary shake of the head. + +'Have you given up selling flowers?' + +''Tain't the season for flowers,' she answered; 'wilets won't be in +for three months.' + +He felt the difficulty of the task he had set himself. 'How do you +live when there are no flowers?' + +'Any'ow; sometimes I sells matches; I can't tell you 'ow, and that's a +fact.' + +'But why don't you work?' he inquired, with a bold plunge. + +'Work!' she exclaimed. 'What work? I don't know nothin'. But I've been +arksed that lots of times. A peeler told me that once, and when I +arksed him to get me some work that I could do, he only larfed.' + +'Suppose now,' said Mr. Merrywhistle, 'that I were to take you away +from this place, and put you somewhere where you could learn +dressmaking or needlework.' + +She gave him a grateful and surprised look. 'I don't think it'd +answer, sir. I knows lots o' gals who tried to git a livin' by +needlework, and couldn't do it. I knows some as set up till two +o'clock in the mornin', and got up agin at eight, and then couldn't +earn enough to git a shoe to their foot. And they couldn't always git +work; they'd go for weeks and couldn't git a stitch.' + +'Good heavens!' exclaimed Mr. Merrywhistle, who was as ignorant as a +child in such matters. 'What did they do then?' + +Blade-o'-Grass laughed recklessly. 'Do! what do you think? Beg, +or----somethin' else.' + +He was pained by her manner, and said, 'My poor child, I have only +come here out of kindness, and to try if I could do some good for +you.' + +'I know, sir,' she said gratefully; 'you've always been kind to me as +long as I can remember; I don't forget, sir. But there's some things I +know more about nor you do, sir. A gal can't git a livin' by +needlework--leastways, a good many of 'em can't. There was a woman +livin' in the next room: she worked 'er fingers to the bone, and +couldn't git enough to eat. Last winter was a reg'lar 'ard un; and +then she lost her work, and couldn't git another shop. She took to +beggin', and was 'ad up afore the beak. She was discharged with a +caution, I 'eerd. It _was_ a caution to her: she died o' starvation in +that there room!' + +Grieved and shocked, Mr. Merrywhistle was silent for a little while; +but he brightened up presently. He was sincerely desirous to do some +tangible good for Blade-o'-Grass. He thought of the situations held by +Ruth and Mary in the Postal Telegraph Office. Suppose he was to take +Blade-o'-Grass away from the contaminating influences by which she was +surrounded; give her decent clothes, and have her taught the system, +so that she might be an eligible candidate. He could set some +influence at work; Mr. Silver would do his best, and there were others +also whom he could induce to interest themselves. He felt quite +hopeful as he thought. He mooted the idea to Blade-o'-Grass. She +listened in silence, and when she spoke, it was in a low voice, and +with her face turned from him. + +I've see'd them gals, and I'd like to be one of 'em; but----' + +'But what, Blade-o'-Grass?' he asked kindly, almost tenderly; for +there was a plaintiveness in her voice that deeply affected him. + +'They must be able to read, mustn't they?' + +'O, yes; they would be useless without that.' + +'And they must be able to write, too. Where do you think _I_ learnt to +read and write? I don't know one letter from another.' + +Here was another difficulty, and a gigantic one; but it seemed as if +each fresh obstacle only served to expand Mr. Merrywhistle's +benevolent heart. + +'Why, then,' he said cheerfully, 'suppose we teach you to read and +write. You'd learn quickly, I'll be bound.' + +A sudden rush of tears came to her eyes, and she sat down on the +floor, and sobbed, and rocked herself to and fro. + +'It's too late!' she cried. 'Too late!' + +Too late! The very words used by Robert Truefit They fell ominously on +Mr. Merrywhistle's ears. He asked for an explanation; but he had to +wait until the girl's grief was spent, before he received an answer. +She wiped her eyes in a manner that showed she was mad with herself +for giving way to such emotion, and turned on her would-be benefactor +almost defiantly. + +'Look 'ere,' she said, in a hard cold voice, 'all them gals are what +you call respectable, ain't they?' + +'Yes, my child.' + +'Don't call me your child; it 'urts me--O, it 'urts me!' She was +almost on the point of giving way again; but she set her teeth close, +and shook herself like an angry dog, and so checked the spasms that +rose to her throat 'They must show that they're respectable, mustn't +they, or they couldn't git the billet?' + +'Yes.' + +'Well, then, I ain't respectable, as you call it; 'ow can I be? A nice +respectable gal _I'd_ look, comin' out of a orfice! Why, they've got +nice warm clothes, every one of 'em, and muffs and tippets, and all +that I've see'd 'em, lots of times.' + +'But you can leave your past life behind you,' urged Mr. Merrywhistle, +overleaping all obstacles; 'you can commence another life, and be like +them.' + +'Be like them! I can't be. It's too late, I tell you. And I'll tell +you somethin' more,' she added, slowly and very distinctly: 'I +wouldn't leave Tom Beadle to be the best-dressed gal among 'em.' + +'Why?' + +'Why!' she echoed, looking into his face with wonder. 'Why! Tom +Beadle's been the best friend I ever 'ad. He's give me grub lots and +lots o' times. When I was a little kid, and didn't know what was what; +when the tiger was a-tearin' my very inside out; Tom Beadle's come and +took pity on me. No one else but 'im did take it. I should 'ave +starved a 'undred times, if it 'adn't been for Tom. Why, it was 'im as +set me up for a flower-gal, and 'im as took me to the theaytre, and +'im as told me I should lick Poll Buttons into fits. And so I did, +when I 'ad a nice dress on; they all said so. And there's another +reason, if you'd care to know. No, I won't tell you. If you arks about +'ere, I daresay you can find out, and if you wait a little while, +you'll find out for yourself. She stood up boldly before him, and said +in a low passionate voice, 'I love Tom, and Tom loves me! I wouldn't +leave 'im for all the world. I'll stick to 'im and be true to 'im till +I die.' + +Here was an end to Mr. Merrywhistle's benevolent intentions; he had +nothing more to urge. The difficulties Blade-o'-Grass herself had put +in the way seemed to him to render her social redemption almost +impossible. Blade-o'-Grass saw trouble in his face, and said, as if he +were the one who required pity: + +'Don't take on, sir; it can't be 'elped. Next to Tom, no one's been so +good to me as you've been. Perhaps I don't understand things as you +would like me to understand 'em. But I can't 'elp it, sir.' + +Mr. Merrywhistle rose to go. He took out his purse, and was about to +offer Blade-o'-Grass money, when she said, in an imploring tone: + +'No, sir, not to-night; it'll do me more good, if you don't give me +nothin' to-night I shall be sorry to myself afterwards, if I take it. +And don't believe, sir, that I ain't grateful! Don't believe it!' + +'I won't, my poor girl,' said Mr. Merrywhistle huskily, putting his +purse in his pocket. 'I am sorry for all this. But, at all events, you +can promise me that if you want a friend, you'll come to me. You know +where I live.' + +'Yes, sir; and I'll promise you. When I don't know which way to turn, +I'll come to you.' + +He held out his hand, and she kissed it; and went down-stairs with him +with the candle, to show him the way. He walked home with a very heavy +feeling at his heart. 'There's something wrong somewhere,' was his +refrain. He was conscious that a great social problem was before him, +but he could find no solution for it. Indeed, it could not be expected +of him. He was ready enough (too ready, many said) with his sixpences +and shillings when his heart was stirred, but he was not a politician. + +When Blade-o'-Grass reëntered her cheerless room, she set the candle +on the table, and began to cry. Her heart was very sore, and she was +deeply moved at Mr. Merrywhistle's goodness. She started to her feet, +however, when she heard the sounds of a well-known step on the stairs. +Wiping her eyes hastily, she hurried into the passage with the candle. +Tom Beadle smiled as he saw the light He was a blackguard and a thief, +but he loved Blade-o'-Grass. + +'I've got some trotters, old gal,' he said, when they were in their +room, 'and 'arf-a-pint o' gin. Why, I'm blessed if you 'aven't been +turnin' on the waterworks agin.' + +Her eyes glistened at the sight of the food. + +'Look 'ere, old woman,' said Tom Beadle, with his arm round her waist +''Ere's a slice o' luck, eh?' And he took out a purse, and emptied it +on the table. A half-sovereign and about a dozen shillings rolled out. +She handled the coins eagerly, but she did not ask him how he came by +them. + + +Half an hour later, Tom Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass, having finished +their supper, were sitting before the fire, on which the girl had +thrown the last shovelful of coals. In the earlier part of the night, +she had been sparing of them; but when Tom came home rich, she made a +bright blaze, and enjoyed the comforting warmth. Tom sat on the only +chair, and she on the ground, with her arm thrown over his knee. She +was happy and comfortable, having had a good supper, and seeing the +certainty of being able to buy food for many days to come. Then she +told him of Mr. Merrywhistle's visit, but did not succeed in raising +in him any grateful feeling. All that he saw was an attempt on the +part of Mr. Merrywhistle to take Blade-o'-Grass away from him, and he +was proportionately grateful to that gentleman. + +'I'd 'ave punched 'is 'ead, if I'd been 'ere,' was Tom's commentary. + +'No, Tom, you wouldn't,' said Blade-o'-Grass earnestly. 'He only come +to try to do me some good, and he's give me money lots o' times.' + +'He didn't give you any to-night,' grumbled Tom. + +'He wanted to, but I wouldn't take it; I couldn't take it' + +'Blessed if I don't think you're growin' soft, old woman! Wouldn't +take his tin!' + +'Somethin' come over me, Tom; I don't know what. But he'll make it up +to me another time.' + +There was a soft dreaminess in her tone, as she lay looking into the +fire with her head upon Tom's knee, that disarmed him. He took a good +drink of gin-and-water, and caressed her face with his hand. Just then +the candle went out. Blade-o'-Grass placed her warm cheek upon Tom's +hand. They sat so in silence for some time. Tender fancies were in the +fire even for Blade-o'-Grass. As she gazed she smiled happily, as she +had done in her sleep. What did she see there? Good God! a baby's +face! So like herself, yet so much brighter, purer, that thrills of +ineffable happiness and exquisite pain quivered through her. Eyes that +looked at hers in wonder; laughing mouth waiting to be kissed. It +raised its little hands to her, and held out its pretty arms; and she +made a yearning movement towards it, and pressed her lips to Tom's +fingers, and kissed them softly, again and again, while the tears ran +down her face. + +'O, Tom!' she whispered, ''ow I love you!' + +What a rock for her to lean upon! What a harbour for her to take +shelter in! + +She fell into a doze presently, and woke in terror. + +'What's the matter, old gal?' asked Tom, himself nodding. + +And then she gasped, between her sobs, that she dreamt it was born +with a tiger in its inside! + + +Hark! What was that? Heavy steps coming up-stairs. No shuffling; +measured, slow, and certain, as though they were bullets being lifted +from stair to stair. Tom started to his feet. Nearer and nearer came +the sounds. + +'Give me the money, Bladergrass; give me the money, or you might get +into trouble too!' He tore the money out of her pocket; when he came +in he had given it to her to keep house with. Then he cried, 'The +purse! Where's the purse? Throw it out on the tiles--put it on the +fire!' + +'I 'aven't got it, Tom,' answered Blade-o'-Grass hurriedly, her knees +knocking together with fright. 'What's up?' + +'The peelers! Don't you 'ear 'em? Curse the light! why did it go out? +If they see the purse, I'm done for!' + +They groped about in the dark, but could not find it For a moment the +steps halted outside the door. Then it opened, and the strong light +from the policemen's bull's-eye lamps was thrown upon the crouching +forms of Tom Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass. + +'You're up late, Tom,' said one of the policemen. + +'Yes,' said Tom doggedly, and with a pale face; 'I was jist goin' to +bed.' The policeman nodded carelessly, and kept his eye upon Tom, +while his comrade searched about the room. + +'Got any money, Tom?' + +'What's that to you?' + +'Come, come; take it easy, my lad. You haven't been long out, you +know.' + +'And what o' that?' exclaimed Tom, beginning to gather courage, for +the policeman's search was almost at an end, and nothing was found. +'You can't take me up for not bein' long out.' + +'But we can for this,' said the second policeman, lifting a purse from +the mantelshelf. 'Is this yours, sir?' + +A man, who had been lingering by the door, came forward and looked at +the purse by the light of the lamp. 'Yes, it is mine.' + +'And is this the party?'--throwing the light full upon Tom Beadle's +face. He bore it boldly; he knew well enough that the game was up. + +'I can't say; the purse was snatched out of my hand suddenly, and I +didn't see the face of the thief. I followed him, as I told you, and +saw him run down this alley.' + +'And a nice hunt we've had! Been in a dozen houses, and only came to +the right one at last. How much was in the purse, sir, did you say?' + +'Twenty-three shillings--a half-sovereign, and the rest in silver.' + +'Now, Tom, turn out your pockets.' + +Tom did so without hesitation. A half-sovereign and twelve shillings +were placed on the table. + +'Just the money, with a shilling short. What have you been having for +supper, Tom?' + +'Trotters.' + +'Ay; and what was in the bottle?' + +'Gin, of course.' + +'Trotters, fourpence; gin, eightpence. That's how the other shilling's +gone, sir. Come along, Tom; this'll be a longer job than the last.' + +As Tom nodded sullenly, Blade-o'-Grass, who had listened to the +conversation with a face like the face of death, sank to the ground in +a swoon. The policemen's hands were on Tom, and he struggled to get +from them. + +'Come, come, my lad,' said one, shaking him roughly; 'that's no good, +you know. Best go quietly.' + +'I want to go quietly,' cried Tom, with a great swelling in his throat +that almost choked his words; 'but don't you see she's fainted? Let me +go to her for a minute. I hope I may drop down dead if I try to +escape!' + +They loosened their hold, and he knelt by Blade-o'-Grass, and +sprinkled her face with water. She opened her eyes, and threw her arms +round his neck. + +'O, Tom!' she cried; 'I thought--thought----' + +'Now, my girl,' said the policeman, raising her to her feet in a not +unkindly manner; 'it's no use making a bother. Tom's got to go, you +know. It isn't his first job.' + + +[Illustration] + + +'Good-bye, old gal,' said Tom tenderly; 'they can't prove anythin'. +They can't lag me for pickin' up a empty purse in the street; and as +for the money, you know 'ow long I've 'ad that, don't you?' + +She nodded vacantly. + +'That's well trumped-up, Tom,' said the policeman; 'but I don't think +it'll wash.' + +Tom kissed Blade-o'-Grass, and marched out with his captors. When +their steps had died away, Blade-o'-Grass shivered, and sank down +before the fire, but saw no pictures in it now to bring happy smiles +to her face. + + + + HELP THE POOR. + + +Merry peals of bells herald the advent of a bright and happy day. Care +is sent to the right-about by those upon whom it does not press too +heavily; and strangers, as they pass each other in the streets, are +occasionally seen to smile amiably and cheerfully--a circumstance +sufficiently rare in anxious suspicious London to be recorded and made +a note of. But the great city would be filled with churls indeed, if, +on one day during the year, the heart was not allowed to have free +play. The atmosphere is brisk and dear, and the sun shines through a +white and frosty sky. Although the glories of spring and summer are +slumbering in the earth, nature is at its best; and, best thing of all +to be able to say, human nature is more at its best than at any other +time of the year. The houses are sweet and fresh, and smiles are on +the faces and in the hearts of the dwellers therein. Men shake hands +more heartily than is their usual custom, and voices have a merry ring +in them, which it does one good to hear. It is an absolute fact, that +many men and women today present themselves to each other unmasked. +Natural kindliness is in the enjoyment of a pretty fair monopoly, and +charity and goodwill are preached in all the churches. One minister +ends an eloquent exordium with 'God help the poor!' and the majority +of his congregation whisper devoutly, 'Be it so!'--otherwise, 'Amen!' + +In the church where this is said are certain friends of ours whom, I +hope, we have grown to respect: Mr. and Mrs. Silver with their flock, +and Robert Truefit with his. Mr. Merrywhistle has brought Robert +Truefit and the Silvers together, to their mutual satisfaction; and +Robert has agreed to spend Christmas-day in Buttercup-square with his +family--wife and four young ones. Thus it is that they are all in +church together. They make a large party--fourteen in all, for Mr. +Merrywhistle is with them--and there is not a sad heart among them. + +'If I had been the minister preaching,' says Robert Truefit to Mrs. +Silver, as they come out of church, 'I should not have ended my sermon +with "God help the poor!"' + +'With what then?' + +'With "Man, help the poor!"' answers Robert Truefit gravely. + +Here Charley and Ruth come forward with a petition. They want +permission to take a walk by themselves; they will be home within an +hour. + +'Very well, my dears,' says Mrs. Silver; 'don't be longer, if you can +help it.' + +It is Ruth who has suggested the walk, and she has a purpose in view +which Charley does not know of as yet. But Charley is happy enough in +his ignorance; a walk on such a day with his heart's best treasure by +his side is heaven to him. He is inclined to walk eastward, where +glimpses of the country may be seen; but she says, 'No, Charley, +please; you must come my way.' Perfectly contented is he to go her +way, and they walk towards the City. + +'You remember the day we went to the Exhibition, Charley?' + +What a question to ask him! As if it has not been in his thoughts ever +since, as if they have not talked of it, and lingered lovingly over +the smallest incidents, dozens and dozens of times! But he answers +simply, 'Yes, Ruth.' + +'And what occurred when we came back, Charley?' + +'The poor girl do you mean, Ruth?' + +'Yes, the poor girl--so much like me!' + +'I remember.' + +'I have never forgotten her, Charley dear! I want to pass by the spot +where we met her, and if I see her, I want to give her something. I +should dearly like to do so, to-day! Do you remember, Charley?--when +we saw her, she had not a bit of bread in the cupboard. Perhaps she +has none today.' + +'Take my purse, Ruth, and let us share together.' + +'I shall tell her, Charley, that it is half from you.' + +'Yes, my dear.' + +But though they walk past the spot, and, retracing their steps, walk +past it again and again, and although Ruth looks wistfully about her, +she sees nothing of Blade-o'-Grass. They walk homewards, Charley very +thoughtful, Ruth very sad. + +'Come, Ruth,' says Charley presently, 'we must not be unhappy to-day. +Let us hope that the poor girl is provided for; indeed, it is most +reasonable to believe so.' + +'I hope so, Charley, with all my heart.' + +'What you hope with all your heart, dear Ruth, is sure to be good and +true. Is there anything else you hope with all your heart?' + +There is a tender significance in his tone, and she glances at him +shyly and modestly, but does not answer. + +'You can make this happy day even happier than it is, Ruth; you can +make it the happiest remembrance of my life if you will say Yes to +something!' + +Her voice trembles slightly as she asks, 'To what, Charley?' + +'Let me tell our dear parents how I love you. Let me ask them to give +you to me. Is it Yes, Ruth dear?' + +'Yes, dear Charley.' But so softly, so tenderly whispered, that only +ears attuned as his were could have heard the words. + +Presently, + +'And do you love me with all your heart, Ruth?' + +'With all my heart, Charley.' + +O, happiest of happy days! Ring out, sweet bells! A tenderer music is +in your notes than they have ever yet been charged with! + + +It is twilight, and all the elderly people are in the parlour in +Buttercup-square. The children are in another room, engaged in +mysterious preparation. + +'I think we shall have snow soon,' says Mr. Merrywhistle. + +'I'm glad of it,' says Robert Truefit. 'Something seems to me wanting +in Christmas, when there is no snow. When it snows, the atmosphere +between heaven and earth is bridged by the purity of the happy time.' + +Mrs. Silver is pleased by the remark; the firelight's soft glow is on +her face. Charley enters, and bends over her chair. + +'My dear mother,' he whispers. + +She knows in an instant by the tremor in his voice what he is about to +say. She draws him to her, so that the firelight falls on his face as +well as on hers. + +'Is it about Ruth?' she asks softly. + +'Yes, yes,' he answers in a tone of eager wonder. 'How did you know?' + +She smiles sweetly on him. + +'I have known it for a long time, Charley. Have you spoken to her?' + +'Yes; and this is the happiest day I have ever known. O, mother, she +loves me! She gave me permission to ask you for her.' + +Mrs. Silver calls her husband to her side. + +'Charley has come to ask for Ruth, my dear.' + +'I am glad of it. Where is Ruth?' + +'I will bring her,' says Charley, trembling with happiness. + +'Did I not tell you, my dear?' Mrs. Silver asks of her husband. + +'It is a happy Christmas, indeed,' he answers. + +Ruth is glad that it is dark when she enters the room. Mrs. Silver +folds the girl in her arms. + +'My darling child! And this wonderful news is really true?' + +'Yes, my dearest mother,' kissing Mrs. Silver's neck, and crying. + +'What are you people conspiring together about?' asks Mr. +Merrywhistle, from the window. + +'Come here, and join the conspirators,' says Mrs. Silver. 'Our plots +will fail, without your assistance and consent.' + +Mr. Merrywhistle joins the party by the fire, and Robert Truefit +steals quietly out of the room. + +'It is eighteen years this Christmas,' says Mrs. Silver, 'since Ruth +was given to us. She has been a comfort and a blessing to us, and will +continue to be, I am sure.' Ruth sinks on her knees, and hides her +face in Mrs. Silver's lap. This true woman lays her hand on Ruth's +head, and continues: 'It is time that Ruth should know who is her real +benefactor.' + +'Nay, my dear madam,' expostulates Mr. Merrywhistle, blushing like a +girl. + +'My dear friend,' says Mrs. Silver, 'it is necessary. A great change +will soon take place in Ruth's life, and your sanction must be +given.--Ruth, my dear, look up. Before you were born, this +friend--whom we all love and honour--came to me, and asked to be +allowed to contribute out of his means towards the support of our next +child. You can understand with what joy his offer was accepted. +Shortly afterwards, my dear--eighteen years ago this day--you came to +us, and completed our happy circle. You see before you your +benefactor--your father--to whom you owe everything; for all the +expense of your training and education has been borne by him. It is +right that you and Charley should know this. And, Charley, as--but for +this our dearest friend--the happiness which has fallen upon you could +not have been yours, it is of him you must ask for Ruth.' + +'Sir--'says Charley, advancing towards Mr. Merrywhistle. + +'Not another word,' cries Mr. Merrywhistle, with Ruth in his arms; +'not another word about me, or I'll go and spend my Christmas-eve +elsewhere. If, as Mrs. Silver says, my consent is necessary, I give +you Ruth with all my heart.'--He kisses Ruth, and says: 'A happy +future is before you, children. No need for me to tell you where your +chief love and duty lie--no need for me to remind you to whose +parental care and good example you owe all your happiness. To me, an +old man, without kith or kin, their friendship and love have been +priceless; they have brightened my life. It comes upon me now to say, +my dear girl and boy, that once--ah, how many years ago!--such a prize +as the love which animates you seemed to be within my reach; but it +slipped from me, and I am an old man now, waiting to hear my name +called. Cling to your love, my dears; keep it in your hearts as a +sacred thing; let it show itself daily in your actions towards each +other: it will sweeten your winter when you are as old as I am, and +everything shall be as bright and fresh to you then as in this your +spring-time, when all the future before you seems carpeted with +flowers. Ruth, my child, God bless you! Charley, I am proud of you! +Let your aim be to live a good life.' + +Mrs. Silver kisses the good old man, and they sit round the fire +undisturbed; for it appears to be understood in the house, that the +parlour must not be invaded until permission is given. It is settled +that Charley and Ruth shall wait for twelve months; that Charley shall +be very saving; that Ruth shall leave her situation, and keep house +for the family, so that she shall enter her own home competent to +fulfil the duties of a wife. But, indeed, this last clause is scarcely +necessary; for all Mrs. Silver's girls have been carefully instructed +in those domestic duties, without a knowledge of which no woman can be +a proper helpmate to the man to whom she gives her love. + +The shadows thicken, and the snow begins to fall There is peace +without, and love within. Mrs. Silver, as she watches the soft +snowflakes, thinks that it will be just such a night as that on which, +eighteen years ago, she and her husband brought Ruth home from +Stoney-alley. She recalls every circumstance of her interview with the +landlady, and hears again the pitiful story of the motherless babe. +Then she looks down upon the pure happy face of Ruth, and her heart is +filled with gratitude to God. + + +And Ruth's twin sister, Blade-o'-Grass? + +She was sitting in the same miserable attic from which Tom Beadle was +taken to prison. He was not in prison now, having escaped just +punishment by (for him) a lucky chance. When Tom was brought before +the magistrate, he told his trumped-up story glibly: he had picked up +the empty purse in the street, and the money was, the result of +his own earnings. When asked how he had earned it, he declined +to say; and he advanced an artful argument. The policeman had +reckoned up the money which the man who had lost the purse said it +contained--twenty-three shillings. Twenty-two shillings were found in +Tom's pocket, and the other shilling was spent, according to the +policeman's version, in trotters and gin. Not another penny, in +addition to the twenty-two shillings, was discovered in the room. Now, +said Tom, it wasn't likely that he would be without a penny in his +pocket, and the fact that he had just the sum the purse had contained +was simply a coincidence. He argued that it would be much clearer +against him if a few coppers more than the actual money lost had been +found. Of course this defence was received with derision by the +police, and with discredit by the magistrate. But it happened that the +prosecutor was too unwell to attend on the morning that Tom made his +appearance in the police court, and he was remanded for a week. Before +the week passed by, the prosecutor died, and Tom was set free. +Blade-o'-Grass was overjoyed; it was like a reprieve from death to +her. But the police were angry at Tom's escape, and kept so sharp a +watch on him, that he found it more than ever difficult to live. I am +not pleading Tom's cause, nor bespeaking compassion for him; I am +simply relating certain facts in connection with him. When Christmas +came, things were at their very worst. They had no Christmas dinner, +and Tom was prowling about in search of prey. + +On the night before Christmas Blade-o'-Grass listened to the merry +bells with somewhat of bitterness in her soul. Everything about her +was so dreary, the prospect of obtaining food was so faint, that the +sound of the bells came to her ears mockingly. What she would have +done but for her one comfort and joy, it is difficult to say. + +Her one comfort and joy! Yes, she had a baby now, as pretty a little +thing as ever was seen. All her thought, all her anxiety, was for her +child. Blade-o'-Grass possessed the same tenderness of nature that had +been so developed in Ruth as to make her a pride of womanhood. How +proud Blade-o'-Grass was of her baby! How she wondered, and cried, and +laughed over it! As she uncovered its pretty dimpled face, and gazed +at it in worship, all the bitterness of her soul at the merry sound of +the bells faded away, and for a little while she was happy. She talked +to the babe, and, bidding it listen to the bells, imitated the glad +sound with her voice, until the child's face was rippled with smiles. +But the hard realities of her position were too pressing for her to be +able to forget them for more than a few minutes. Tom had not been home +since the morning, and she had had but little food during the day. Not +for herself did she care; but her baby must be fed. If she did not eat +and drink, how could she give milk to her child? 'I'll go and arks +Jimmy Wirtue for somethin',' she thought; and so that her appeal to +the old man might be fortunate, she cunningly took her baby out with +her. Jimmy was playing All-Fours with Jack, who, having come into +another fortune, was dissipating it recklessly as usual for the +benefit of his remorseless foe. + +'What do you want? What's that bundle in your arms?' growled Jimmy, as +Blade-o'-Grass peeped into his parlour. + +'Ifs my baby,' said Blade-o'-Grass; 'I've come to show it to you.' + +'And what business have you with a babby?' exclaimed Jimmy, in an +excited manner. 'Ain't you ashamed of yourself? Take it away; I don't +want any babbies 'ere.' + +But Blade-o'-Grass pleaded her cause so meekly and patiently, and with +so much feeling, that Jimmy was bound to listen and sympathise, hard +as he was. + +'Lookee 'ere,' he said harshly, holding up his finger, as she stood +looking at him entreatingly: 'it's now nigh on eighteen year ago since +Mrs. Manning----you remember Mrs. Manning?' + +'O, yes,' sighed Blade-o'-Grass. + +'It's now nigh on eighteen year ago since she come round a-beggin' for +you; and now _you_ come round a-beggin' for your babby.' + +'I can't 'elp it,' said Blade-o'-Grass; 'don't speak to me unkindly; I +am weak and 'ungry.' + +'Why, you was only a babby yourself then----what's the matter?' + +Blade-o'-Grass was swaying forward, and would have fallen if he had +not caught her. His tone was so harsh, that the poor girl's heart was +fainting within her at the prospect of being sent away empty-handed. +Jimmy assisted her into his chair; and without considering that he was +about to upset Jack, who was sitting on the box, opened it, and +produced a bottle of spirits. He gave her some in a cup, and she +revived. Then, grumblingly, he took a sixpence out of a dirty bag, and +gave it to her, saying: + +'There! And don't you come botherin' me agin!' + +How grateful she was! She made him kiss baby, and left him with that +soft touch upon his lips. He stood still for a few moments with his +fingers to his lips, wondering somewhat; but he recovered himself very +soon, and glaring at Jack, took swift revenge in All-Fours for his +softness of heart, and ruined that shadowy creation for the hundredth +time. + +When Blade-o'-Grass quitted Jimmy's shop, she felt as if she would +have liked to sing, she was so blithe and happy. She spent the whole +sixpence, and treated herself to half a pint of stout. 'This is for +you, pet!' she said to her baby, as she drank. She drank only half of +it; the other half she saved for Tom. But although she waited up, and +listened to the bells--gratefully now--until long past midnight, Tom +did not come home. And when she rose on Christmas morning, he was +still absent. She wandered out to look for him, but could not find +him; and then hurried back, hoping that he might have come in her +absence. As the day wore on, she grew more and more anxious, and +tormented herself with fears and fancies as to what could have +happened to him. So she passed her Christmas-day. In the afternoon she +fell asleep, with her baby in her arms. At first she dreamt of all +kinds of terrors, and lived over again, in her dreams, many of the +miseries of her past life; but after a time her sleep became more +peaceful, and her mind wandered back to the time when, a child of +three years of age, she sat on the stones in the dirty yard, looking +in silent delight at the Blades of Grass springing from the ground. + +When she awoke it was dark. She went to the window, shivering; it was +snowing fast. All the food was gone, and she was hungry again. What +should she do? Suddenly a terrible fear smote her. Baby was very +quiet. She looked at the sleeping child's white face by the white +light of the snow, and placed her ears to the pretty mouth. Thank God! +she felt the child's warm breath. But it would wake up presently, and +she had no milk to give. The child's lips and fingers were wandering +now to the mother's bosom. She could not stand this agony of hunger +and darkness and solitude any longer; she must go into the streets. + +Out into the streets, where the snow was falling heavily, she went. +She looked wistfully about for Tom, but saw no signs of him. Into the +wider thoroughfares she wandered. How white they were! how pure! how +peaceful! A virgin world had taken the place of the old; a newborn +world seemed to lie before her, with its pure white page ready for the +finger of God to write upon. She wandered on and on, until she came to +a square. She knew it immediately--Buttercup-square. Why, here it was +that Mr. Merrywhistle lived, and he had made her promise that she +would come to him when she wanted a friend. 'When I don't know which +way to turn, I'll come to you,' she had said. Well, she didn't know +which way to turn. She walked slowly towards a house, through the +shutters of which she could see pleasant gleams of light. It was Mrs. +Silver's house, and she paused before it, and thought to herself, +'I'll wait 'ere till I see 'im.' And so, pressing her babe to her +bosom, she waited, and listened to the music of happy voices +that floated from the house into the peaceful square. Did any +heavenly-directed influence impel her steps hitherward? And what shall +follow for poor Blade-o'-Grass? I do not know, for this is Christmas +eighteen hundred and seventy-one, and I cannot see into the future; +but as I prepare to lay down my pen, I seem to hear the words that +Robert Truefit uttered this morning--'Man, help the poor!' + + + + THE END. + + + + * * * * * + + LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. + + + + + + +[Frontispiece] + + + + + + + GOLDEN GRAIN. + + + By B. L. FARJEON, + AUTHOR OF 'BLADE-O'-GRASS,' 'BREAD-AND-CHEESE AND KISSES,' ETC. + + + +[Illustration] + + + + + I. + + THROUGH COUNTRY ROADS TO + SOME GREEN PLEASANT SPOT. + + +This Christmas I fulfill a purpose which has been in my mind for more +than a year. Until now my days and nights have been so much occupied +that I have not been able to commence my task. But you will see, by +the time you reach the end of these pages--if you have patience to go +through them--that I am enjoying a little leisure. The task that I +have set myself to perform is both sad and pleasant, and no more +fitting time than Christmas could be found for its accomplishment. + +Not that it is Christmas at this present moment of writing. But the +good season will be here in a month; and when the mistletoe and holly +are hanging in cot and mansion, and the hearts of men are beating in +harmony, as if one pulse of love and goodwill animated them, I hope, +with God's blessing, that my little book will be completed, ready for +those who care to read what I have written. It may be that certain +persons who appear in these pages will be familiar to some of my +readers. I hope they will not be the less welcome on that account. To +me the story of their lives is fraught with deep and abiding interest. + +How sweet the days are!--ay, although it is winter. Happiness comes +from within. Grateful hearts can give light and colour to the +gloomiest hours. But the hours for me are not gloomy, and no effort on +my part is required to make them bright. This is the sweetest part of +my life, both in itself and in the promise that it holds out. Three +days ago I was married. My wife is working in the room in which I am +writing. I call her to me. + +'Rachel!' + +She comes to my side. I hold her hand in mine. I look into her face, +which is inclined towards me. She cannot see me; she is blind. But she +smiles as I gaze at her. She knows the tender thought which impelled +me to call her to my side. + +I am a clergyman, and my name is Andrew Meadow. My duties lie in one +of the most crowded and populous parts of the City, and the stipend I +received (for I no longer receive it) in return for my labours was +small. Far be it from my intention to make a merit of the fact, but it +is necessary that I should mention it. Although I have at times felt +myself cruelly hampered for want of means, my stipend was sufficient +for my personal wants, and I have even been able now and then to spare +a little: but very little. In the clerical, as in many other +professions, the payment to the workers is most unequally apportioned; +it is almost the rule that those who work the hardest receive the +least. So far as I myself am concerned, I have no complaint to make; +but I feel that it is an anomaly that some of those who work in the +Church should receive so much that they leave great fortunes behind +them, while others receive so little as to be scarcely able to +maintain their families. The priests of Him who advised the wealthy to +sell all they had, and give to the poor, should have neither more nor +less than enough. If they do not recognise in their practical life, +and by practical example, that the cause they labour in is the cause +of humanity, they are in a measure unfaithful to their trust. + +I have no recollection of my father; but I have learned to honour his +memory. My mother lived until I was eight years of age. She was a +simple good woman--sweetly girlish in her manner to the last--and +although she is dust, I have not lost her. She dwells in my heart. +There is always to my consciousness a strong affinity between good +women; in point of feature, voice, or manner, one reminds you of +another; and' I often see in the face of my wife a likeness to that of +my mother. I read these last words to my wife; her face lights up with +a new happiness, and she says: + +'I am glad; very, very glad!' + +My wife knows and approves of the task I am engaged upon. + +'It will do good, Andrew,' she says; 'I am sure it will.' + +In my heart of hearts I hope so. If ever so little good results from +these words of mine, if but a seed is sown, if but a little sympathy +is roused to action which otherwise would have lain dormant, I shall +be amply repaid. + +My wife, like myself, is an orphan; unlike myself, she never knew +father or mother. But she had, and has, those who stand to her in that +relation. In the house of these dear souls I first met her. + +Their name is Silver. The maternal instinct is implanted in the breast +of every good woman, and it was a great grief to the Silvers that +their union was a barren one; but they turned their sorrow to good +use. Childless themselves, they, to the full extent of their means, +adopted a family of children, and trained them in such a manner as to +make their lives a blessing to them and to those around them. I cannot +hope to give you an idea of the perfect goodness of the lives of these +two dear friends, to whom my present and future happiness is due. I +thank God that I know them, and that they account me their friend. +Could the example which they have set in their small way and with +their small means be followed out on a larger scale, in other places +and localities than those in which I labour, a blessing would fall +upon the land, and humanity itself would be ennobled. These children, +when Mr. and Mrs. Silver adopted them, were babes, unconscious of the +perils which lay before them, and only those were selected who had no +parents. The time chosen for their adoption was within a week or two +of Christmas. They were found in the most miserable courts and alleys +in the metropolis; they were surrounded by ignorance, poverty, dirt, +and crime. God knows into what form of shame they might have +developed, had they been left to grow up in accordance with their +surroundings. But a happier fate is theirs. Under the influence of a +sweet and wise benevolence they have grown into good and useful men +and women, of whom their country may be justly proud. + +I made the acquaintance of the Silvers almost as soon as I had entered +upon my duties; but circumstances did not bring us together, and I was +not very intimate with them until some time afterwards. I had heard +much of their goodness, for they are loved in the neighbourhood; every +man and woman has a good word for them. + +One memorable day in August, more than four years ago now, I received +a note from Mrs. Silver, who lived in Buttercup-square, asking me as a +great favour to visit her in the evening, if I had the time to spare. +I was glad of the opportunity of seeing something of a household of +which I had heard so much good, and from that evening our actual +friendship commenced. There were present Mr. and Mrs. Silver, and two +of their adopted children, Mary and Rachel. They received me +cordially, and I felt that I was among friends. I saw that Rachel was +blind, and it touched me deeply, at that time and always afterwards, +to witness their tender thoughtfulness for the dear girl's calamity. +Not, I truly believe, that it is a calamity to her. She has been so +wisely trained, and has such strong inherent gratitude for the love +which is shed upon her, for the blessings by which she is surrounded, +that a repining thought never enters her mind. The effect of her +grateful nature is shown in the purity of her face, in the modesty of +her every movement. Were I a sculptor, it would be my earnest wish to +take her face as a model for Purity, and were I talented enough to be +faithful in the reproduction, I am sure that my fame would be made. + +'These are only two of our children,' said Mrs. Silver, after I had +shaken hands all round; 'we have three more--Ruth and Charley, who +took into their heads to fall in love with each other, and are +married; and Richard, who is in Canada, and from whom we have received +a letter to-day. Ruth has a baby, and she and her husband will be here +in half-an-hour.' + +'Not the baby, mother!' said Mary. + +'No, dear, not the baby. She is only three months old, Mr. Meadow.' + +'But such a wise little dear!' added Mary. 'I do believe she begins to +understand already.' + +Then Mrs. Silver went on to tell me that Mary, the eldest girl--woman +now, indeed, twenty-four years of age--held a responsible position in +a government telegraph-office; that Charley was a compositor; that +Richard was a watchmaker; and that Rachel was as useful as any of +them, for she did all the needlework of the house. Rachel was working +a black-silk watch-guard for Richard, and it surprised me to see how +nimble her fingers were. She was listening intently to every word that +passed, and when I first spoke, she paused in her work to pay +attention to my voice. + +'I want you to know exactly all about us,' said Mrs. Silver, 'and to +interest you in us, for I have made up my mind--pray excuse me for +it--that you are necessary to our plans. In a word, I wish to enlist +you.' + +Rachel did a singular thing here--something which made a great +impression upon me. She left the room, and returned with a small piece +of bread dipped in salt. She held the plate towards me. + +'Pray eat this piece of bread, Mr. Meadow,' she said. + +I took the bread, and ate it. + +'Now, mother,' said Rachel, with a satisfied expression, 'Mr. Meadow +is enlisted.' + +'Yes,' I said, addressing Mrs. Silver; 'I am one of your soldiers.' + +'Ah,' rejoined Mrs. Silver; 'but I want you to be my captain.' + +At that moment there was a knock at the street-door. + +'That's Mr. Merrywhistle,' cried Rachel, running into the passage, and +they all turned their faces to the door to welcome a friend. + +'Rachel knows every knock and every step,' observed Mrs. Silver; 'she +will know you by your step the next time you visit us.' + +I had heard of Mr. Merrywhistle as a large-hearted charitable man, and +I was pleased to come into closer acquaintanceship with him. He +entered, with his arm around Rachel's waist. An old man with white +hair and a kind eye. + +Mrs. Silver was the first to speak. 'We have enlisted our curate, Mr. +Merrywhistle.' + +'I knew,' he said, as he shook hands with me, 'that he had +only to be spoken to. I am truly pleased to see you here. Well, +children'--turning to the girls--'what is the news?' + +The important news was Richard's letter from Canada. Mr. +Merrywhistle's face brightened when he heard of it. It was not to be +read, however, until Ruth and Charley came in. They arrived earlier +than was expected, both of them in a glow of excitement. It was +evident that they also had important news to communicate. Ruth, after +the first affectionate greetings, went to Rachel's side, and for the +rest of the evening the maid and the wife were never apart. A +special affection seemed to exist between them. Now that the whole +family was assembled, I thought I had never seen a more beautiful +group--especially beautiful because the ties that bound them together +were made fast by love and esteem. I knew to whom this was due, and I +looked towards Mr. and Mrs. Silver with increased respect and +admiration. + +The first inquiries were about Ruth's baby. The young mother's +enthusiasm in answering the inquiries, and in detailing the wonderful +doings of her treasure during the last twenty-four hours, warmed my +heart; and when, after a long and almost breathless narration, Ruth +exclaimed, 'And I really think the darling has a tooth coming!' I +thought I had never heard anything more delicious. As for Mr. +Merrywhistle, he rubbed his hands with delight, and took Ruth's hands +in his, and rubbed those also, and exclaimed, 'Wonderful, wonderful! +Really I never did!' a score of times at least. Flushed with pride and +pleasure, Ruth as she spoke nodded at the others, now wisely, now +merrily, now tenderly, with looks which said, 'Of all happy mothers, I +am the happiest!' Never in my life had I seen so exquisite a home +picture. + +'And now, Charley,' said Ruth, when she had exhausted her budget, +although she could have gone through the whole of it again with +perfect satisfaction, as if it were something entirely new, 'and now, +Charley, tell them.' + +What Charley had to tell was simply that he was to be made overseer of +the printing establishment in which he was employed. There was an +honest ring in his voice as he spoke of his good fortune, and I was +convinced that it had been earned by merit. + +'That is good news, indeed,' said Mr. Merrywhistle, with his hand on +Charley's shoulder. 'Charley, by the time you are thirty, you will be +a master printer. Bravo! Bravo! + +Mrs. Silver kissed him, without saying a word, and as he drew her face +down to his and returned the kiss, and her gray hair mingled with his +brown curly locks, he whispered something in her ear which brought a +happy sigh from her. + +Then came the reading of Richard's letter. Mr. Silver took it from his +pocket and opened it, and there was a general rustle of expectation in +the room and a closer drawing together of chairs. He looked around him +with a wistful air; the movement reminded him of a time when those who +were now men and women grown were children. To this purpose he spoke, +in a soft tone, before he commenced to read Richard's letter: + +'You remind me, children, you remind me! It brings many happy evenings +to my mind. Do you remember _Paul and Virginia_ and the _Vicar of +Wakefield?_' + +This challenge loosened their tongues, and for five minutes they were +busy recalling refreshing reminiscences. When memories of times that +were sweet and pleasant come to us, they come wrapt in a cloud of +solemn tenderness, and the voices of these children were pensive as +they spoke. + +Behind the year whose seasons we are now enjoying is an arch of +overhanging leaves and boughs, receding, as it were, and growing +fainter in colour as old age steals upon us. Within this arch of green +leaves and boughs live the memories of our past. As, with a wistful +yearning to the days that were so sweet, we turn towards the arch, +which spans from heaven to earth, it opens, as by the touch of a magic +wand, and we see the tender trees that made our young lives green. +They are fair and good, and their leaves and branches are dew-laden, +though we of whom they are a part are walking to the grave. Some +sadness is there always in the mind as we recall these memories, but +only to those who believe not in the future, who see no hope in it, do +they bring pain and distress. + +'When our children were in jackets and pinafores,' said Mrs. Silver to +me, 'my husband used to read to them every evening, and the hour was +always looked forward to with delight.' + +'One night,' said Charley, with a sly look at his wife, 'when we were +in the middle of _Paul and Virginia_, and left off where Paul was +carrying Virginia in his arms, Ruth said, "Charley, you are like +Paul!" "But Where's my Virginia?" I asked. "_I'll_ be Virginia!" Ruth +cried; "and you can carry me about where you like." That's the way it +came about, sir.' + +Of course there was much laughter at this reminiscence, to the truth +of which they all vouched, and Ruth, with a saucy toss of her head, +said, + +'Ah, but there's no doubt that I was too little then to know my own +mind.' + +'I don't know that, Ruth,' exclaimed Mr. Merrywhistle, chuckling; 'I +don't know that. It's my opinion you determined to marry Charley long +before you were out of short clothes.' + +After this innocent fashion they made merry. + +'Dear me, dear me, children!' cried Mr. Silver, with assumed +petulance. 'How much longer am I to wait with Richard's letter in my +hand?' + +'Read it now, father,' said Mrs. Silver; and there was a general hush +of expectancy. + +The letter was a long one, and in it were recounted all the writer's +experiences in the land of his adoption. It was written hopefully and +confidently, and yet with modesty, and was filled with expressions of +love for the dear ones at home. 'Everything before me is bright, and I +have no doubt of the future. Not a day passes that I am not assured +that I was right in coming, and the conviction that I have those in +the old country who love me, and whom I love with all my heart and +soul, strengthens me in a wonderful manner. I can see you all as I +write, and my heart overflows towards you. Yes, I was right in coming. +The old country is over-crowded; there are too many people in it, and +every man that goes away gives elbow-room to some one else. When I see +the comfortable way in which poor people live here, and compare it +with the way they live at home--and above all, when I think of the +comfortable future there is before them if they like to be steady--I +find myself wishing that hundreds and hundreds of those I used to see +in rags, selling matches, begging, and going in and out of the +gin-shops, could be sent to this country, where there is room for so +many millions. I daresay some of them would tum out bad; but the +majority of them, when they saw that by a little steadiness they could +make sure of good clothes and good food, would be certain to turn out +good. I am making myself well acquainted with the history of this +wonderful country, and I mean to try hard to get along in it. You +can have no idea what a wonderful place it is; what opportunities +there are in it; what room there is in it. Why, you could put our +right-little tight-little island in an out-of-the-way corner of it, +and the space wouldn't be missed! If I make my fortune here--and I +believe I shall--I shall know how to use it, with the example I have +had before me all my life. I hope to have the opportunity of doing +more good here than I should have been able to do at home, and depend +upon it I will, if I have it in my power, for I want to repay my dear +mother and father for all their goodness to me. Want to repay you! No, +my dearest parents, I do not want to do that; I never could do it, if +I tried ever so hard. O, if I could put my arms now round my dear +mother's neck, and kiss her as I used to do! But I can kiss her +picture and all your pictures. Here's Mary and Ruth and Rachel--I feel +inclined to cry as they pass through my hands--and Charley--How are +you, Charley?--here you are, all of you, with mother and father, lying +before me as I write. Upon my word, I fancy you almost know that I'm +speaking to you. God bless you, my dears!... I've got ideas, and +there's room to work them out in this new country. And one day, when +Mary writes to me that she is going to get married, I shall be able to +say, perhaps, to my dear sister, "Here is a purse from runaway Richard +to help you and your husband along in the battle of life." For it is a +battle, isn't it, dears? And I mean to fight it, and win. Yes, and +win! You'll see if I don't!' + +In this way the letter ran on--eagerly, impetuously, lovingly--and +there was not a dry eye in the room when Mr. Silver read the last +words, 'Ever your own faithful and loving Son and Brother, RICHARD. +God bless you all, again and again! Now I shall go to bed, and dream +of you.' + +I am particular in narrating this incident of the reading of Richard's +letter, for Richard, although he will not appear in person in these +pages, plays an important part in them on one momentous occasion, as +you will see. + +The reading being concluded, eager tongues related anecdotes of +Richard; and, 'Do you remember, mother, when Richard----?' and, +'Do you remember, Rachel, when we were at Hampstead-heath, and +Richard----?' so-and-so and so-and-so. And then, when there was +silence, Ruth said pensively, 'I wish Richard could see baby!' + +And thus, in various shapes of love, the thoughts of all travelled +over the waters to the absent one. I can fancy that the very breezes +that waft thitherward, and thence to the mother-land, are sweetened by +the loving thoughts which float upon them from one shore to another. + +'Mr. Meadow will forgive us,' said Mrs. Silver, 'for detaining him +with these family details. We are apt to be selfish in our joys.' + +I assured her that I regarded it as a privilege to be admitted to +these family confidences, and that I hoped it would not be the last +occasion I should share them. + +'I hope not, dear sir,' she replied. 'Mary, give me my desk.' + +Mary brought the desk, and took her purse from her pocket. + +'I have two contributions, mother. A gentleman came to our office +to-day, and when he read the paper they allowed me to put up, he gave +me five shillings. Jane Plunkett, too, who has only been in the office +three weeks, gave me ninepence.' + +'I collected four shillings and twopence,' said Charley, 'among the +men and boys in the office. Some of the boys gave a halfpenny each; +and my master has promised half-a-sovereign.' + +'This partly explains our business,' said Mrs. Silver to me; 'and the +reason for my asking you to come this evening. We have been collecting +subscriptions for the purpose of taking a number of the poorest +children in the parish into the country for a day. Richard sent us two +pounds a little while ago to give away, and the idea struck us that it +could not be better devoted than to such a purpose. So we commenced a +fund with his subscription, and we shall write him a full description +of the holiday, telling him that it was he who initiated it. Indeed we +call it Richard's Day. Nothing could please him better. You, who go so +much among the poor, know what numbers of poor children there are who +have never seen the country, and to whom the sight of flowers and +green fields will be like gentle rain to drooping blades of grass.' + +I noticed here that Mr. Merrywhistle started; but he offered no +explanation of his sudden movement. + +'Whosoever,' I said, 'shall give to drink unto one of these little +ones a cup of cold water only, shall in no wise lose his reward.' + +'Thank you, dear sir,' was Mrs. Silver's earnest rejoinder. 'Our +reward will be the brightening faces and the innocent delight of these +poor little waifs. We have been very successful in our collection, and +I think we shall have sufficient money to take a hundred and twenty +children. My idea is, that we shall engage vans, and drive as much as +possible through country roads to some green pleasant spot, where the +children can play, and have dinner and tea. I must tell you that it is +only the poorest of the poor who will be chosen, and that in the +matter of shoes and stockings there may be here and there a +deficiency. But we will endeavour that they shall all have clean +faces. Will you join us, and take the command of our ragged army?' + +I consented to join them with pleasure, but said that I must be +regarded more in the light of a soldier than of a captain. 'We can +divide the command,' I said. 'Have you any place where the children +can assemble before starting?' + +'That is one of my difficulties,' said Mrs. Silver. 'Some of these +children will be sure to come not over clean, and I want to make them +so before they get into the vans. I have plenty of help in the shape +of hands, but I want the room.' + +'I can wash some,' said Mr. Merrywhistle, in perfect sincerity. The +good old man was like a child in his simplicity. + +'I think we women will do it better,' replied Mrs. Silver gaily; 'but +we will find you plenty to do.' + +'To be sure,' mused Mr. Merrywhistle, 'there are the buns and the +fruit----' And lost himself in the contemplation of these duties. + +I then told Mrs. Silver that I could obtain the use of a large +warehouse, which had been for some time unoccupied, and that she might +depend upon my fullest assistance in the arrangement of the details. +Their pleasure was unbounded, and I myself felt happier and more truly +thankful than I had felt for a long time past. I left the house with +Mr. Merrywhistle, and he beguiled the way with stories of the doings +of these his dearest friends. He was in the heart of an enthusiastic +speech when a poor woman, carrying a child, brushed past us; her head +was bent down to the child, and she was murmuring some restful words. + +'Dear me!' exclaimed Mr. Merrywhistle, suddenly stopping. 'You will +excuse me, my dear sir. Goodnight! Good-night!' + +Without waiting for a reply, he shook hands warmly with me, and +hurried after the woman. They turned the corner of the street almost +at the same moment. + + +[Illustration] + + +I walked home by myself, and thought of the pleasant evening I had +spent. The last words I had heard in the house of the Silvers were +from Rachel's lips. + +'Good-night,' she had said, with her hand in mine. 'I am so glad you +came!' + +But she was not more glad than I. + + + + II. + + THANK GOD FOR A GOOD BREAKFAST! + + +It is not necessary, nor is it within the limit of these pages, to +narrate how the details necessary to make the day in the country a +success were got through. Sufficient for my purpose to say that +everything was satisfactorily arranged and completed on the evening +before the appointed day. The number of applications was very great; +ten times as many as we were able to take begged to be allowed to go. +Mothers entreated; children looked imploringly into our faces. There +were many heartaches, I am sure; but none suffered greater pain than +we, the committee, upon whom devolved the duty of making the +selection. But we gave pleasure to many; and for the others---- Would +there were more workers! Each can do a little, with time or purse, and +that little may prove to be so much! Remember what the strongest and +most beautiful trees were, once upon a time. So may a good life be +developed even from such a seedling as this. + +There was one anxiety which nature alone could allay, if it were kind: +the weather. Many a heart beat with mingled hope and fear that night +before the day, and many a child's prayer was thought and whispered +that the sun would shine its best in the morning. Nature _was_ kind, +and the sun broke beautifully bright. How we congratulated ourselves, +with smiling faces, as we all assembled at seven o'clock in the large +warehouse I had borrowed for the occasion! The door was to be opened +for the children at half-past seven. + +I have mentioned the committee. Let me tell you who they were. All +Mrs. Silver's family, of course. Mary and Charley had obtained a +holiday, and Ruth was there with her baby, whom the fond mother every +now and then consulted with bewitching gravity, and to whom she +whispered, in the delicious tones that only a mother's voice can +convey, all sorts of confidences about the party. I include in Mrs. +Silver's family Mr. Merrywhistle, for he was truly one of them. But +Mr. Merrywhistle was a member of the selecting committee for only one +day; he had been summarily dismissed and deprived of power, because he +found it impossible to say No to a single application. 'My rock ahead, +sir,' he whispered to me confidentially, when we reproached him. 'I +never _can_ get that word out! I _mean_ it often, but there's an imp +in my throat that invariably changes it into Yes. I ought to know +better at my age.' And he shook his head in grave reproof of himself. +As Mrs. Silver had warned him, however, we gave him plenty to do. He +was unanimously elected chief of the commissariat, and he made himself +delightfully busy in the purchase of buns and fruit and lemonade. We +were not aware that he was unfit even for this task, until we +discovered that he had provided twice as many buns as were necessary. +When his blunder was pointed out to him by Mrs. Silver on the ground, +he gazed disconsolately at the heap of uneaten buns. 'Dear me!' he +said mournfully, 'what is to be done with them? I suppose they must be +divided among the children. You see, my dear madam, I am not to be +trusted--not to be trusted!' But I am sure I detected a sly twinkle in +his eye as he condemned his own shortcomings. In addition to the +persons I have mentioned, there were two other members of the +committee--to wit, Mr. Robert Truefit and Mr. James (or Jimmy) Virtue; +as singular a contrast in individuals as can well be imagined. Robert +Truefit I hold in high esteem. He is a fine, and I take pleasure in +thinking a fair, representative of the sterling English working-man, +with a higher intelligence than is possessed by the majority of his +class. He is a married man, with a large and increasing family, and +his earnings will probably average a trifle under two pounds a week. +With these earnings he supports and 'brings up' his family in a manner +which commands admiration. His children are likely to be a credit to +the State; it is such as he who form the sound bone and muscle of a +great nation. Jimmy Virtue is of a lower grade. Outwardly a cynic, one +who sneers at goodness, but who has, to my knowledge, occasionally +been guilty of an act of charity. He kept a leaving-shop in one of the +worst thoroughfares in the locality where my duties lie. Everything +about him outwardly was unprepossessing; the wrinkles in his face +seemed to snarl at you; he had a glass eye, and he was ill-dressed and +ostensibly ill-mannered to those in a better position than himself. + +Such was Jimmy Virtue, of whom you will find, as you proceed, some +exciting record. You may reasonably ask. How came such a man on your +committee? Both Robert Truefit and Mr. Merrywhistle were his friends, +and took pleasure in his society. This surprised me at first, but not +afterwards. I found that, to read his character properly, it was +necessary to read between the lines. Having lived amongst +misery-mongers all his life, he was well acquainted with the class +from which our children were to be chosen; and, as it proved, his +services were most useful to us. + +A word about Rachel in connection with the selection. Instances +occurred where opinion was divided as to the suitability of +candidates; it was our natural desire to choose those who were most +deserving, and it was impossible to take them haphazard, as they +presented themselves. Here was a mother with two children, pleading, +entreating, imploring that they might be taken. Jimmy Virtue shook his +head. Robert Truefit, with a quiet motion, also gave an adverse vote. +We--the Silvers and I--were in favour of the applicants, but we felt +that, the two dissentients were more fitted to judge than we. It +seemed that there was something worse than usual against the mother, +whose face grew almost wickedly sullen as she observed signs of a +refusal in Truefit and Virtue. + +'Let Rachel decide,' said Mrs. Silver. + +We all experienced a feeling of relief at this suggestion. The woman +and the children went aside with Rachel, and kept together for fully +twenty minutes, while we continued the business of the hour. I, +furtively watching the group in the corner of the large room, saw +Rachel sit down and take the two miserable children by the hand. Then +the woman went towards Rachel, and gradually the sullen expression in +her face softened; and shortly afterwards she was on her knees by the +side of the blind maid, listening and speaking with tears in her eyes. +Not a word reached me; but when the interview was ended, Rachel rose +and walked towards us with a child on each side of her. Behind her was +the mother, hiding her face, as if ashamed of her tears. As Rachel +stood before us, looking upwards, with her face of purity and +goodness, clasping the ragged children to her, a light seemed to fall +upon her in my eyes--a light which touched with merciful glance the +figure of the wretched mother in the rear. + +'I am to decide?' said Rachel, gently and earnestly. + +'Yes, my dear.' + +'Then we will take these little ones with us. They will be very good.' + +'Very well, my dear.' + +And their names were put down and instructions given to the weeping +mother. The woman showed no gratitude to us; but as she turned to go, +with a lingering look at Rachel, the blind girl held out her hand. The +woman seized it, kissed it, and muttered, 'God love yer, miss!' We +were all satisfied with Rachel's decision. Even Jimmy Virtue shut his +useful eye and glared out of his glass one, that being, as I +understood the action, the only mode he could find of taking a clear +view of the difficulty. + +Among those who were chosen were no fewer than seven children, maimed +and deformed; one could not walk; another used crutches, and proved to +be one of the most active of the whole party, much to our surprise, +for when he applied, he appeared to be very lame indeed. One little +fellow presented himself without a guardian; he was about six years of +age, and had the largest and roundest eyes I ever saw in a child. To +all our questions about his parents he gave no answer; he only stared +at us. + +'What is your name?' + +He found his tongue. 'Jacky Brown.' + +'And what do you want?' + +'I wants to 'ave a ride and see a lot o' trees.' + +'Who told you to come to us?' + +'Old Rookey.' + +'And what did Old Rookey tell you to say?' + +'Old Rookey ses, he ses. You go, Jacky, and arks 'em to take yer to +'ave a ride and see the trees. And Old Rookey ses, he ses, Don't you +come away, Jacky, till they puts your name down.' + +Who Old Rookey was we were unable to discover. Jimmy Virtue recognised +the child, and told us his mother was in prison, and that he didn't +know how the little fellow lived. There was something so interesting +about Jacky, that we promised to take him. We wrote instructions on a +piece of paper, and gave it to him, telling him to give it to Old +Rookey. + +'You must come very clean, Jacky.' + +'I'll tell Old Rookey,' he said. 'He knows wot's wot.' + +Long before half-past seven o'clock on the holiday morning the +children and their friends began to arrive. The committee of selection +had given them to understand that they were to have breakfast before +they came. At the back of the warehouse was a recess screened off by +sacks hung over a line, in which were ample supplies of water, soap, +and towels; and the girls were ready to do the washing, with their +sleeves tucked up and aprons on to save their dresses. The process was +this: we, the men, stood at the door and received the visitors, taking +their names and otherwise identifying them, so that no deceit should +be practised. Each child, as he established his right of entrance, was +passed into the room, where, if he were not clean and tidy, he was +made so, as far as possible, by the women. Some of them, I must admit, +required washing badly; but when the work was done, and the children +stood in lines along the benches, their bright eager faces and +restless limbs formed a picture which dwelt vividly in my mind for a +long time afterwards. Jacky Brown was very punctual, and, contrary to +our expectation, very clean. We looked for some person answering to +the description we had formed of Old Rookey, but we were not +successful in finding him. Jacky had something to say to us. + +'Old Rookey ses, he ses, you'll open yer eyes when yer sees me.' + +And Jacky pointed to his well-polished face and held out his clean +hands. We thought we would improve the occasion. + +'We are very pleased with you, Jacky. It's much nicer to be clean than +dirty, isn't it?' + +But Jacky was dubious. + +'It gets inter yer eyes, and 'urts,' he said. + +Soap was evidently a disagreeable novelty to him. + +Mrs. Silver and the girls were putting on their bonnets and getting +ready for the start, when a serious innovation in our programme +occurred. The guilty person was one of the most esteemed members of +our own body. + +'Children,' exclaimed Mr. Merrywhistle, suddenly stepping in front of +them, 'have you had breakfast?' + +A mighty shout arose of 'No!' but whether those who gave evidence were +witnesses of truth I dare not venture to say. + +'Then you shall have some,' cried Mr. Merrywhistle, with a triumphant +look at us; but there was conscious guilt in his gaze. + +The 'Hoorays!' that were sent forth in voices shrill and gruff formed +a fine p[ae]an certainly, but scarcely recompensed us at the moment +for the loss of time. But it all turned out splendidly. Mr. +Merrywhistle had planned his artifice skilfully, and, in less than +seven minutes, buns and hot milk in mugs were in the hands of every +member of our ragged crew. The moment we found we were compromised, we +rushed to assist, and (although we were sure we were wrong in +encouraging the traitor) we shook hands heartily with Mr. +Merrywhistle, whose beaming face would have been sufficient excuse for +fifty such innovations. I am not certain that, when the children were +served, Ruth and Rachel did not take the good old fellow behind the +screen of sacks where the washing had been done, and kiss him; for he +came forth from that recess with an arm round the waist of each of the +girls, and with his face beaming more brightly than ever. + +In the middle of breakfast the vans rattled up to the door; they were +decorated with bright ribbons and flags, and the drivers had flowers +in their coats; the very horses wore rosettes. There were five vans, +and they presented so gay an appearance that the street was filled +with sight-gazers. Immediately the vans drew up--which they did +smartly, as if they knew what they were about, and that this was a day +of days--the children paused from their eating to give vent to another +cheer, and another, and another. Their faces flushed, their little +hands trembled, their restless limbs shifted and danced, and took part +in the general animation. As for ourselves----Well, we paused also, +and smiled at each other, and Ruth held baby's face to Charley to +kiss. + +'A fine sermon this, sir,' said Robert Truefit to me. + +'Indeed, indeed,' I assented. 'Better than any that tongue can +preach.' + +There was no need to tell the children to hurry with their meal; they +were too eager to be on the road. + +'Now, children, have you finished?' + +'Yes, sir! Yes, marm! Yes, miss!' + +'Then thank God for a good breakfast!' + +The simple thanksgiving was uttered by all with earnest meaning. Then +out they trooped to the vans, the sight-gazers in the street waving +their arms and hats at us. The deformed children were placed in +advantageous positions, so that they could see the roads through which +we were to drive, and were given into the charge of other children, +who promised to take care of them; Jacky Brown had a seat on the box; +we took our places on the vans; the drivers looked seriously at their +reins; the horses shook their heads; and all was ready. If I had the +space at my command, and were gifted with the power, what scenes I +could describe here of mothers, sisters, friends, who showed their +gratitude to us in various ways as we prepared to start! Not all of +them as low as by their outward presence you would judge them to be. +Written history--notwithstanding that we pin our faith to it, that we +pride ourselves upon it, that we strive to shape our ends according to +its teaching--is to unwritten history, in its value of example, as a +molehill to a mountain; even the written history of great national +conflicts, which strew the cornfields with dead and dying, upon whom +we throw that sham halo called Glory, as compared with the unwritten +history of courts and alleys, which we push out of sight with cruel +carelessness. + + + + III. + + THEY LISTENED WITH ALMOST BREATHLESS ATTENTION TO EVERY WORD + THAT FELL FROM HER LIPS. + + +And so, with our mud-larks and street arabs, we rode out of the busy +city, away from the squalid walls in the shadow of which the bad +lessons which lead naturally to bad lives are graven on the hearts of +the helpless young. It was the end of August, and the corn was being +cut. The children sniffed the sweet-smelling air, and asked one +another if it wasn't prime. Every turn of the road through which we +gaily trotted opened new wonders to our ragged crew; and we were kept +busy answering the torrent of questions that were poured upon us. +What's that? A field of clover. Three cheers for the clover. Fields of +barley, wheat, oats, all were cheered for lustily. What's them fellers +diggin' up? Potatoes. Hurrah for the taters! Hallo! here's a bank of +lavender, filling the air with fragrance. Most of the children were +noisy in their expressions of delight; but a few sat still, staring +in solemn wonder. The golden corn which the scythe had not yet +touched--how it bowed and waved and whispered in the breeze that +lightly swept across it! How few of the uncultured children could be +made to understand that bread--to them so scarce and precious--was +made from these golden wavelets! A windmill! Another! The huge fans +sailed slowly round. 'Here,' we said, 'the corn is ground to flour.' +'Wonder what makes the flour so white!' whispered a mudlark to his +mate; ''t ought to be yaller.' Now we were driving along a narrow +lane, between hedges; the sounds of music came from our rear. I stood +up and looked. Some twenty or thirty yards behind the last van was a +spring-cart, with a band of musicians in it. What cheers the children +gave for 'the musicianers'! Their cup of happiness was full to the +brim. I caught Mr. Merrywhistle's eye: it fell guiltily beneath my +gaze; but as I smiled with grateful approval at him, he brightened up, +and rubbed his hands joyously. Every popular air that the musicians +played was taken up by a full chorus of voices. Here and there, along +the country roads, housewives and children came out to look at us. +There was a greeting for all of them from our noisy youngsters, and +they greeted us in return. One woman threw a shower of apples into the +vans, and received in return the acknowledgment, 'Bravo, missis! +You're a good sort, you are!' At half-past ten we reached our +destination--a very pretty spot, with a wood adjacent, and a meadow to +play in. Everything had been judiciously arranged, and, marshalling +the children, we acquainted them with the programme. They were free +for two hours to do as they pleased. They might play their games where +they liked in forest or meadow. The band would play in the meadow. But +a promise was to be exacted from them. They were to be kind to every +living creature they came across; they were to kill nothing. Would +they promise? 'Yes, sir; yes, marm; yes, miss! We won't 'urt nothink!' +Very well, then. In two hours the horn would sound, three times. Like +this. Listen. The musician who played the horn gave the signal. When +they heard that again they would know that dinner was ready; they were +not to go too far away, else they would not hear it, and would lose +their dinner. 'No fear, master!' they shouted. 'Let's give three +cheers,' one of them cried. 'And look 'ere! The boys fust, and the +gals arterwards.' So the cheers were given as directed, and the boys +laughed heartily at the girls' piping voices. 'Now, then, you all +understand---- But stop! what is this?' Here was Mr. Merrywhistle +again, with another of his triumphantly-guilty looks, introducing new +features into the programme. Two of the biggest boys were carrying a +trunk towards us, and when it was opened, out came balls, and traps +and bats, and rounder-sticks, and kites, and battledores and +shuttlecocks, and skipping-ropes. The shout that arose as these things +were given out was mightier than any that had preceded it, as the boys +and girls, like wild birds released from prison, rushed off with their +treasures. + +'I suppose,' said Mrs. Silver, with the kindest of looks towards Mr. +Merrywhistle, 'there is no reclaiming you.' + +'I'm too old, I'm too old,' he replied deprecatingly. 'I hope you +don't mind.' + +Mind! Why, he had done just the very things that we had forgotten, and +the very best things too, to keep the youngsters out of mischief. We +had plenty to do. Here and there was a solitary one, who knew nobody +in all that wild band, wandering by himself, and casting wistful +glances at the other children who were playing. Here was a little +fellow who had lost his brother, crying lustily. Here was a shy timid +girl, absolutely without a friend. All these human strays--strays even +among the forlorn crew of youngsters who were tasting a pure enjoyment +for the first time in their lives--we collected together and formed +into bands, instructing them how to play, and taking part in their +games until they were sufficiently familiarised with each other to get +along without help. The children who were unable to run about we +arranged comfortably together in a place where they had a clear view +of the sports. Rachel, by tacit consent, took this group under her +care; and not long afterwards I saw her seated in the midst of them, +and heard her telling them, in admirable language and with admirable +tact, the best of those fairy stories which delight our childhood's +days. Blind as Rachel was, she could see deeper into these children's +hearts than we. They listened with almost breathless attention to +every word that fell from her lips--and every word was sweet--and saw +the scenes she painted, and learnt the lessons she taught. Among all +our children there was no happier group than this over which she +presided; and many whose limbs were straight and strong approached the +deformed group, and listened in delight and wonder. During the whole +of that day I noticed how the most forlorn and friendless of the +children congregated about Rachel. Perhaps they saw in her blindness +something akin to their own condition, and eyes that might have been +mournful grew soft and tender beneath the influence of her +sightlessness and kindly help. One of the most favourite pastimes of +the day was dancing to the music of the band. Such dancing! Girls went +round and round in the waltz with a solemn enjoyment in their faces +most wonderful to witness; boys, more demonstrative, executed amazing +steps, and flung their arms and their legs about in an extraordinary +manner. There were two champion dancers--boys of about twelve years of +age--whose capers and comicalities attracted large audiences. These +boys, by some means had secreted about their persons two immense pairs +of 'nigger' shoes, which were now tied on to their feet. They danced, +they sang, they asked conundrums of each other with amusing +seriousness; and I was privately and gravely informed that they +intended to become negro minstrels, and were saving up to buy a banjo. +Dinner-time came, and the horn was blown. Such a scampering never was +seen, and dull eyes lightened, and bright eyes grew brighter, at the +sight of the well-stocked tables. If it were necessary, I could +vulgarise this description by mention of certain peculiarities--forms +of expression and such-like--which existed among our guests; but it is +not necessary. No one's enjoyment was marred, and every youngster at +our tables was perfectly happy. The children stood while I said grace. +I said but a very few words, and that the brevity of the grace was +appreciated was evidenced by a remark I overheard. 'That's proper! I +thort the parson-chap was goin' to pray for a hour.' The children ate +very heartily, and here and there, with the younger ones, we had to +exercise a salutary check. But the older boys and girls were beyond +our control. 'Tuck away, Sal!' cried one. 'It'll be all over +to-morrer!' When the children--dinner being finished--were, at play +again, we had a little leisure. Mrs. Silver, seated on a bench, looked +around upon her family and friends, and said, with a satisfied smile, + +'I really am tired, my dears.' + + +[Illustration] + + + + IV. + + FOR MERCY'S SAKE, TELL ME! WHOSE VOICE WAS IT I HEARD JUST NOW? + + +I also was tired. I had been up very late three nights during the +week, and on the night previous to this day I had had only four hours' +sleep. Glad of the opportunity to enjoy a little quietude, I strolled +from where the children and my friends were congregated, and walked +towards the rise of a hill on the other side of which was a wooded +knoll, where I supposed I should be quite alone. There it was my +intention to stretch myself, and rest for fully half an hour by my +watch. + +The day had continued gloriously fine, and there was no sign of +change. I had much to think about. An event of great importance in my +private history was soon to take place, and I knew it, and was only +waiting for the time. It made me sad to think that when that time came +I should probably lose a friend--not an ordinary friend, but one to +whom I owed my education and my present position. It will find record +in its proper place, however, and needs no further reference here. I +had mounted the hill, and was descending towards the clump of trees, +when I saw, at a little distance, three persons sitting on the ground. +One of them I knew. It was Mr. Merrywhistle, and he was attending to +the wants of a very poorly-dressed girl, who was eating her dinner, +which it was evident Mr. Merrywhistle had brought to her from the +tables. There was a large quantity of wild flowers by the girl's side, +which I judged she had gathered during the day, and in the midst of +these flowers sat a child between two and three years of age, towards +whom the girl directed many a look of full-hearted love. The face of +the child fixed my attention; it was a dull, pale, mournful face, and +there was an expression of weariness in the eyes which hurt me to see. + +To detect Mr. Merrywhistle in an act of kindness did not surprise me; +and yet I wondered how it was that he was here, in a certain sense +clandestinely, with this poor girl, who had the look of the London +streets upon her. Not wishing, however, to disturb the group, I walked +slowly in the opposite direction; the conformation of the hill +favoured me, so that I was very soon hidden from their sight, although +really I was but a very few yards from them. I threw myself upon the +ground, my thoughts dwelling upon the scene of which I had been an +unseen witness. It struck me as strange that Mr. Merrywhistle and this +poor girl were evidently well acquainted with one another; their +familiar bearing convinced me of that. Then by what singular chance +was it, or was it by chance at all, that they had met here in this +sweet spot, so far away from her natural haunts? For there was no +mistaking the type to which this poor girl belonged; it can be seen, +multiplied and multiplying, in all our crowded cities, but not in +country places such as this in which we held our holiday. Could this +be the same girl and child, I asked myself, whom Mr. Merrywhistle +followed when he left me so abruptly on the night we walked together +from Mrs. Silver's house? But presently my thoughts wandered to more +refreshing themes. The many beautiful pictures of sweet charity and +unselfishness I had witnessed this day came before me again, and I +thanked God that my country held such noble specimens of true +womanhood as Mrs. Silver, Mary, Ruth, and Rachel. And then, knowing +full well the history of these girls, I contrasted their present lives +with that of the poor girl in Mr. Merrywhistle's company. In the midst +of my musings, and while I was contemplating the picture (to which my +thoughts had wandered) of Rachel standing before us, as she had stood +three days ago, with a child on each side of her, and the weeping +mother behind--as I was contemplating this picture, and weaving +idealisms about it, the sound of a harsh voice reached me, and +dissolved my fancies. I recognised the voice immediately--it belonged +to Jimmy Virtue, and it came from the direction where Mr. Merrywhistle +and the poor girl were. Not quite trusting Jimmy Virtue, as I did not +at that time, I rose to my feet, and walked towards the group, the +disposition of which was now completely changed. The girl was standing +in a half-frightened, half-defiant attitude, pressing her child to her +breast; in the eager haste with which she had snatched the child from +the ground, she had clutched some wild-flowers, and these were +trailing to her feet; Jimmy Virtue, with head inclined, was holding up +an angry finger; and Mr. Merrywhistle, with an expression of pain and +distress on his features, seemed by his attitude to be mediating +between them. The girl was the first to see me, and she turned to fly, +as if every human face she saw were a new terror to her, or as if in +me she recognised a man to be avoided. I hastened to her side, and +laid my hand on her arm. With a convulsive shiver, but without a word +and without resistance, she bowed her head to her baby's neck, and +cowered to the ground, like a frightened animal. And there she +crouched, a poor forlorn thing, ragged, defiant, panting, fearing, +with the world sitting in judgment upon her. + + + * * * * * + + +Bear with me a little while. The memories connected with this poor +girl fill my heart to overflowing. They belong not only to her and her +mournful history; she is but one of many who are allowed to drift as +the careless days glide by. If you do not enter into my feelings, bear +with me, I pray. + +And I must not flinch. To be true unto others, you must be true to +yourself. My conscience, no less than my heart, approves of the course +I pursued with reference to certain passages in this girl's career. +Many who hold a high place in the world's esteem will differ from me, +I know; some, who look with self-righteous eyes upon certain bad +features in the lower social life of the people, and whose belief +inclines them to touch not lest they be defiled, will condemn me +because I did not, from the very first, attempt to turn this girl's +heart with prayer, believing themselves in its full efficacy for all +forms of trouble. But let them consider that this girl-woman was +already grown to strength; veined in her veins were hurtful fibres +which once might have been easily removed, but which, by force of +surrounding circumstance, were now so deeply rooted in her nature that +they could only be weakened by patience, forbearance, tender handling, +and some exercise of wise benevolence. Here was a mind to be dealt +with utterly ignorant of those teachings, the following out of which +renders life healthful and pleasant to contemplate; but here at the +same time was a hungry stomach to be dealt with--a hungry stomach +continually crying out, continually craving, which no words of prayer +could satisfy. And I, a clergyman, who preach God's word in full +belief and believe fully in His mercy and goodness, say to those who +condemn for this reason, that words of prayer--otherwise lip-worship, +and outward observances according to set forms--are, alone and +in themselves, valueless and unacceptable in the eyes of God. +Self-accusation, self-abasement, pleadings for mercy, unaccompanied by +good deeds, go for naught. A merciful action, a kindly impulse +practically acted upon--these are the prayers which are acceptable in +His eyes. + + + * * * * * + + +I looked around for an explanation. + +'Ah,' exclaimed Jimmy Virtue, threateningly, ''ere's the parson! He'll +tell you whether you're right or wrong.' + +A proof that I, the parson, had been set up by Jimmy Virtue as a man +to be feared. It was natural that the poor girl should shrink from my +touch. Mr. Merrywhistle drew me aside. + +'It is all my fault,' he said, in a tone of great emotion. 'I smuggled +her here.' + +'How did she come?' I asked. 'She was not in any of the vans.' + +'I smuggled her in the cart that brought the provisions, and I bade +the driver not to come too close to us, for fear poor Blade-o'-Grass +should be discovered and sent back.' + +'Poor who?' + +'Blade-o'-Grass. That's the only name she has. It came into my mind +the first night I saw you in Mrs. Silver's house. Mrs. Silver, you +remember, was telling you the plan of this holiday, and was saying +that you, who go so much among the poor, knew that there were numbers +of poor children who had never seen the country, and that the sight of +flowers and green fields would be to them like gentle rain to drooping +blades of grass.' + +'I remember well.' + +'I don't know if Mrs. Silver used the expression purposely, but I +thought immediately of this poor girl, whom everybody round about +Stoney-alley, where she lives, knows as Blade-o'-Grass, and I thought +what a fine thing it would be for her if I could smuggle her here with +her baby, so that she might enjoy a day in the country, which she +never set eyes on until now. She danced for joy, sir--yes, sir, she +did!--when I asked her if she would like to come. And she has enjoyed +herself so much, and has kept out of the way according to my +instructions. See, Mr. Meadow, she has been gathering wildflowers, and +has been talking and singing to her baby in a way it has made me glad +to hear. Poor girl! poor girl! I have known her from a child, and, if +you will forgive me for saying it, I think I almost love her. Although +she has always stood in her own light--always, always! It was wrong of +me to bring her here, but I did it for the best I have been told often +I was doing wrong when I have foolishly thought I was doing good.' + +'You have done no wrong,' I said emphatically, 'in bringing that poor +girl here. I honour you for it. And now tell me what has occurred to +spoil her pleasure, and what is the cause of Mr. Virtue's anger.' + +'Why, you see, Mr. Meadow, that Jimmy Virtue, of whose rough manners +you must not take any notice--you must not judge harshly of him +because of them--has taken a liking to the girl.' + +'Well?' + +'He has been kind to her, I feel certain, though you'll never get him +to acknowledge it--indeed, he'll tell you fibs to your face without +ever a blush--and he has been trying for a long time to persuade her +to come and live with him. She has persistently refused, and now he is +angry with her. He is an old man and a lonely man, and he feels it +perhaps; but, anyhow, it is as much for her good as his that he makes +the offer. He says he will look upon her as a daughter, and it would +be better for her than her present lot.' + +'Why does she refuse?' + +Mr. Merrywhistle hesitated. + +'Tell me all,' I said, 'plainly and without disguise.' + +'Well, Mr. Meadow, nothing on earth can induce her to leave Tom +Beadle.' + +'Who is he? What is he?' + +'He is a thief, and the father of her child.' + +Mr. Merrywhistle's voice trembled from sadness as he spoke these +words. I understood it all now. To my grief, I knew what would be the +answer to my next question; but it must be asked and answered. + +'Is she married?' + +'No.' + + +[Illustration] + + +We were but a few paces from Jimmy Virtue and Blade-o'-Grass, and our +conversation had been carried on in a low tone. I turned towards them. +Jimmy Virtue, in a heat, was wiping his glass eye. Blade-o'-Grass had +not stirred from her crouching attitude. She might have been carved in +stone, so motionless had she remained, and to discover any signs of +life in her, you would have had to put your head down to her beating +heart So she cowered among the wildflowers, with sweet breezes about +her, with beautiful clouds above her. + +'Now, parson,' said Jimmy Virtue, in a menacing tone, 'per'aps you'll +tell that gal whether she's right or wrong!' + +'I must first know,' I said, striving to induce gentleness in him by +speaking gently myself, 'what it is I am to give an opinion upon.' + +'I know that. Mind you, I ain't overfond o' parsons, as a rule, and I +ain't overfond o' words, unless there's a reason for 'em. You see that +gal there--she's a pretty article to look at, ain't she? Judge for +yourself; you can tell pretty well what she is by 'er clothes and 'er +babby, though she does 'ide 'er face. She's not so bad as you might +make 'er out to be, that I must say; for I ain't a-goin' to take +advantage of 'er. But you may make 'er out precious bad, what +with one thing and another, and not be far wrong arter all. She's got +no 'ome to speak of; she's got no clothes to speak of; she's got no +babby that she's got a right to. Well, I orfer that gal a 'ome in my +leavin'-shop. I say to 'er, You can come and live along o' me, and +I'll look arter you like a daughter; and I would, for I'm a man o' my +word, though my word don't amount to much. Now what does she say, that +gal, as couldn't lay 'er 'and on a 'arf-a-crown as she's got a right +to, if it was to save 'er life--what does she say to my orfer? She +says. No, and says as good as I'll see you further fust! Now, tell 'er +whether she's right or wrong--tell 'er once and for all. You're a +parson, and she'll believe you, per'aps.' + +I beckoned him away, for I knew that his harsh tones no less than his +words hurt the girl. + +'Our mutual friend, Mr. Merrywhistle,' I said---- + +'That's right; our muchel friend, Mr. Merrywhistle. Though he's too +soft-'earted, mind you! I've told 'im so a 'underd times.' + +----'Has made me acquainted with some part of this poor girl's story. +Don't speak so loudly and so angrily. She hears every word you say.' + +'I know that,' he growled. 'She's got the cunnin' of a fox.' + +'And, after all, she has a right to choose for herself; you can have +no real claim upon her.' + +'She ain't got no right,' he said vehemently, 'to choose for 'erself, +and if I ain't got no claim on 'er, I'd like to know who 'as! I've +knowed 'er from the time as she was a babby. She growed up almost +under my eyes. She's played on my doorstep when she was a little 'un, +and 'as been shoved off it many and many a time. I knowed 'er +mother--I knowed 'er father, the mean thief! as run away afore she was +born. No claim! Ain't that no claim, I'd like to know? And don't I +know what she'll come to if she goes on much longer as she's a-goin' +on now? It's a-comin' to the end, I tell you, and I want to stop it! +Why, Tom Beadle, the man as she's a'----I put my finger to my lips, +out of compassion for the poor girl----'the man as she ain't married +to, was took up this mornin' by the peelers afore my very eyes'---- I +caught his wrist, and pointing to Blade-o'-Grass, stopped his further +speech. A moan came from the girl's lips, a shiver passed over her +form, like a despairing wave. She struggled to her feet, and throwing +her hair from her eyes, looked distractedly about her. + +'O, why did I come?' she cried. + +'Why did I come? Which is the road to London?' + +And she ran a few steps wildly, but I ran after her and stopped her. +She struggled to escape from me. + +'Let me go!' she beseeched. + +'Let me go! I want to git to London! I must git there at once! O Tom! +Tom!' + +'You would not get there tonight,' I said; 'it is eighteen miles away. +You would never be able to walk so far with your baby. You must wait +and go with us; we shall start in an hour.' + +She shrank from my grasp and moaned upon the ground, and pressed her +child closer to her bosom, with sighs and sobs and broken words of +desolation. + +'O baby! baby! baby! Tom's took up agin! What shall we do? O, what +shall we do?' + +Something like a vapour passed over my mind as the wail of this +desolate girl fell upon my ear. I seemed to 'recognise in its tones +something akin to the fond accents of a happier mother than she. I did +not like to think of the resemblance, and I tried to shake off the +impression that had stolen upon me; but it remained with me. It was in +vain that I attempted to console Blade-o'-Grass; she paid no heed to +my words. I was a stranger to her then. + +'Your news is true?' I said to Jimmy Virtue. + +'As I was comin' to the room this mornin',' he replied, 'I saw Tom +Beadle with the peeler's grip on 'im, and the peeler told me he was +wanted agin.' + +'What for?' + +'The old thing--pickin' pockets.' + +This was a sad episode in our holiday-making. I could not leave +Blade-o'-Grass alone. In her despair, in her belief that the hands +and hearts of all were against her, she would be certain to take the +first opportunity of escaping from us, and would thus bring further +trouble on herself. I looked towards Mr. Merrywhistle; his face +was turned from me. I called to him, and he came. I had a thought +which I resolved to act upon. I desired him to keep by the side of +Blade-o'-Grass until I returned, and I went at once in search of +Rachel. The musicians were doing their best, merrily, and the children +were dancing and playing joyously. + +'This is a very happy day,' said Mrs. Silver, as I approached her; +'see how they are enjoying themselves, poor things. It will be a great +remembrance for them.' + +Her tone changed when she saw the anxiety in my face; she laid her +hand upon my arm. + +'You are in trouble.' + +'Yes,' I said; 'but make your mind easy. It is nothing at all +connected with our children. I will tell you about it by and by. Where +is Rachel?' + +'There, helping to get tea ready. You must come and have a cup, Mr. +Meadow. 'It will refresh you.' + +I said that I would, and I asked if she would spare Rachel for a +little while. Yes, she answered, with a solicitous look. I smiled at +her to reassure her. As I walked towards Rachel, I passed Ruth; she +was suckling her baby. A white kerchief covered her bosom and her +baby's face, and she raised a corner of it to whisper some endearing +words to her treasure. Again the vapour passed over my mind. I +trembled as I detected the resemblance in her voice to the voice of +the hapless mother I had just left. But I was now close to Rachel. She +smiled at me, knowing my step. I remember that that was the first +occasion on which I called her by her Christian name. + +'Rachel, I want you to help me. Mrs. Silver says she can spare you.' + +Rachel took off her apron, and gave me her hand, and I led her to +where Blade-o'-Grass was lying. As briefly as I could I told her all, +and I asked her to comfort Blade-o'-Grass. + +'Indeed, indeed, I will try, Mr. Meadow!' she said earnestly. + +'We must not lose her; she must go back to London with us. In her +present state of mind she believes every one to be against her. But +she will trust you, Rachel, because----' + +'Because I am blind,' she said sweetly. 'I will strive to do my best.' +She paused a moment, and added, 'Is it not a good thing, Mr. Meadow, +that I cannot see?' + +I could not answer her; my emotion stopped my utterance. I left her +with Blade-o'-Grass, and Mr. Merrywhistle and I stood apart from them. + +'Give me your hand, my dear,' Rachel said. Blade-o'-Grass made no +movement 'My dear, I am blind!' + +Involuntarily, as if the claim were sisterly, and could not be denied, +the hand of Blade-o'-Grass was held out to Rachel, and Rachel clasped +it, and sat down by her side. What passed during the next few moments +I did not hear; but I saw that Rachel was speaking to Blade-o'-Grass, +and presently Blade-o'-Grass's baby was in the blind girl's arms, and +the mother was looking wonderingly into her face. I acknowledged the +wisdom of Rachel's act; by that tie she held Blade-o'-Grass to her. +But up to this time Blade-o'-Grass had not spoken; Rachel had not won +a word from her lips. + +'Let us join our friends,' said Mr. Merrywhistle; 'we can leave them +safely together now.' + +'One moment,' I answered; 'I am waiting for something.' + +What I was waiting for came presently. Rachel was fondling the child's +hand, and holding it to her lips, when Blade-o'-Grass spoke. A look of +terror flashed into Rachel's face. I was by her side in an instant, my +hand in hers. She clung to it, and raised herself to her feet. + +'Tell me,' she whispered, in a tone of suffering; 'for mercy's sake, +tell me! Whose voice was it I heard just now?' + +'It was Blade-o'-Grass that spoke,' I replied; 'the unhappy girl I +told you of. She is younger than you are, my dear, and you hold her +child in your arms. Comfort her, Rachel; she needs comfort sorely!' + +'I have heard her voice before,' said Rachel, with sobs, 'and it +reminds me--O, it reminds me of one I love so dearly, so dearly!' + +'The greater reason, my dear, that you should aid her in her +affliction. Her heart is bleeding, Rachel. Do not alarm her +unnecessarily--she suspects everybody but you; she is looking towards +us now, with struggling doubt in her face. Be strong, for pity's +sake!' + +She needed no other encouragement; I left them together, and when the +time for our departure to London arrived, they were still sitting side +by side. An expression of solemn pity rested on Rachel's face. She +kissed Blade-o'-Grass and the child before they parted, and asked +Blade-o'-Grass to kiss her. The poor girl did so, with grateful tears. +Then I gave Blade-o'-Grass into the charge of Mr. Merrywhistle, and +led Rachel to her friends. But only to Ruth did she cling; she clasped +her arms round her sister's neck, and sobbed quietly on her shoulder. + +'Why, Rachel!' exclaimed Ruth. 'Rachel, my dearest!' + +'Let me be, Ruth dear!' sobbed Rachel. 'Let me be! Do not say anything +to me. I shall be better presently.' + +It was no easy matter getting our children together. We had to call +them by name, and count them; it was an anxious task, and it occupied +a longer time than we anticipated. And in the end there was one +missing--Jacky Brown. None of the boys or girls could tell us where he +was, and we were fully a quarter of an hour hunting for him. We were +in great trouble, but at length we discovered him, with such a dirty +face! sitting under one of the largest trees in the wood. + +'Come, come, Jacky,' Mrs. Silver said, 'this isn't good of you. Didn't +you hear the horn?' + +'Yes, I 'eerd the 'orn, but I ain't a-comin',' was his confident +reply. + +'O Jacky, Jacky!' she remonstrated. + +'I ain't a-goin' 'ome any more. I'm a-goin' to stop under this tree as +long as ever I live, and I don't want to move.' + + +[Illustration] + + +We absolutely had to use a little force with him, and while we carried +the little fellow to the vans, he cried again and again that he didn't +want to go home any more. References to Old Rookey had no effect upon +him; he wanted to live among the trees always, and he was passionately +grieved because he could not have his way. The children sang all along +the road to London; and I was glad to see that the majority of them +had bunches of wild-flowers in their hands. And thus the day ended +happily--for all but one. + +'We shall sleep well to-night,' said Mrs. Silver, with a satisfied +sigh. + +I did not, although I was thoroughly tired out. + + + V. + + YOU'RE A PARSON, SIR, AND I PUT IT TO YOU. WHAT DO _YOU_ SAY TO + PARTING MOTHER AND CHILD? + + +It was not alone because Mr. Merrywhistle urged me that I took an +interest in Blade-o'-Grass. I was impelled to do so by certain +feelings of my own with reference to the poor girl. I became nervously +desirous to learn her history, and I questioned Mr. Merrywhistle, He +could tell me nothing, however, but the usual tale attached to such +unhappy human waifs--a tale which I had heard, with slightly-varying +forms of detail, many times before. I desired to learn something more +definite--something which I scarcely dared to confess, even to myself, +working as I was in the dark, and with only a vague impression or a +morbid fancy for a basis. But then came the thought that Rachel shared +the impression with me, and I continued my inquiries. + +'Jimmy Virtue knows more about Blade-o'-Grass than I do,' said Mr. +Merrywhistle, 'It was through him I first became acquainted with her.' + +Jimmy Virtue was not very communicative; it was not in his nature to +take easily to new friends. + +'But you yourself,' I urged, 'spoke of her mother and father as if you +knew them intimately.' + +'Did I?' he replied. 'Ah! I ain't over-particular what I say +sometimes, so you must put it down to that. You see, they were not +long in this alley afore the father cut away, and the mother--well, +she died! So what should I know of 'em? The mother was buried afore +the kids was three weeks old.' + +'The children!' I exclaimed, my heart beating fast at this discovery. +'Then the poor mother had twins?' + +'Yes, there was two on 'em; as if one warn't enough, and more than +enough! And then a woman--Mrs. Manning her name was--comes round +a-beggin' for the babbies, and a nice row she kicked up about it. +Arksed me what I'd lend on 'em--as if babbies warn't as cheap as dirt, +and a deal sight more troublesome!' + +'These twins, Mr. Virtue--were they both girls?' + +'Yes, they was both gals, I 'eerd.' + +'What became of the other child?' + +I asked eagerly. + +'What other?' demanded Jimmy Virtue surlily. 'I didn't know no other. +Blade-o'-Grass was the only one left.' + +And this was all the information I could elicit from him. I inquired +of other old residents in Stoney-alley, but not one of them remembered +anything worth hearing. I returned to Mr. Merrywhistle, and after +narrating to him the fruitless result of my inquiries, I asked +abruptly if he knew anything concerning the circumstances attending +the birth of Ruth. The old man changed colour, and his manner became +very nervous. + +'I can see your drift,' he said in a troubled voice. 'In your mind, +Ruth and Blade-o'-Grass are associated, as if some undiscovered +tie exists between them. I once shared your suspicion. I saw in +Blade-o'-Grass a likeness to Ruth, and I mentioned it to Mrs. +Silver. But when Mrs. Silver adopted Ruth, the babe was orphaned +indeed. Both father and mother were dead, and Ruth was the only +child. It is impossible, therefore, that the likeness between Ruth and +Blade-o'-Grass can be anything but accidental. Do not say anything of +this to Ruth or Mrs. Silver; it would grieve them. Look at Ruth and +Blade-o'-Grass; see them as they are, and think what a gulf separates +them.' + +A gulf indeed! But still I was not satisfied. + +I found it much easier to learn the fullest particulars concerning Tom +Beadle. Plainly and simply, he was a thief, and had been in prison a +dozen times at least. The day following our holiday-making he was +brought up at the police-court on a common charge of pickpocketing. +Blade-o'-Grass begged me to intercede for him with the magistrate; but +it was impossible for me to do so, as I knew nothing concerning him +but what was bad. 'He loves me, sir, does Tom,' she pleaded; 'and I +love 'im!' And said it as if it were a sufficient reason for his not +being punished. It was impossible to reason with her on the matter; +all that concerned herself and Tom Beadle she could look at from only +one point of view. Whether he worked or whether he stole, nearly every +farthing he obtained was spent in food. Blade-o'-Grass's standpoint +was that she and Tom and the baby must have bread, and that if they +could not get it one way they must get it another. Tom Beadle did work +sometimes as a costermonger; but the difficulties in his way were very +serious because of his antecedents, and he rebelled against these +difficulties sullenly and savagely, and bruised his soul against them. +He was no casuist, and made no attempt to excuse himself. He was +simply a man at war with society, a man whose keen intellect had been +sharpened and perfected in bad soil. As I write of him now, I can see +him slouching along in his patched clothes, with defiance in his mind. +Watchful eyes have been upon him almost from his birth; they are upon +him now, whichever way he turns, and he knows it, and has grown up in +the knowledge. Respectability turns its back upon him--naturally, for +he is its enemy. Even benevolence shrinks from him, for the spirit of +cunning and ingratitude lurks in his every motion. I paint him as I +knew him, in the plainest of colours. He had one redeeming trait in +his character; he loved Blade-o'-Grass, after his fashion, with as +much sincerity as good men love good women. His love for her had come +to him naturally, as other worse qualities in his nature had come. By +Blade-o'-Grass he was loved, as she had truly said, but with that +deeper love of which only a woman's nature is capable. Hers was +capable of the highest form of gratitude, of the highest form of love. +She was faithful to Tom Beadle, and she loved her child with as +perfect, ay, and as pure a love as can animate the breast of the most +delicate lady in the land. Overshadowing these bright streaks of light +was a darker line. When she was a mere babe, afterwards when she was a +child, afterwards when she was a woman, she frequently suffered the +pangs of hunger; she often knew what it was to want a crust of bread. +From these sufferings came the singular and mournful idea that she had +within her a ravenous creature which she called a tiger, and which, +when she was hungry, tore at her entrails for food. This tiger had +been the terror of her life, and it was with her an agonising belief +that she had endowed her child with the tiger curse: I can find no +other term of expression. From this belief nothing could drive her. +Talk to her of its folly, of its impossibility, and you talked to +stone. Her one unfailing answer was, 'Ah, I know; you can't. I feel +it, and my baby feels it also.' I learnt the story of this tiger from +her own lips. I found her waiting for me one morning at the corner of +the street in which I lived. It was while Tom Beadle was undergoing +his term of imprisonment. I stopped and spoke to her, and she asked +might she say something to me. Yes, I answered, I could spare her a +few minutes; and I led the way to my rooms. + +'It was Mr. Wirtue as told me to come to you, sir,' she said; 'he +ain't so 'ard on me as he was.' + +'I am glad you are friends again,' I said. 'Will you have some +bread-and-butter?' + +'Yes, if you please, sir.' + +I cut some bread-and-butter for her and her child, and I dissolved +some preserved milk in warm water for her. She watched with keen +interest the process of making this milk, and when she tasted it said, +with a touch of humour of which she was quite unconscious: + +'They won't want no more mothers by and by, sir, what with sich milk +as this, and feedin'-bottles, and p'ramberlaters!' + +While she was eating and giving her child to eat, she reverted to +Jimmy Virtue. + +'You see, sir, he was mad with me 'cause I wouldn't give up Tom; but I +couldn't do that, sir, arter all we've gone through. We growed up +together, sir. If you knowed all Tom's done for me, you'd wonder 'ow +anybody could 'ave the 'eart to arks me to give 'im up. Tom 'as stuck +to me through thick and thin, and I'll stick to 'im as long as ever I +live! I've 'eerd talk of sich things as 'eart-strings. Well, sir, my +'eartstrings 'd break if I was to lose 'im. Leave Tom! Give 'im up +_now!_ No, sir; it wouldn't be natural, and what ain't natural can't +be good.' + +Blade-o'-Grass cut straight into the core of many difficulties with +her unconsciously-uttered truisms. When she and her child had eaten +all I had set before them, she opened the business she had come upon. +Then it was that I heard the history of the tiger. + +'It's inside o' me, sir; I was born with it. When I was little, there +was a talk o' cuttin' me open, and takin' the tiger out; but they +didn't do it, sir. Per'aps it'd been better for me if they 'ad.' + +I attempted to reason her out of her fancy; but I soon saw how useless +were my arguments. She shook her head with sad determination, and +smiled piteously. + +'It don't stand to reason as you can understand it, sir. _You_ ain't +got a tiger in _your_ inside! I 'ave, and it goes a-tearin' up and +down inside o' me, eatin' me up, sir, till I'm fit to drop down dead. +It was beginnin' this mornin', sir, afore I seed you.' + +'Did you have any breakfast, my poor girl?' + +'Not much, sir; a slice o' bread and some water 'tween me and baby. +You see, sir, Tom's not 'ere, and I've 'ad some bad days lately.' + +'You don't feel the tiger now?' + +'No, sir; it's gone to sleep.' + +I sighed. + +'I wish,' she continued, 'I could take somethin' as 'd kill it! I +tried to ketch it once--yes, sir, I did; but it was no go. I 'adn't +'ad nothink to eat for a long time, and it was goin' on awful. Then, +when I got some grub, I thought if I put it down on the table, and set +it afore me with my mouth open, per'aps the tiger 'd see it, and come +up and fetch it. I was almost frightened out o' my life as I waited +for it; for I've never seed it, sir, and I don't know what it's like. +But it wouldn't come; it knows its book, the tiger does! I waited till +I was that faint that I could 'ardly move, and I was forced to send +the grub down to it. I never tried that move agin, sir.' + +I told her I was sorry to hear that she had been unfortunate lately. +She nodded her head with an air of weary resignation. + +'It can't be 'elped, sir, I s'ppose. A good many societies 'as sprung +up, and they're agin me, I think. O, yes, sir, we know all about 'em. +It warn't very long ago that I was walkin' a long way from 'ome, with +some matches in my 'and; I thort I'd try my luck where nobody knowed +me. A gentleman stopped and spoke to me. "You're beggin'," he said. I +didn't deny it, but I didn't say nothin', for fear o' the peelers. +"It's no use your comin' 'ere," he said; "we've got a society in this +neighbourhood, and we don't give nothink to the poor. Go and work." +Then he went on to tell me--as if I cared to 'eer 'im! but he was one +as liked to 'eer 'isself talk--that it was sich as me as was the cause +of everythink that's bad. Well, sir, that made me open my eyes, and I +couldn't 'elp arksing 'im if it was bad for me to try and git a bit o' +bread for my baby; but he got into sich a passion that I was glad to +git away from 'im. Another gentleman persuaded me to go to a orfice +where they looked arter the likes o' me. I went, and when they 'eerd +me out, they said they'd make inquiries into my case. Well, sir, they +did make inquiries, and it come to the old thing that I've 'eerd over +and over and over agin. They said they'd do somethink for me if I'd +leave Tom; but when they spoke agin 'im I stood up for 'im, and they +got angry, and said as I was no good. Then another party as I went to +said they'd take my child--which I 'ad no business to 'ave, they +said--if I liked, and that they'd give me ten shillin's to set me up +in a stock of somethink to sell for my livin'. Part with my child!' +exclaimed Blade-o'-Grass, snatching the little one to her lap, and +looking around with fierce fear, as if enemies were present ready to +tear her treasure from her. 'Sell my 'eart for ten shillin's! You're a +parson, sir, and I put it to you. What do _you_ say to partin' mother +and child?' + +What could I say? I was dumb. It was best to be so upon such +straightforward questions propounded by a girl who, in her position +and with her feelings, could understand and would recognise no logic +but the logic of natural laws; it was best to be silent if I wished to +do good, and I did wish it honestly, sincerely. The more I saw of +Blade-o'-Grass, the more she interested me; the more she interested +me, the more she pained me. I saw before me a problem, hard as a rock, +sensitive as a flower--a problem which no roundabout legislation can +solve in the future, or touch in the present. Other developments will +to a certainty start up in time to come--other developments, and worse +in all likelihood, because a more cultivated intelligence may be +engaged in justifying what now ignorance is held to be some slight +excuse for. + +'Then, sir,' continued Blade-o'-Grass, driving her hard nails home, +'if I was one o' them unnatural mothers as don't care for their +children, and took the orfer--'ow about the ten shillin's to set me up +in a stock o' somethin' to sell? What do the peelers say to a gal as +tries to sell anythin' in the streets? Why, there ain't a inch o' +flagstone as she's got a right to set 'er foot on! And as for the +kerb, as don't belong properly to nobody, and's not wanted for them as +walks or them as rides, why, a gal daren't stand on it to save 'er +life! And that's the way it goes, sir; that's the way it goes! But I +beg your pardon, sir. I'm wanderin' away from what I come for, and I'm +a-takin' up your time.' + +'Go on, my poor girl,' I said; 'let me know what I can do for you.' + +'It ain't for me, sir; it's for my baby.' + +'What can I do for her, the poor little thing?' I asked, pinching the +child's cheek, who showed no pleasure, however, at my caress; there +dwelt in her face an expression of mournfulness which was native to +her, and which nothing could remove. 'What can I do for her?' + +'Pray for 'er!' implored Blade-o'-Grass, with all her soul in her +eyes, from which the tears were streaming. + +I started slightly, and waited for further explanation. Blade-o'-Grass +regarded me earnestly before she spoke again. + +'You see, sir, she was born with a tiger inside of 'er, the same as I +was; it ain't 'er fault, the dear, it's mine. It breaks my 'eart to +think as she'll grow up like me, and that the tiger'll never leave +'er. I talked to Mr. Wirtue about it yesterday, and he says to me, +"Why don't you go to the parson, and arks 'im to _pray_ the tiger out +'er?" And so I've come, sir. You'd 'ardly believe what I'd do if it +was set me to do, if I could get the tiger away from my dear. I'd be +chopped up, sir, I would! Mr. Wirtue says prayer'll do anythink, and +that if I didn't believe 'im, I was to arks you if it won't I can't +pray myself; I don't know 'ow to. So I've come to you to arks you to +pray the tiger out of my baby!' + +I scarcely remember in what terms I replied. I know, however, that I +sent Blade-o'-Grass away somewhat consoled, saying that she would +teach her baby to bless me every day of her life if my prayers were +successful. + + + + VI. + + FOR THESE AND SUCH AS THESE. + + +And now it becomes necessary that I should say something concerning my +private history. I have made mention of a friend to whom I owed my +education and position, and whose friendship it saddened me to think I +should probably soon lose. It is of this friend, in connection with +myself, that I am about to speak. + +His name was Fairhaven. He was a great speculator, and his ventures +had been so successful that he had become famous in the stock and +money markets. At this time he was nearly seventy years of age, +unmarried, and he had no family connection in which he took the +slightest interest, none, indeed, which he would recognise. Although I +was indebted to him in the manner I have stated, I did not see him, +and did not even know his name, until I had arrived at manhood and had +chosen my career. All that I knew was that he was very wealthy, and it +was by almost the merest accident that I discovered his name and real +position. I made this discovery at a critical time. A season of great +distress had set in in my parish, and I became acquainted with much +misery, which, for want of means, I was unable to alleviate. I yearned +for money. Where could I obtain it? I thought of Mr. Fairhaven. I said +to myself, 'He has been good to me, and he is a wealthy man, and might +be willing to assist me. Surely he would not miss a little of his +money, and I could do so much good with it!' I must explain that I had +before this time endeavoured to ascertain the name of the gentleman +who had befriended me when I was left an orphan, but I was told by his +agents that it was his wish to remain unknown. I respected that wish, +and did not prosecute my inquiries. Even now that I had accidentally +discovered his name, I should not for my own sake have pressed myself +upon him; but for the sake of those suffering ones whom I was unable +to relieve for want of money, I determined to do so. When I presented +myself to him, he regarded me attentively, and with some symptoms of +agitation. I said I hoped he was not displeased with me for coming to +him. No, he answered, he was not displeased; and he made me so welcome +that I ventured to thank him for his past goodness to me. Then I made +my appeal to him, and after some consideration he placed at my +disposal the sum of a hundred pounds, intimating that the same amount +would be paid to me every year, to spend according to my own +discretion among the poor of my parish. I was overjoyed at this good +result of my courage, and I thanked him cordially for his liberality. +Up to this time I had received the money regularly, and had been +enabled to do much good with it. I visited him occasionally to inform +him how his money was expended, and even in the midst of his vaster +operations, I think he was glad to hear of the good which sprang from +the seed he placed in my hands to sow among my poor. After a time he +asked me to visit him more frequently, saying that he was a lonely +man, and that my visits were an agreeable relief to him. I owed him +too deep a debt of gratitude to refuse, and I saw him as often as the +duties of my position would allow. As our intimacy ripened, I learned, +from chance words which escaped from him now and then, that he was not +satisfied with the groove in which I was working. Knowing that we were +not in the slightest way related to each other, I was naturally +curious to learn why he took so deep an interest in me; but when I +approached the subject he stopped me somewhat sternly, and desired me +to speak of other matters. The impression I had gained that he was +dissatisfied with my career became strengthened in every succeeding +interview. And one night he made me a startling proposition. + +I have a clear remembrance of that night and all the details connected +with it. We were conversing in the pleasant garden of his house, which +was situated on the bank of the river Thames. From where we sat we +commanded a clear view of the river. The tide was ebbing, and the +river's water was flowing towards the sea. The heavens were bright, +and the fragrant air was whispering among the leaves. The water was +murmuring with a sweet sibillation as it flowed towards a mightier +power, and the stars were flashing in its depths. + +On that night Mr. Fairhaven said that he wished he had known me +earlier in life; he would have chosen for me a different career; but +it was not too late now. 'I am a childless man,' he said, 'and I have +grown to love you.' He proposed that I should resign my office, and +come and live with him as his heir; had I been his son he could not +have expressed himself more affectionately towards me. He took me +entirely into his confidence, and endeavoured to win my sympathy in +his career. He showed me how he had risen to wealth--nay, he showed me +by his books and by other evidence the wealth itself which he had +accumulated. I was amazed at its extent. I had no idea that he was so +rich. As a proof of the sincerity of his offer, he said he would +settle a large sum of money on me immediately, and that the bulk of +his fortune should be mine when he was dead. There were certain +conditions attached to his proposal. I was to bear his name when he +died, and I was to pledge myself on my honour to live fully up to my +means, and to take what he considered to be the proper position in +society of a man who possessed so large a fortune. 'Money has its +duties,' he said--'duties which I perhaps have neglected, but which it +shall be your pleasant task to perform.' In a word, I was to become a +man of fashion, and I was to do whatever was necessary in the world of +fashion to make the name of Fairhaven notable. He laid great stress +upon this latter stipulation, and I understood that his money was not +to be mine to do as I pleased with in any other way. + +I listened to his proposal in silence. For a short while I was +overwhelmed by the offer and by the generosity which prompted it. But +even as I listened I felt that I could not accept it. The prospect he +held out to me did not dazzle me. To my mind, the mere possession of a +large amount of money has no attraction, and confers no distinction; +to possess it and to spend it in the way Mr. Fairhaven had set down +appeared to my understanding a dreary task, and was distinctly +inimical to the views I had formed of life and its duties. Besides, I +had grown to love my labours; I was bound by the tenderest links of +love and humanity to the people among whom I moved. Look where I +would, I saw no higher lot in life than that which I had chosen, +and--a selfish reason perhaps--I was happy in my choice. + +I answered Mr. Fairhaven to this effect, and was about to refuse his +offer absolutely, when he stopped me. I saw by his face that he +anticipated what I was about to say. He did not want my answer then, +he said; he wished me to take a certain time for reflection--a time +extending over two years, and to expire on the anniversary of my +thirty-third birthday. He asked me to study the matter well during +this interval, and in the consideration of it to throw aside all false +sentiment and eccentricity. He proposed to gain admission for me into +certain circles, where I could see in full operation the machinery of +the life he wished me to adopt; and he added--not as a threat, but +simply as part of a resolution he had formed--that if, at the +expiration of the allotted time, I did not accept his proposal, I must +never expect to receive one shilling of his money. The time passed. At +the expense of my duties I made leisure to move in the society in +which he wished me to move; I studied its machinery; I made myself +acquainted with its inner life, with its aims, desires, ambitions, +results; as far as opportunity served, I probed its depths, and my +resolution to decline Mr. Fairhaven's offer was strengthened. It is +not for me here to state the reasons which led to the conclusion I +formed. They sprang from my heart and my conscience; they were and are +part of myself, which I could no more tear from myself than I could +resist the course of time. + +I visited Mr. Fairhaven on the appointed day, and acquainted him with +my decision. I spoke in words and tone as gentle as I could command; +for I bore in mind the great debt I owed him, and the exceeding +generosity of his offer. He looked at me with eyes of doubt and +surprise as I spoke, and turned from me when I finished. When he spoke +it was in a hard cold tone. + +'And that is your positive decision?' he said. + +'Yes, sir.' + +'There is nothing hidden behind it----or stay! Perhaps you have not +had sufficient time for reflection. Let the matter rest for a little +while longer.' + +I told him that, if I had twenty years for reflection, my answer would +be the same. + +'You are aware,' he said, 'that you are inflicting a great +disappointment upon me? + +'I cannot but be aware of it, sir,' I replied, 'and it pains me +exceedingly to know it.' + +'You said a little while ago,' he said, referring to words I had used, +'that when I took you into my confidence, I endeavoured to win your +sympathy in my career. Did I win it?' + +'No, sir.' + +'Why?' + +I determined to speak frankly. + +'It seemed to me that you had amassed money simply for its own sake, +and not for the sake of the good uses to which it may be applied. +According to my thinking, money is only sweet when it is well-earned +and well-spent.' + +I saw that he pondered over these words. + +'Your life,' he said, 'must contain special attractions, that you are +so wedded to it. You have made friends, doubtless.' + + +[Illustration] + + +'Many, sir, thank God! Friends to whom I am deeply attached.' + +'Tell me of them, and let me ascertain for myself the superior +inducements of the life you lead to the life which you reject.' + +I considered for a few moments, I thought of Mrs. Silver and her happy +home and family; but connected with them in my mind were the less +wholesome figures of Tom Beadle, Blade-o'-Grass, and Jimmy Virtue. As +a foil to these, however, were the figures of Mr. Merrywhistle and +Robert Truefit and his family. I resolved to show this picture in a +complete form, as presenting a fair variety of those among whom my +life was passed. As I mentioned the names of these persons and +described them, Mr. Fairhaven wrote them on a leaf in his pocket-book. +I laid the greatest stress upon the figures of Mrs. Silver and her +family, and I endeavoured to show this part of the picture in bright +colours. But I was honest throughout, and I spoke plainly of Tom +Beadle, Blade-o'-Grass, and Jimmy Virtue. When the picture was +completed, Mr. Fairhaven read the names aloud, and exclaimed angrily: + +'A pretty circle of portraits truly! The principal of them thieves and +gutter children! Andrew Meadow, it is incomprehensible to me. But your +mind is set upon them evidently. Can anything I say move you from your +resolution?' + +'Nothing, sir.' + +'Then here we part,' he said sternly and bitterly. 'As you cannot be +moved from your resolution, I cannot be moved from mine. Not one +shilling of my money shall you ever receive. I have striven hard for +your good, and you reject me for these and such as these!' + +He tapped the list scornfully, and rose. I understood from his action +that I was dismissed. I knew it would be useless to attempt to soften +him; he was a man of inflexible resolution. + +'You need not trouble yourself,' he said, 'to call upon me again, +unless I send for you. Goodnight.' + +'Before I go, sir,' I said, very sad at heart, 'let me say how truly +grateful I am to you for your past kindness to me. I shall hold you in +my heart and mind with thankfulness and gratitude until my dying day.' + +Then I walked sadly out of the peaceful garden towards the City, where +lay my labour of love. + + +Two matters must be mentioned before I close this chapter. + +The first is that before I acquainted Mr. Fairhaven with the decision +I had arrived at, I endeavoured again to ascertain from what motive he +had educated and befriended me when I was left an orphan. He refused +distinctly to give me any explanation. + +The next is that the hundred pounds a year he had hitherto given me to +spend among my poor was stopped from that day. This grieved me +exceedingly. I think I had never fully understood the power of money +until then. + + + + VII. + + HEALTHY BODY MAKES HEALTHY MIND. + + +It was but natural that the loss of so good a friend as Mr. Fairhaven +should have had an effect upon my spirits, and I felt it the more +deeply because he had parted from me in anger. I did not for one +moment doubt that I had decided rightly, but it would have been a +happiness to me to have retained Mr. Fairhaven's friendship. I found +myself brooding over it and growing melancholy. I sorely felt the need +of sympathy, or at least of that consolation which one derives from +unbosoming himself to his friends. Mrs. Silver saw my distress of +mind, and with delicate tact led me to confide in her. I told her the +story--the temptation, the trial, the result--and I asked her if I had +done right. Only she and Rachel were present when I commenced to tell +my story; and Rachel, divining by my first words that I was about to +impart a confidence to Mrs. Silver, rose to leave the room; but I +desired her to stay, and she resumed her seat and continued her work. + +'Have I done right, dear friend?' I asked of Mrs. Silver when I had +concluded. + +I saw that she was much affected. 'Between friends such as we had +grown to be but few words were needed. I was bending anxiously towards +her as I asked the question. She took my hand and kissed me. + +'I am old enough to be your mother,' she said; 'it gladdens me to know +that we are friends.' + +I was inexpressibly consoled and comforted. I looked towards Rachel. +Her bosom was heaving, and a tender radiance was in her face. My heart +leaped up as I saw. Immediately I turned to her she knew that I was +gazing at her, and she rose hurriedly and left the room. Mrs. Silver +looked at me with solemn tenderness and followed her blind child. From +that moment a new tie seemed to be established between us, and I came +and went as one of the family. + +As regards private social life, I know of no happier phase of it than +that which allows you to have only a few intimate friends, and which +does not compel you to fritter away your hours among a host of +acquaintances who have no heart-regard for you--paying a cold visit +here, a cold visit there, glad when they are over; receiving these +conventional visits in return, and uttering commonplaces the while +which are devoid of meaning and have no suspicion of earnestness. +Where you have within hail a few friends between whom and yourself a +sincere esteem exists, room is given for earnest feeling to flower; +the true heart-glow is felt, and you give and receive smiles which are +not artificial, and speak and hear words which are good and glad +utterances. In time the ties which bind you and your friends grow as +strong as ties of blood-kindred, and when a face is missed from the +circle, you mourn for it with genuine grief and affection. + +Such a phase of social life existed with the Silvers and their +friends, of whom Robert Truefit was not the least esteemed. Wherever +he was, the conversation was always animated. He was a man who thought +for himself, and was not willing to be led unless his reason approved. +Under any circumstances, Robert Truefit would not have been satisfied +with going through the world blindfold. In no sense of the word an +agitator, he was always ready to express his opinion, and you might +depend that that opinion would be the result of a fairly-exercised +judgment. He was contented with his position as an ordinary workman, +but this does not imply that he was without ambition. He simply +recognised that it is folly to knock your head against stones. In a +new country, such as America, Canada, or any of the Australasian +colonies, he would have risen by sheer force of character; but in +England, with the ties that he had gathered about him, the chances +were against him. I am anxious that the character of Robert Truefit +should not be misunderstood. He was in no wise discontented with the +groove in which he laboured. He was a good husband and a good father. +Fond of an argument he certainly was; but he was not that kind of man +who justifies himself by a proverb. He chafed at injustice to others, +and he often expressed indignation at the neglect of public morality +which, he contended, characterised the government of the country. +'They look after the trees,' he said, 'and neglect the flowers. It is +a cant saying that you cannot make people moral by Act of Parliament. +Keep dinning a thing in the people's ears, and, whether it be true or +false, it will come to be believed in as something not to be +controverted. They will believe that a bread pill will prolong life +indefinitely, if it be advertised sufficiently. I say you can make +people moral by Act of Parliament. You can make them clean and you can +compel them to be decent, and those qualities go a very long way +towards morality.' + +We were all together one evening, talking of the good prospect that +lay before Charley, who, firmly established as the overseer of a large +printing establishment, was saving money with the view of setting up +for himself in business, 'one of these fine days,' as he said. Ruth +was busy upon something marvellous in the shape of a frock for baby, +and much serious conversation was indulged in by the females on the +subject of trimmings. Said Ruth, + +'Charley, when baby grows up she shall write a book, and you shall +print it.' + +'Why,' exclaimed Charley, 'you don't want baby to be a bluestocking, +do you, Ruth? + +'She will be clever enough for anything,' said Ruth confidently. +'There, mother, don't you think she will look beautiful in this?' And +Ruth held up the frock for inspection. + +'I begin to think,' said Charley, 'that I am ambitious. Are you?' he +asked of Robert Truefit. + +'I can't afford to be,' answered Robert Truefit, with a smile. 'In my +position, and with my responsibilities, ambition would lead to +discontent--discontent to unhappiness. I have seven pairs of feet to +provide boots and shoes for, and you can guess what that means.' + +I had heard and read a great deal of the extravagance and improvidence +of the working-man, and looking upon Robert Truefit as a fair sample +of the better class--better because right-minded and intelligent--I +asked him if he was saving money for a rainy day, as the saying is. + +'The only rainy day,' he said, 'for which I have been able to provide +in the shape of money, is the day on which I shall die. Then my wife, +if she is alive and if the company in which my life is insured is not +dishonest, will receive two hundred pounds. Every year I pay the +insurance a weight is taken from my heart; not so much because I am +able to pay it, as because my children are a year nearer to the time +when they will be able to work for their mother and assist her, should +anything happen to me.' He gave me a bright look. 'I am endeavouring +to train my young ones properly, and in that way perhaps I may say +that I am saving up for a rainy day. But I see that you are anxious +for further particulars. If you will give me a hint in what direction +to let my tongue run, I shall be glad to oblige you.' + +'Well,' I suggested; 'concerning income and expenditure.' + +'I can give you a plain experience on those heads,' he said frankly, +'because I am, after a certain fashion, methodical, much more so than +many of my mates. I put down my earnings every week in a little +memorandum-book, and on the opposite side I put down the way in which +my earnings are spent. This is a good lesson for my youngsters, who +learn the value of system in the practical matters of life. You know, +sir, that I have five children--two girls and three boys. The youngest +is eleven months old, the eldest is ten years of age on his next +birthday. Now, last year, from the first day to the last, I earned +ninety-nine pounds ten shillings, and every farthing of my earnings, +with the exception of thirty-eight shillings, which was spent in +junketing, went in the necessaries of life and in paying my policy.' + +'What were your out-door pleasures?' + +'Once during the year we took the children to the Crystal Palace. We +went once to the theatre to see a pantomime; and my eldest youngsters +begged so hard to be taken to the Brighton Aquarium on one of the Bank +holidays, that I could not resist them; and really I was glad of the +opportunity of seeing it myself. We had a capital day, and it did the +children good in many ways; it opened the eyes of their minds, I may +say. Our rent makes a big hole. We pay seventeen pounds a year, +including taxes, for our house, which contains three rooms and a small +kitchen or washhouse--quite as little as we can do with. Meat is +another big item. Then, I work three miles away from home, and that's +an item. In examining the figures, which Jane and I did very carefully +when I balanced the account--we have the fear of that rainy day you +have mentioned very strong upon us sometimes, I assure you, sir!--we +could not find one item which was not properly in its place, and which +in our opinion could have been set under the head of extravagance. Yet +I know that there are political economists--I call them by the name +they give themselves--who would not agree with me. The money spent in +amusements I have no doubt they would say I ought to have saved: I +deny it. We have a right--every human being has--to a reasonable share +of healthful pleasure. "Your meat bill ought to have been a little +less," they would also doubtless say: I deny it. We have little enough +as it is; more than half the meat we eat is Australian meat--and we +like it! The children's bodies must be healthfully nourished if they +are to grow into right-minded, reasonable men and women. Healthy body +makes healthy mind. Twenty-two shillings a year spent in reading! +"Monstrous!" the political economists would exclaim. Why, my +newspapers cost me not less than eight shillings a-year, and there's a +weekly publication, and an occasional oddment for the children; and is +my wife, or am I, not to read a work of fiction occasionally--or are +these things not for such as we? It is they who are monstrous who set +up such monstrous cries. So they would go through my book, and prove +that out of my earnings of ninety-nine pounds ten shillings I ought to +have saved a handsome sum. I have observed that it is only among the +ranks of the well-to-do that you find your political economists. They +argue from the wrong end--they themselves, mind you, being seated the +while on a snug and comfortable elevation; they cast up lines of +figures, and judge the life of an individual by means of a monster +called Aggregate--which Aggregate, I take it, is, applied to such a +purpose, the most absurd and unjust standpoint that mind of man could +have invented.' + + + + VIII. + + THIS 'ERE FREE AND 'LIGHTENED COUNTRY OF OUR'N'S CRAMMED FULL + O' TEMPLES O' LIBERTY. + + +The withdrawal of Mr. Fairhaven's hundred pounds a year compelled me +to relinquish many plans I had formed. It was a sore blow to me, and I +had to pinch and save in order to carry out promises I had made to +some of my poor people. From the Silvers I received not only sympathy, +but help in the shape of money, without which I am sure I could not +have got along. Between Rachel and myself a confidence of a peculiar +and affectionate nature was gradually established. I spoke to her +freely of my troubles, and confided in her, and asked counsel of her. +By what mysterious means it was that she--blind from her birth, and +with no such knowledge of the world as comes from actual contact with +it--could have gained the wise insight into character which she +possessed, it is beyond my power to say. Perhaps it was because she +did not doubt, and believed in the capacity for goodness in others. + +A long time had now passed since the children's holiday in the +country, and yet the incident of Rachel's distress on that day at the +sound of Blade-o'-Grass's voice had never been referred to in any of +our conversations. Truth to tell, I hesitated to open a subject which +had caused so much pain to the blind maid; but I never lost sight of +it. I was often on the verge of speaking about it, but I checked the +impulse. One day, however, I referred to it, almost without thought. + +'I knew,' said Rachel, 'that you would speak to me about it at some +time or other, and I have thought it strange that you have not done so +before now. I think it was out of consideration for me.' I did not +answer. 'But you have had it in your mind?' + +'Yes, Rachel, I have never forgotten it.' + +'Nor I.' She clasped her hands upon her lap, and said quietly, 'Seeing +that you were silent, I should have mentioned it myself, if I could +have mustered sufficient courage; but I was too much afraid. Are we to +speak of it now?' + +'As you think fit, Rachel.' + +'It will be best, perhaps. Mr. Meadow,' she said earnestly, 'it is not +wrong for two persons to have a secret, If the keeping of it harms no +one, and if the disclosure would bring pain to their friends?' + +'Surely not in such a case, Rachel.' + +'I am so glad to know it! Will you, then, let what we say to each +other upon this subject remain a secret between us, unless you should +think it will serve a good end one day to refer to it, or disclose +it?' + +'Yes, Rachel. This shall be a confidence between us.' + +'That is good; it is a confidence between us.' She placed her hand +upon mine for a moment, as if that action sealed the confidence. 'Mr. +Meadow, I told you that I had heard the poor girl's voice before that +day. It was when Ruth and Charley were courting. We had spent a happy +day at the Exhibition with Charley, and we were walking home, when I +heard some one utter words which ring in my ears now. It was Ruth's +voice, but it was not Ruth who spoke. The words were: "For God's sake, +Tom, bring home some money, for there's not a bit of bread in the +cupboard!" Without stopping to think, I cried out to Ruth, and asked +her if it was she who spoke. I told her what I had heard, and that the +voice was like hers; and Ruth went to the poor girl, and gave her +money.' + +'It was Blade-o'-Grass you heard, Rachel. The man who finds food for +her is named Tom.' + +'I never spoke of it afterwards; I did not dare to, for my thoughts. +Mr. Meadow, what is Blade-o'-Grass like? Describe her to me.' + +I described the poor outcast as faithfully as it was possible for me +to do. Rachel was silent for a little while; she was looking at the +portrait. + +'What colour is her hair, Mr. Meadow?' + +'Dark-brown.' + +'The same colour as Ruth's!' she exclaimed, in a tone of distress. +'And her eyes?' + +'Dark-brown, also.' + +'So are Ruth's.' + +She twined her fingers nervously. + +'She has a very pretty dimple, Rachel.' + +Rachel uttered a sob of thankfulness. + +'Ruth has no dimple,' she said gratefully. + +I reflected seriously before I spoke. Such implicit faith did I have +in Rachel's instincts that, without a shadow of direct evidence, +indeed with all evidence against it, I was tempted still to believe +that there was kinship between Ruth and Blade-o'-Grass. Yet what good +purpose could possibly be served in tracing it? Would it not be +bringing pain and shame to Ruth's door?----' No, no!' I cried, in my +thoughts, 'pain doubtless, but not shame! Ruth has been too purely +brought up for shame to touch her. She would stretch forth a +sympathising hand to Blade-o'-Grass. With a loving heart and with +loving words she would influence her for good: love would prevail +where friendship failed. Blade-o'-Grass might by that influence be +brought to see in their proper light the relations that existed +between Tom Beadle the thief and herself, and might----' + +Ah, me! ah, me! I paused here, in grief, too sorrowful to carry out +the thread of my reflections. I had had but few interviews, with +Blade-o'-Grass; but when, feeling my duty press heavily upon me, I had +approached the subject which most grieved her friends, I had found her +deaf and implacable to my words. She placed her back against the rock +of natural affection, and every argument used against Tom Beadle +struck her with a feather's weight. To break the tie seemed to me to +be impossible. There remained, then, but one right thing to be done. +To sanctify it by the sacrament of marriage, and thus fasten the hold +which the thief had upon her. Let no man come between them then! This +girl, in whom there was so much latent good, would be linked for life +to a thief. His infamous life would be hers, his lot would be hers, +and nothing should separate them but death! + +At the date of my present conversation with Rachel, I had not seen +Blade-o'-Grass for many weeks, and I knew that Tom Beadle was out of +prison and at work again in his bad way. I determined to seek her out +that very night. I had promised to visit Jimmy Virtue in company with +Robert Truefit. Jimmy had expressed a wish to see us, and he would +most likely be able to tell me where I could find Blade-o'-Grass. +These thoughts occupied but a very few moments in passing through my +mind; and I turned again to Rachel. + +'When I heard poor Blade-o'-Grass,' I said to her, 'speak to her baby, +her voice sounded strangely familiar to me. Yet it seems scarcely +possible that what you and I have in our minds with reference to her +should be more than fancy.' + +But Rachel gently shook her head, and we diverged to other subjects. + +Robert Truefit and I met by appointment, and walked together to Jimmy +Virtue's leaving-shop. Jimmy Virtue was in his parlour, and upon our +entrance he hastily gathered up an old pack of cards, with which he +had been playing. The deal table was bare of cloth, and was smeared +over with chalk figures representing many thousands of pounds. + +'Hallo!' exclaimed Jimmy Virtue; 'there you are! I've been 'avin' a +game of All-fours with Jack.' + +I looked around for Jack, but saw no signs of him. There was but one +tallow-candle burning in the room, and that was stuck in a ginger-beer +bottle and was guttering down. + +'I'll be with you in a minute,' said Jimmy Virtue; 'I've got a bundle +to tie up in the shop.' + +'This is a miserable place to live in,' I said to Robert Truefit when +Jimmy Virtue had left the room. 'Who is Jack?' + +'A shadow,' replied Robert Truefit; 'a shadow of Jimmy's creation, +with whom he plays at cards in his loneliness, and cheats out of +fabulous sums--money, Jack, and all being things of air. Look at the +chalk-score on the table; Jimmy has won more than three thousand +pounds of Jack. Is not truth stranger than fiction, Mr. Meadow? Jack +sits there.' + +Robert Truefit pointed to a chest upon which the imaginary Jack was +supposed to sit while he was being robbed. So dimly-lighted was the +room that I could easily have fancied a shadow was really sitting on +the chest, gazing with lack-lustre eyes upon another shadow in Jimmy +Virtue's chair, where Jimmy Virtue was not. A mournful picture of a +desolate life, I thought. + +Jimmy Virtue appeared to have forgotten us, for Robert Truefit and I +had been ten minutes together, and were not disturbed. + +'Is he attending to customers?' I asked. + +'There's no customer in the shop,' said Robert Truefit, peeping in. +He went into the shop, and I followed him. Jimmy Virtue was standing +at the street-door, muttering to himself. + +'That's the second time I've seed 'im 'ere,' he muttered, 'the second +time this week; but it's been too dark to ketch a good sight of 'is +face. Now, what does he come 'angin' about 'ere for?' + +He was watching the figure of a man who was standing in that part of +Stoney-alley where the deepest shadows lay. + +'Do you know him, Jimmy?' asked Robert Truefit. + +'He's a 'Postle,' replied Jimmy Virtue. + +'An Apostle,' explained Robert Truefit to me. I wondered, not knowing +what meaning might be attached to the word. + +'He calls 'isself a Delegate, but I calls 'im a 'Postle--a 'Postle o' +Liberty. I'd like to ketch a good sight of that there 'Postle's face. +Pff! What's this a-runnin' in my 'ead?' + + +[Illustration] + + +He glared around with his one useful eye, as if shadows were jostling +him on every side; and in a thoughtful mood he accompanied us to the +parlour. There he opened the chest which formed Jack's resting-place, +and diving to the bottom brought up a small wooden box. Without a word +he opened the box, and turned out the contents. 'There's a rum lot o' +things 'ere,' he said, after a long pause, during which he had been +examining the articles, each of which was wrapped in paper, upon which +there was writing. 'All gold and silver things that's never been +called for. I didn't like to part with 'em. 'Ere's a bit o' coral, +'xactly like a foot and leg; this garter round the leg is gold. I lent +fourteenpence on it to a cove as 'ad seen better days--so he told me. +Them better days must ha' been a precious long time afore I set eyes +on 'im! 'Ere's a bit o' jade with a band o' silver on it. That come +from Chiney. 'Ere's a woman's likeness on a broach--enamel, it is a +pretty face! 'tain't so pretty now, I'll be bound! I've 'ad this for +thirty year. 'Ere's a----ah, 'ere it is!' He lighted upon something he +had been seeking for. 'What do you call this, now?' he asked. + +'I should call it a wedding-ring,' said Robert Truefit. + +'So should I. I ain't 'ad many things like what's in this box brought +to me to lend money on. Peddicuts, and gownds, and old boots is more +in my line.' + +He replaced all the things in the wooden box with the exception of the +wedding-ring, which he put in his pocket. + +'Now, then, Jimmy,' said Robert Truefit, 'tell us what you wanted to +see us about.' + +'Well, you know that place they calls Paul's-buildin's. It's been +empty ever so long, and there's a large 'all in it.' + +'I know it, Jimmy.' + +'Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. The 'all's been +taken for twelve bob a week by some fellers as 'as formed theirselves +into a society called the Workin'-man's League--a society as is goin' +to stick up for workin'man's rights and all that sort o' thing. And +what do you think they've painted on the door. Bob? Why, The Temple o' +Liberty! And this feller as comes 'angin' round 'ere to-night calls +'isself a Delegate. _I_ calls 'im a 'Postle. It sounds better, don't +it? 'Im and 'is mates meets three times a week at the Temple o' +Liberty to take in members at tuppence a 'ead, and to collar +subscriptions. Lord! they'd collar anythink, sich fellers as them! +They do a pretty good stroke o' business altogether, I should say.' + +'If Jimmy's not mistaken,' observed Robert Truefit to me, 'these are +some of the men who live by the trade. But what makes you so +interested in this one particular man, Jimmy?' + +'I'd rather not say jist now, Bob. But I did ketch jist a glimpse of +'is face, and if I'm right, I've seed it afore. Per'aps I _am_ right; +per'aps I ain't. Any'ow this ain't the time to speak, 'cordin' to my +judgment, till I'm more settled about it. There's a big meetin' next +week at the Temple o' Liberty, and there'll be some tall speechifyin', +I daresay. I'll 'ave a good look at that there 'Postle's face then. +Will you go, Bob? and you, sir? This is a sort o' thing as ought to be +looked into. If I was a workin'-man like Bob, I shouldn't be satisfied +without I 'ad a finger in the pie--though there's nothin' good to be +got out of it, mind you, unless you're a 'Postle! And if I was a +parson, I'd think it my duty to 'eer what they've got to say for +theirselves.' + +We promised to accompany Jimmy Virtue to the meeting; and then I asked +him if he knew where Blade-o'-Grass lived. He went into Stoney-alley +with us, closing has shop-door, and pointed out the house. + +'She's got a room on the third floor,' he said; 'she went into it last +week. They about like birds, them gals do; it seems as they can't rest +nowhere. But they allus comes back to the old spot! She was born about +'ere, and it's my opinion she'll die about 'ere. What are you goin' to +do, Bob? + +'I shall stop here until Mr. Meadow's visit is paid. Nay, sir,' he +said, seeing that I was about to attempt to dissuade him, 'I shall +wait for you. Our roads home are same, and perhaps you will allow me +to walk part of the way with you.' + +'I shall go,' said Jimmy Virtue, 'and smoke a pipe outside The True +Briton's Delight. I've got the lonelies on me to-night, and Jack's not +allus the best o' company; gits stupid like, and 's got no go in 'im. +You'll see me there as you pass.' + +I walked up the dark stairs until I came to the third floor, and +knocked at the door of the only room in which there was a light. +Blade-o'-Grass came to the door, and opened it. She curtseyed when she +saw me, and asked me to come in. There was some anxiety in her face, +but this was no new phase in her. I asked after the child. + +'It's that as troubles me, sir,' she said. 'Come and look at it.' + +The child was lying on the bed, with its eyes closed. Blade-o'-Grass +touched her, and she opened her eyes; but there was no sign of +recognition in her face, and no smile or look of gladness as the +mother leaned over her. The expression was one of settled +mournfulness; it appeared to me as if neither pain nor joy could +affect it. + +'She's been like this, sir,' whispered Blade-o'-Grass, 'for nigh on a +week, and I don't know what to make of it. She lays there for hours +without movin' and without speakin'. She don't complain a bit; but it +can't be right, can it, sir? Speak to me, my life! Speak to me!' + +But the child made no response to these and other endearing words; a +mournful lethargy had fallen upon her, and she lay like one in a +trance. + +'She takes her food?' + +'Yes, sir, but not much; she don't seem to care for it. She don't arks +for none.' + +'Has any doctor been to see her?' + +'I've got no money, sir.' + +I knew of a doctor of fair repute who was popular among the poor, and +whose charge was eighteenpence a visit, with medicine included. I gave +Blade-o'-Grass three shillings, and told her it would pay for two +visits. She thanked me with tears in her eyes, and said that she would +run for the doctor immediately I was gone. + +'I wish to say a few words to you first, my dear; I will not detain +you long.' + +She placed a chair for me, and stood before me. + +'Where is Tom?' I asked. + +'I don't know, sir; I ain't seed 'im all day.' + +'It is about him I wish to speak, Blade-o'-Grass.' + +She looked distressed; but I was not to be discouraged. + +'Is it not possible,' I continued, 'for him to get a living in any +other way than the way he does?' + +''Ow do I know, sir? I think Tom 'd do anythink to earn a pound a +week. A pound a week! 'Ow 'appy we should be then! But 'ow's he to do +it, sir? Tell us the way, sir.' + +'Nay,' I said, 'he must find the way himself----' + +She interrupted me impatiently. 'If I didn't know as you was a good +friend to me, sir, I should think as you was mockin' of me, like the +others. Don't you say it all over agin, sir!' she entreated, with a +nervous movement of the hands. 'It makes me sick and mad-like! I've +'eerd it a 'underd times afore, and every time I arks which way we're +to turn, I'm told that we've got to find out the way for ourselves.' + +She looked towards her child, and I saw that she was anxious to go for +the doctor. It would have been cruel to continue the theme then; but I +could not leave her without carrying out my intention. I asked her if +she had ever been to church. + +'Once,' she answered. + +'Only once!' I said sadly. 'That's all, sir; I never went agin. I +stood near the door while the bells was ringin'. I like to 'eer them +bells; they rest me like, and it was them as drawed me on. A lot o' +fine people was comin' along the streets all round, and goin' in +while I stood there. Some on 'em looked 'appy, 'specially the gals as +was about the same age as me; but some on 'em looked orfle glum, +as if they knowed they was bad uns, and was goin' to be preached +to!--beggin' your pardon, sir. Some of the ladies was dressed +beautiful, and more nor one on 'em 'eld their gownds away from me as +they parsed, for fear I should 'ave spoiled 'em by touchin' 'em. One +lady in lavender silk pulled 'er two little gals away because they was +close to me, and looked at me as much as to say that I'd got no +business to be there. No more I 'ad, sir, I know. I remember them +things, sir. All the people got in, and the bells stopped, and then I +thought 'ow I should like to go in too. It took a deal o' courage to +push open the door, and my 'eart was in my mouth when I did it; but +that was nothin' to what come arterwards. When I was inside, I thort I +should ha' dropped down with fright, a lot on 'em stared at me so +'ard-like; and what with that and the place bein' so grand, I turned +all over like a jelly. Then a big man comes up to me, lookin' very +stern and solemn. I thort he was a-goin' to give me in charge, and I +was goin' to cry out and beg 'im not to, when he clapped 'is 'and on +my mouth, and put me somewhere where I couldn't see nothink, and where +I could only 'eer a drummin' in my ears like a lot o' flies, except +when the people was a-singin'. But I was frightened all the while, and +when the doors was throwed open, I run out as fast as I could, for +fear somethin' 'd be done to me. I never went no more; it seemed to me +as if I'd no right to go.' + +'Do you know where my church is, child?' + +'No, sir.' + +I wrote the address on a piece of paper, and gave it to her. + +'I can't read, sir,' she said, with a flush in her cheeks. + +I begged her pardon, and told her the name of the church, and the +street it was in. 'If you will come there, my dear, next Sabbath, I +shall be glad to see you. And don't think you have no right there! You +have as much right as the best-dressed lady in the church.' + +She thanked me, and said she would come because I had been good to +her. + +'And bring Tom,' I said. + +She shook her head. 'I don't think Tom'll come, sir.' + +'Not for your sake?' I asked. + +'Tom'll do almost anythink for me,' she said, tears gathering in her +eyes. + +'Do you know,' I said very gently, 'that living as you are living now +with Tom gives great pain to your friends?' + +She bit her lips rebelliously, and put on her dogged look. + +'And that it is wrong in the sight of God?' + +There was no softening of the dogged look; it hardened rather. + +'And,' I continued, 'there is so simple and so good a way of atoning +for this wrong--a way that will bring Tom nearer to you, that will +bind him closer to you. If, as you say, Tom will do anything for you, +ask him to marry you.' + +The dogged look vanished; joy, wonder, took its place. + +'Marry me!' she exclaimed softly. 'O Tom, if you would! if you would, +Tom!' + +'Is there any doubt of it?' + +'I never arksed 'im, sir! I never arksed 'im!' + +'Well, dear child, ask him now, and let me know.' + +'Won't it cost money, sir? she asked anxiously. + +'But little; and that little I will find.' + +She held out her hands to me in thankfulness. She had learned to trust +me. + +'I'll arks Tom, sir. Though, mind!' she said, out of the noble +chivalry of her nature; 'nothink that Tom can do can bring me nearer +to 'im, or make 'im stick closer to me! But I'll do it, sir, because +you think it's good, and because I think, too, it might be righter +so.' She turned with a newborn joy in her face, and knelt by the bed, +and as I went out of the room, I heard her whisper to her child, +'Baby! baby! me and Tom's goin' to git married! Ain't you glad, baby?' + + +Robert Truefit was waiting for me in Stoney-alley. + +'I am glad you have come at this moment,' he said, as we walked out of +the alley. 'You see those two men before us? One is Tom Beadle, and +the other is the Delegate who roused Jimmy so strangely to-night.' + +'They are not walking together; they do not seem to be acquainted.' + +'No; but supposing this one to be an Apostle of Liberty, and that one +a thief, it is well that they should be strangers.' + +Their destination, however, was the same. They both paused before the +door of The True Briton's Delight, and both entered the building, +which was a triumph of architecture, with its gay decorations and +pillars. The light that came from this bad palace was dazzling. + +'A bright coffin,' observed Robert Truefit, 'for virtue and morality.' + +Jimmy Virtue was leaning against one of the lamp-posts opposite the +public-house, smoking his pipe. + +'I've been thinkin', Bob,' he said, with reflective puffs, 'as I've +been standin' watchin' the people go in and out, that this 'ere free +and 'lightened country of our'n's crammed full o' Temples o' Liberty.' + +'Crammed full of them!' exclaimed Robert Truefit, humouring his +friend. 'Why, what kind of places, Jimmy?' + +Jimmy Virtue extended his pipe in the direction of the True Briton's +Delight. + +'Them kind o' places,' he said. + +Robert Truefit laughed. 'And where on earth, Jimmy, in those temples +is liberty to be found?' + +'At the bottom o' pewter pots,' replied Jimmy Virtue, with a flourish +of his pipe. 'And the persevering way the free and 'lightened Briton +searches for it in them pewter pots is a 'stonishing thing. Bob--a +very 'stonishing thing!' + + + + IX. + + OPEN YOUR EYES, BABY! SPEAK TO ME! LOOK AT MOTHER, MY LIFE! + + +I looked in vain from my pulpit on the following Sabbath for Tom +Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass, but they were not in church. I had +introduced into my discourse on that day certain words applicable to +the beauty and holiness of the marriage tie--words which I had +designed especially for those two humblest members of my congregation, +and which I had hoped they would have understood and appreciated. It +pained me not to see them, and I was sure that some special +circumstance had prevented Blade-o'-Grass at least from attending. I +had promised to take a cup of tea with Ruth and her husband after the +evening service, and if anything could have made me forget for the +time the sorrow which oppressed me, it would have been the peaceful +happiness which pervaded their bright and modest home. But the image +of Blade-o'-Grass was too strongly fixed in my mind to be forgotten, +and in the course of the evening my fancy placed that image by the +side of Ruth, as the latter, with all a mother's love in her face, sat +rocking the cradle with her foot. It was a terrible contrast, and I +strove to banish the fancy; but it refused to leave my mind's eye. Let +me, I thought, strive at all events to give it a more pleasing +colouring. Ruth was dressed in a brown-stuff gown, and she had a piece +of pink ribbon round her neck; she wore dainty white collar and cuffs, +and her hair was done up in a simple knot. Merely to look at her as +she sat rocking the cradle in which her baby was sleeping created that +Home feeling to which all the humanising influences of life are due. +In my fancy now I gave Blade-o'-Grass such a dress and such cuffs and +collar; I placed the piece of ribbon round her neck, and arranged her +hair in similar fashion; and then I placed her by the side of Ruth. It +was wonderful; they were of the same height, and the colour of their +hair and eyes was the same. But the look of peaceful happiness which +dwelt in the face of Ruth was wanting in the face of Blade-o'-Grass. I +gave the poor girl this; I banished the anxiety and sorrow from her +face, and the likeness was perfect. As I gazed upon the picture, +half-real, half-ideal, the sound of Ruth singing softly to her baby +stole upon my ear, and the little tricks and turns of the voice which +Nature varies in her myriad children with such marvellous skill as to +make each distinctive in itself, or assimilative only where ties of +blood exist, brought to me the voice of Blade-o'-Grass speaking to +_her_ child. I started to my feet to dispel the illusion, and bade +Ruth and Charley good-night, for fear I might be tempted to disturb +their happiness by even a mention of my thought. + +It was a wintry night, and the snow was falling. I had other visits to +make in pursuance of my duties, and it was quite eleven o'clock by the +time I had completed my rounds. At that hour I was crossing the +wonderful piece of road which connects the Mansion House with the +Royal Exchange, and I bustled along briskly to keep myself warm. I was +in the open space in front of the Royal Exchange, and I was walking +towards Leadenhall-street, when a woman hurriedly approached me from +that direction. She came almost abruptly to my side, and, with a +reckless movement of her body, in which every limb seemed to take its +part, was about to accost me, when, as I turned my face towards hers, +she uttered a suppressed cry of terror, and flew round the corner +which leads to Threadneedle-street. I had not seen the woman's face, +but the cry told me who she was. Shocked and surprised I ran after +her, and, in her endeavour to escape me, the poor wandering soul fell +upon the ground at the foot of the statue of one of America's greatest +philanthropists. Even in that moment of trouble, the coincidence +struck me as singular, and in the fleeting glance of admiration I cast +upon the statue the thought flashed upon me that it would have been +more charitable, and would have shown more true benevolence, had the +vast sums the philanthropist gave to the poor of London been expended +less after the fashion of a commercial speculation. That the merciful +intentions of the testator--whose kind heart must have been filled +with pity for the unmerited sufferings of the poor, and with a desire +to relieve them--have been made to miss their mark by the manner in +which the trust has been administered, there is, in my mind, not a +shadow of a doubt. + +'Blade-o'-Grass!' I exclaimed pityingly, and I stooped to raise the +writhing form at my feet. + +But she shrank from me and repulsed me with her hands; and bade me, in +a desperate voice, to go, for the Lord's sake! and leave her to +herself. + +'Nay, dear child,' I said, 'I cannot leave you. Tell me what brings +you out on such a night as this.' + +'Don't arks me!' she cried, with a wild movement of her hands. 'O, my +God! don't arks me. O, if I could die this minute, and take my child +with me! O, if we could die together, the pair on us!' + +She looked up to the dreary sky with a face as white as the falling +snow. Never in my life had I witnessed such passion, such utter +prostration of soul, and my heart bled for her--and bled the more as I +observed her scanty clothing and the miserable coverings she wore on +her feet. And then there came to me again the fancies I had raised +concerning Blade-o'-Grass but a couple of hours ago in Ruth's cheerful +room. The reality was before me, in all its naked truth. What a +reality! Stone-deaf, blind, dumb, and utterly senseless to stern +preaching and mild exhortation; to the torrent of words which +comfortably-good creatures listen to from lip-philanthropists who, by +some strange mental jugglery, really believe that they are doing good; +to the raising of voices calling upon the fallen to turn and repent; +to statistics which prove so much and do so little. Only to be +affected, only to be sensibly touched, only to be altered for the +better by the angelic wand of practical benevolence, which sees, +pities, and at once wisely relieves. I knew and recognised that it was +from no fault of hers that this poor girl had fallen so low. _Had_ +fallen! no; she was born fallen, and had been kept so. There was no +road open for her to traverse which would lead to pleasanter paths. +Gardens and fair places she had seen, doubtless, and her soul must +have yearned to them with sickening desire, but they were on far-off +hills, and the gates that led to them were shut for such as she. As +she lay before me now, looking upward to the sky, no fair places shone +for her. Every principle of goodness, the exercise of which brings us +present peace and future bliss, seemed to point at her in bitter +mockery. The reward that waits on worthy endeavour--how could she hope +to win it? The blessing that attends on a pure life--how could she +hope to gain it? Despair and desolation surrounded and encompassed +her. What words I used to comfort her, I do not remember; but I know +that two quarters of the hour had chimed from the solemn bells--doubly +solemn in my ears at this momentous time, and in hers also, for when +they struck we both paused to listen--before she grew calmer and could +speak with coherence; and then only was I able to draw from her lips +an explanation of her terrible distress. + +Her child was perilously ill. She had spent the money I gave her for +the doctor, as I had directed. She thought her dear was a little +better after the first visit, but the doctor had told her yesterday +the child must have nourishing food, or he could give no hopes for it. +What kind of nourishing food? she had asked. A little port wine, +arrowroot, and jelly, was the answer. She repeated these last words +bitterly. 'Threepence-ha'penny was all that we 'ad in the place, and +there warn't a blessed thing in the room that we could ha' raised +fourpence upon. What was I to do? I went on so about it to Tom that he +said last night, "Keep up your pluck, old gal; I'll go and make a +rise."' Nerved to daring deeds, as I understood, and determined to get +money somehow, Tom Beadle left Blade-o'-Grass with a kiss; 'and I've +never set eyes on 'im since!' There was but one inference--the usual +one--to be drawn from his absence; he had been taken up again by the +police. In the mean time the condition of the child was growing more +perilous every hour. 'She never complained once, sir; if she'd ha' +cried it'd ha' been a relief to me I think, but she never opened 'er +lips, the pretty dear; and there she's been a-layin' all the day, with +'er eyes wide open, _lookin' at somethin' as I couldn't see!_ When it +got dark, sir, I 'adn't a farthin' in my pocket, and there wasn't a +bit o' bread nor a drop o' milk in the cupboard. And all the while I +kep' on thinkin' that my dear was a dyin', and that if I could get 'er +a little jelly or a cup of arrerroot, she would git better. It drove +me a'most mad, sir, but I tried to keep up my 'eart by thinkin' that +Tom per'aps 'd come in directly, and make it all right. I 'ad a little +bit o' candle left, and I lighted it, so that I might watch my dear's +face; but it only lasted about a hour and then it went out. I laid +down by my dear's side, and took 'er in my arms to warm 'er; she never +spoke or moved, sir; 'er 'eart beat, that was all. I felt 'er eyes +with my fingers, and they was still wide open. I began to git +frightened. What was it my dear was a-starin' at, and could she see it +even in the dark? Well, sir, I laid so for a long time, until I fell +asleep. 'Ow long I slep', sir, I can't tell, but when I woke up, my +dear was moanin'--not cryin', sir, but moanin'. I tried to coax 'er to +speak to me, but she didn't seem to know that 'er poor mother was by +'er side, and she never answered a word, but went on moanin'. O, sir! +as I laid there in the dark listenin' to my dear, I thought I should +ha' gone out of my mind! And then 'er poor 'ands--they're nothink but +skin and bone, sir!--begun to wander about, and it seemed to me that +she was searchin' and arksin' for somethin' to eat. What _could_ I do, +sir? what could I do? I run out to Mr. Wirtue's, but 'is place was +shut; per'aps he'd ha' given me somethink, but I couldn't find 'im. +Then I went back to my dear, and stood in the dark, fightin' with +myself, and with sich thoughts comin' over me as made me 'ot and cold. +I daren't tell you what they was, sir--I 'ardly know myself, but I +feel that to be dead's better than them! And in the middle of it all, +my dear's voice changed, and I knew that the tiger was tearin' at 'er. +It was tearin' at me, too, and, with the fear of my dear's death +starin' me in the face, I run out of the 'ouse. I didn't know where I +was goin'. I wanted money--food for my dear! I think I was mad! And +that's the way I met you. It's God truth, sir, every word of it!' + +This was the story that, with sobs and gasps and many pauses for +passion which she could not control, Blade-o'-Grass told me. I +breathed a prayer of thankfulness that I was by her side in this awful +crisis of her life. I felt that practical relief must be given at +once. To leave her to her own resources in such a moment of terrible +desperation would have weighed on my soul like a sin which could never +be washed away. I looked around upon the bleak night; not a footfall +was to be heard. The snow was turning to sleet; the streets were +deserted; every door was closed. + + +[Illustration] + + +As I was considering what was best to be done, the bells began to +chime again. It was twelve o'clock, and the Sabbath was at an end. +From far and near the iron tongues, in solemn muffled tones, +proclaimed the commencement of a new week's toil. For a few moments +the air was filled with sound, and it would scarcely have surprised me +to feel that the sleeping millions were suddenly aroused--to hear the +din, the roar, the rattle of the roads--to see the anxious faces +flashing all around me, and the streets peopled with the throngs that +struggle this way and that, and contribute to the sum of the busy +world. But with the last faint echo of the bells the fancy vanished; +the night was more lonely and desolate than before, and Blade-o'-Grass +was turning from me in despair. + +'Come with me,' I said. + +'Let me be!' she cried hoarsely. 'My child's starvin', and I'm goin' +to get food for it--some'ow--or die in the streets!' + +'I am going to help you. I am going to get food for you and your +child.' + +She grasped my hand with a convulsive movement, and sobs of hysterical +joy escaped from her. But weakness and the revulsion of feeling +overcame her, and she would have fallen to the ground again but for my +support. By good fortune I heard the wheels of a cab. + +'Can you keep up for a moment or two?' I whispered to her +hurriedly. 'Take hold of these rails; they will support you. That's +right--that's right! Do not stir till I return. I may be able to stop +that cab, and it will take us to my place, where we can get food. +Think of your child, and gather strength.' + +I left her clinging to the rails and I ran after the cab, and hailed +it. The driver drove on, shaking his head. But I ran by the side of +the horse and entreated him so earnestly that he stopped. He said he +was wet to the skin and tired out, and that he wanted to tumble into +bed. But when he heard my rapidly-told story, and that the life of a +little child might be saved or sacrificed by him, he hesitated not a +moment. + +Blade-o'-Grass was somewhat better and stronger when I returned to +her, and we drove quickly to my lodgings. There I armed myself with +candles, with what food there was in my cupboard, and with a little +brandy which I fortunately had by me. Back to Stoney-alley we drove +swiftly. On the road I urged Blade-o'-Grass to eat. She could not, she +said; it would choke her if she tried. + +'I can't go down this alley, sir,' the driver said, pulling up; 'it's +too narrow.' + +We alighted, and I paid the man his fare. He fumbled the money in his +hand; hesitated; looked doubtfully at it. + +'I hope you will think it enough,' I said. It was all the money I had +about me. + +With a rough tenderness he answered, 'I beg your pardon, sir; but I'd +like to----' and he held sixpence towards Blade-o'-Grass. + +'I will give it to her,' I said. 'God bless you!' + +I shook hands with him, and he jumped on his box and rattled away, +whistling his loudest. + +We walked through the dark alley, unlighted by a single lamp, into the +house, and up the dark stairs. The house contained many inhabitants, +and we heard their breathing as we shuffled quietly along. When we +reached Blade-o'-Grass's room, she paused at the door and listened. + +'My dear's not moanin' now,' she whispered gladly. 'Per'aps she's +asleep. We're a-comin', my dear, we're a-comin'! We've got somethin' +nice to eat!' + +By the time I lit a candle, I saw that Blade-o'-Grass had crept to the +bed and was bending over her dear. She raised the child tenderly in +her arms. I mixed a little brandy-and-water in a broken cup and +approached them. + +''Ad we better wake 'er? asked Blade-o'-Grass. I nodded. 'Baby! baby!' +she cried. + +She looked at me for a moment with a struggling fear in her eyes. + +'Baby, my dear! 'Ere's somethin' nice for you! We're goin' to send the +tiger to sleep; it sha'n't 'urt you any more. Baby! She don't answer +me! For gracious God's sake, sir, come 'ere! Quick! Baby! my love, my +'eart! Mother's a-callin' to you. Open your eyes! Speak to me! Look at +mother, my life!' + +The fear in her eyes grew stronger, spread over her face and turned it +deathly white. With a wild shudder she tore the child from the bed, +and pressing her to her breast, turned to me with a look so agonising +and despairing as blanched my face to the whiteness of hers. + +'What's this!' she muttered piteously. 'For the good Lord's sake, tell +me what is this?' She passed her hand over her child with swift and +fierce tenderness, and with a scream that must have made terrible the +dreams of the sleepers, cried, 'The tiger! the tiger! The tiger's +killed my child! O, my 'eart, my life!' and fell to the ground, +clasping her dear closer to her heart, and rocked to and fro in an +agony of passionate ungovernable grief. + +Alas! alas! The child, on whose face I had never seen a smile, had +died during the mother's absence, and the tiger that had been the +curse of her life would never more disturb her. Never more! Never +more! + + + + X. + + NO, NO! BORN IN LOVE! IN LOVE! + + +I was busy writing on the following morning when Mr. Merrywhistle +called upon me. + +'You look tired,' he said. + +I told him that I had been up all night with Blade-o'-Grass, and that +her child was dead. He being her nearest and most faithful friend, I +related to him the circumstance of my meeting Blade-o'-Grass on the +previous night, and all that followed. The good old man shed tears, +and was sincerely grieved. + +'Can I do anything?' he asked. + +'You can do a great deal,' I answered. 'There is the burial of the +child.' + +'I will see to that,' he interrupted; 'and the poor child shall be +buried decently.' + +This was a weight off my mind, for I knew by his words and his manner +that he intended to defray the charges of the funeral out of his own +purse; mine unfortunately was empty. I pressed his hand. + +'Heaven forgive me for saying it,' he said, wiping the tears from his +eyes, 'but it is a happier fate for the poor little thing to die, than +to live as her mother has lived.' + +Then, I told him, there was the mother herself to look after. + +'I should not have remained with her so long, for I needed rest; but +it was impossible for me to leave her. If she were left to herself and +her thoughts, I am afraid that something bad would happen. Jimmy +Virtue is with her now, and will remain until I send some one to +relieve him, or go myself.' + +'Jimmy is a good fellow,' said Mr. Merrywhistle, rising, 'but he's as +poor as a church mouse, and must attend to his business. I will see to +the poor girl, and when I am absent I will get some woman in the house +to look after her. There, there! make your mind easy till tomorrow, +and go to bed early tonight.' + +I felt much relieved, and I rose the next morning thoroughly refreshed +in mind and body. As early in the day as I could I walked towards +Stoney-alley. On my way I met Mr. Merrywhistle. I asked him after +Blade-o'-Grass. He shook his head gravely, and said, + +'I was anxious to see you about her. It is with her just as you +described. If she were left to herself she would do something +desperate.' + +'Has Tom Beadle come home?' + +'No, and I have heard nothing of him. His presence might arouse her +from the awful melancholy which has fast hold of her. It is dreadful +to see. She has not spoken a word since you left, and it is with the +greatest difficult that the woman I have employed has induced her to +touch food; I am sure she has not eaten sufficient to keep life in +her. She sits by her dead child, looking at it with a blank look in +her eyes that almost freezes my blood to see. Sometimes she turns her +head, and gazes into one particular corner of the room, with a gaze so +fixed and steadfast that I have half expected--I am very nervous, my +dear sir--to see something start out of the wall.' + +'She told me on the night I met her by the Royal Exchange, that her +baby lay all the day with her eyes wide open, staring at something she +couldn't see. She laid great stress on the words. Perhaps she is +trying to discover what it was the poor child was gazing at.' + +'I have been thinking, my dear sir----' + +'Yes,' I said, gently, for he had paused. + +----'That if you were to speak to her, not simply as a friend who is +interested in her bodily welfare, but as a minister----' + +'I understand you. Such thought was in my own mind. I have not +forgotten my duty, believe me.' + +Upon entering the room where the dead and the living lay, I saw at a +glance that Mr. Merrywhistle had indeed well discharged his duty. It +was cleaner and tidier than I had yet seen it. One or two humble and +necessary pieces of furniture had been added, and on the window there +was a clean white muslin blind, edged with black ribbon. The dead +child was on the bed, with a white sheet over it, and Blade-o'-Grass +was lying on the ground, with her hand beneath the sheet embracing the +body. I motioned the woman in attendance from the room; she went +softly, and I closed the door behind me. As I stood with the handle in +my hand, I heard a knock. I opened the door, and saw one of the +lodgers--a tail, gaunt woman, with a decided moustache--with a yellow +basin in her hand. She dropped a curtsey. + +'I've brought a little mutton broth for Blade-o'-Grass,' she said. +'Mind! It's 'ot!' + +I thanked her, and taking the basin from her laid it aside. Then +closing the door again, I approached Blade-o'-Grass, and placed my +hand on her shoulder. She gazed at me with no sign of recognition, and +turned her face again towards her child. I bent over the clay +tenderly. The child looked well in death. Never in its life had its +face worn so peaceful an expression. I sat on a chair beside the +hapless mother, and spoke to her of that other and better life into +which her child had entered; I spoke to her of the goodness of the +all-beneficent God, of the comprehensive love which He, who watches +over all His children, bears to the meanest of them. But my words +touched her not; she made no movement in response to them, but sat +motionless, with hopeless eyes fixed upon the child. I did not dare +attempt to arouse her attention by sternness. Every word that came +from my lips seemed to me to be dissolved into gentle utterance by the +intense mother's love, which closed the door upon all outward +sympathy. And still I continued, + +'Think,' I said, in my most earnest tones, 'think but for a moment +Cast your thoughts from your own misery and your own unhappiness, and +let them dwell wholly and solely upon your child.' + +A gleam that faintly expressed scornful wonder passed into her eyes. I +hailed even that faint sign with gladness. + +'The mother's love that dwells so strongly in your breast, is it as +sweet as it should be, is it as perfect as it should be, if it blind +you to the happier lot that lies before your child, and make you +regardless of it? Love in its perfect form is shown in unselfishness. +Are you unselfish in your grief? While your child lived you found your +happiness and your consolation in her. But was she happy? Carry your +thoughts to the many times that you saw her in pain, that she suffered +hunger, that she cried because of the tiger that tormented her----' + +A shiver passed over the form of Blade-o'-Grass; her stony gaze +relaxed, and I saw that I had aroused her attention. + +'----And think if a happier lot lies before her, as it does, if even +now the power is given to her, by the wisdom and the goodness of God, +to comprehend and be grateful for the love which has filled your heart +from her birth--think but for a moment, if this be so, As It Is! +whether you should not rather rejoice than mourn? By doing this you +would show love in its most perfect form of unselfishness. All her +pain is gone, all her sufferings have passed away, and the tiger is +stilled for ever. Yes, this child, born in sin,'---- + +'No, no!' cried Blade-o'-Grass, in a piercing tone of anguish, +springing to her feet, and pleading for her lost child in the strong +agony of her soul. 'Born in love! In love--in love!' + +'Born in love,' I said sadly, 'and yet in sin'---- + +'I didn't know,' she sobbed, sinking again to the foot of the bed. +''Ow could I know; and 'ow could baby know? O, don't be 'ard on baby! +O, my 'eart, my life! O, baby, baby!' + +The mere utterance of the word so overwhelmed her, that for a time she +was blind and deaf to all around her. Dark clouds encompassed her; she +was conscious of nothing but the overpowering grief which was born of +love; all else was blotted out from her comprehension. She and her +dead baby were alone, distinct from every thing in nature. Divine +sympathy for her touched her not; human love for her touched her not +She did not ask for them; she did not know the good that lay in them. +All that she desired, all that she yearned for, was her baby, and with +that dear soul of her soul and heart of her heart in her arms, she +would be content to wander into the Oblivion where peace was, where no +gnawing hunger was, where no unkind looks were, where no pain was. In +that Oblivion only one thing could live--her love for her baby. + +I waited until she was calmer, and could heed my words. + +'Your child is purified by its death. In the better life that lies +beyond this, all her troubles, all her unconscious shame, all her +sufferings are washed away and forgotten. Ah, my dear! think of it and +be grateful for the Divine compassion that has brought peace to her +suffering soul. She waits for you in the better land to reward you for +your love; and until the Divine Hand is laid upon you, and calls upon +you to join her there, let it be your consolation to know that she has +been spared the misery that has fallen to your lot.' + +She echoed wonderingly, with overflowing eyes, + +'The better land that lays beyond this! She waits for me in the better +land! Tell me.' + +Then, in words as plain as I could find, I spoke to her of those +Divine truths, of that Divine hope, without a belief in which our +lives would be dark indeed. + +'And the tiger!' she cried. 'Is the tiger with her? For the Lord's +sake don't tell me that the tiger is with her there!' + +These and other questions I had to answer to her satisfaction, and +gradually, gradually the expression of stony despair left her +features, and into her eyes there stole a softened look of hope and +belief. + +'She will see me there!' she sobbed. 'My dear will see me there, and +will smile upon me! I shall 'old 'er in my arms! O, my dear, my dear!' + +She knelt with me by the side of the lifeless clay, and repeated after +me her first prayer, dwelling upon the words slowly and wistfully. +Another voice joined ours in the prayer: Mr. Merrywhistle's; and she, +recognising it, stretched out her hand to that faithfullest of +friends. Side by side we knelt in silence when the prayer was done, +and no sound was heard in the room but the quiet sobs of the bereaved +mother. After a time she turned to me, and, in broken, grateful words, +said that I had done her good. Yes, we had comforted her; thank God we +had comforted her! With what fervent gratitude did I bless the +gracious God for giving us the power of comforting that poor bruised +heart! + +Other comfort was given to her also. The Silvers had been told of the +death, and Mrs. Silver and Rachel came and sat with Blade-o'-Grass. At +first she shrank from Mrs. Silver, but no person could long resist the +gentle tenderness of that good woman. + +'She is truly your friend,' I said. + +'I know it, I know it,' whispered Blade-o'-Grass humbly; 'but I'm +not--not good enough.' + +I repeated these words to Mrs. Silver, and with a beautiful smile she +embraced the poor girl and kissed her. + +'Will you not kiss me, my child?' Mrs. Silver asked. + +The sobs that came from Blade-o'-Grass came from a heart overcharged +with gratitude. But she was most at home with Rachel, and the two +girls sat by the bed, while Mrs. Silver busied herself about the room. +She stopped until the evening, and when she and Rachel were preparing +to go, I saw an imploring look in Blade-o'-Grass's eyes. I stepped to +her side. + +'What is it you want, my dear?' She made no reply, but she looked at +Rachel most wistfully and yearningly. I saw the thought and the wish +that she was too humble to express. + +'Let Rachel stop with her tonight,' I said to Mrs. Silver. + +For one moment only did Mrs. Silver hesitate; her child had never +slept away from her home. + +'Rachel, my dear,' she said, 'will you stop to-night with +Blade-o'-Grass?' + +'O yes!' answered Rachel with cheerful willingness; 'I shall be glad +to stop.' + +With a gasp of joy Blade-o'-Grass caught Rachel's hand, and fondled it +and kissed it again and again. Rachel released her hand, and placed +her arm round Blade-o'-Grass's neck. The head of Blade-o'-Grass +drooped to her breast, but Rachel's was lifted in simple trustfulness +and love. We left to Mr. Merrywhistle the task of seeing to Rachel's +comfort for the night. + +'I shall be here very early in the morning,' said Mrs. Silver, as she +kissed her child. She kissed Blade-o'-Grass again also, and went out +of the room with Mr. Merrywhistle. I lingered behind for a moment or +two. With Rachel's hand in mine I could not help saying to her, + +'You gladden my heart, my dear.' + +She flushed slightly, and trembled. + +'I am glad you are pleased with me, Mr. Meadow. Good-night.' + +'Good-night, my dear.' + +We left Mr. Merrywhistle in Stoney-alley; he expressed his intention +of sleeping in the house, and I saw Mrs. Silver home. + +'How shall I thank you, dear madam,' I said as I stood with her in +Buttercup-square, 'for the confidence you place in me?' + +'Do you know what I have been thinking of as we walked along, Mr. +Meadow?' + +'No.' + +'That it was a fortunate day for me when I wrote to ask you to assist +us in our children's holiday. If it had pleased God to have given me a +son of my own, I should have wished him to resemble you.' + +I cannot resist writing these words here, for they were very pleasant +to me. + +The funeral took place on the Thursday. Rachel, Mrs. Silver, and Mr. +Merrywhistle accompanied Blade-o'-Grass to the last resting-place of +her child. The women brought some winter flowers with them. If +anything could have soothed the heart of Blade-o'-Grass on that +occasion, it was the sight of these flowers, as well as the tender +consideration which lay in the act. Before the lid of the coffin was +nailed down, Blade-o'-Grass, with trembling hands and white lips, +placed some of these flowers in her dead child's hands; her tears +rained upon them as she stooped and kissed the lifeless clay. She did +not raise her head for many moments, and I heard her whisper to her +dear to be sure and wait for her in the better land. I led her from +the coffin, and bade her take heart. + +'I do, sir, I do!' she sobbed. 'I remember every word you said. + +Stoney-alley and the narrow streets through which we wended our way to +the wider thoroughfares were thronged with poor people, and many a +'Lord love you!' came from their lips, and women pressed forward and +asked Rachel, whose arm was round the weeping mother's waist, to shake +hands with them. When we arrived at the churchyard, we found Jimmy +Virtue waiting by the side of the grave. The simple service was soon +ended, and the clay of the poor child was left to peace and God. + + + + XI. + + ONCE UPON A TIME THERE LIVED ON AN ISLAND---- + + +There was a considerable stir in the immediate neighbourhood of the +Temple of Liberty on the night of the great meeting. Paul's-buildings, +now newly christened, was situated in a dimly-lighted narrow street, +and had in its time played many parts. It had been a lecture-hall, a +warehouse for old clothes, a dancing academy, a refuge for 'fat women' +and 'living skeletons,' a home for the tamest of wild beasts; and it +had brought misfortune upon all who had flown to it. It was a moot +point whether the social regenerators who had christened it the Temple +of Liberty would fare better than their predecessors. + +On the night in question, little knots of men hung about the portico, +in which dangled a dejected oil-lamp, the despondent light in which +showed the way to liberty. The ostensible purpose for which the +meeting was to be held was to pass resolutions condemnatory of a +miscarriage of justice in one instance, and of a too-violent carrying +out of the law in another; but it was generally understood that other +and more important matters connected with the position of the working +man were to be brought forward. There was no charge for admission, but +before the proceedings commenced, the Secretary--whom we discovered to +be the Delegate or 'Postle' whose appearance in Stoney-alley had +caused so much mental disturbance to Jimmy Virtue--announced that the +smallest subscription in aid of the defrayal of expenses would be +thankfully received. 'Those who cannot afford more,' he said, 'can +give their ha'penny or their penny in aid of the good cause. We know +how the poor man is ground down, and the smallest subscription is in +our eyes equal to the largest. In the same way,' he added, with a +touch of cunning, 'as the poorest man should be equal to the richest +in the eyes of justice!' 'Equaller!' cried an unreasoning demagogue, +smelling strongly of beer, as he handed in a penny with a flourish, +and with the air of one who, with that copper donation, was giving the +deathblow to a bloated aristocracy. + +'What's that Secretary 'Postle's name?' muttered Jimmy Virtue as he +looked at a small handbill of the proceedings. 'Mark Mallard! H'm! +Mark Mallard.' And then turned his attention to a study of Mark +Mallard's face, which seemed, indeed, to be the principal reason for +Jimmy Virtue's presence on the occasion. + +'You are strangely interested in that secretary, Jimmy,' observed +Robert Truefit. + +'You let me alone,' replied Jimmy Virtue; 'I'm a puzzlin' out +somethin'. I've got my considerin' cap on.' + +And as he was evidently engaged in an intricate mental process, we did +not disturb him. + +The Temple of Liberty held probably nearly two hundred persons, and it +was quite full. We three were among the earliest arrivals, and +occupied the front seat directly facing the platform. I noticed that +there was a large number of decently-clad working men present, some +with earnest faces, who had evidently come with the intention of +arguing matters out in a certain sense fairly. Many members of the new +Working-man's League were also present, and these were prepared to +support their officers through thick and thin. The chief of these +officers and the principal speaker among them was the Secretary, Mark +Mallard, who was voted to the chair. He was a common-looking man +between fifty and sixty years of age, and his face bore strong marks +of a life's discontent of mind; a man, thought I, who would be envious +of his neighbour's ox, but too indolent to work for that which he +envied. The unfavourable opinion I formed of him became strengthened +as I studied the signs in his face: he was evidently an unfit man to +be a leader in any good cause. But he could speak in a fairly-fluent +style and with a certain rough readiness which found favour with many +among his audience. He was not eloquent, but ready-tongued, and from +long practice, as I judged, knew how to make such use of his materials +as would best please the kind of assemblage he was addressing now. He +first proceeded to give a brief account of the establishment in the +neighbourhood of the new Working-man's League, a branch, he said, of a +greater institution which was to set everything right for the working +man--and by the working man he meant the poor man. Throughout the +whole of the proceedings he placed idle poverty and honest labour on +one pedestal, and sought to prove--and did prove to many only too +ready to believe--how the poor man was ground down, oppressed, and +crushed by the 'ruthless' heel of the rich. The Working-man's League +would seek to bring about a different state of things; its aim was to +give the working man the rights which were unlawfully denied to him in +the present condition of things, and to prove that the real power of +the nation lay in labour, and not in capital. This, of course, was +received with cheers. The orator showed no originality either in his +propositions or in his mode of placing them before his hearers; but +they were none the less enthusiastically received on that account. +Fairly sifted and summed up, his utterances amounted to nothing more +than the usual declamation concerning the rich and the poor, and the +atrocious injustice of a state of things which allows one man to have +more money in his purse than another. The old platitudes which cling +to the vexed subject came trippingly off his tongue. If, he said, the +real power of the country lay in labour and not in capital, then +labour should govern the country; but to show the unfairness of +things, and the howl that the moneyocracy raised at the slightest +attempt to set things right, let them bring to mind how, if a working +man tried to get into Parliament, he was hounded down and barked at by +the wealthy classes. Well, if the wealthy classes, and he was sorry to +say the middle classes also, denied justice to the working man, the +time had come for the working man to set up shop for himself. He did +not lose sight of the ostensible purpose for which the meeting was +called. He detailed two instances of the mal-administration of justice +which had gone the round of the papers and had created some noise. + + +[Illustration] + + +There is nothing that so impresses a meeting composed of ordinary +minds, such as this was, as the bringing forward of small facts +which have already been commented on among themselves. One instance +of the miscarriage of justice was where a gentleman-farmer had +flogged a labourer to within an inch of his life, and was punished +for the offence by a fine of five pounds inflicted by another +gentleman-farmer, before whom, as a magistrate, the case was brought. +'What was five pounds to him?' asked the speaker. 'What's five pounds +to the man who has thousands in the bank? Five pounds or three months' +imprisonment! Why, the rich farmer pulled out the money with a grin on +his face, and was heard to say afterwards that what he'd done was the +proper thing to do to such scum--meaning the working man--when they +dared to say they were not well enough paid, and couldn't support a +family on twelve shillings a week. Twelve shillings a week! That was +the sum this agricultural labourer had starved upon--him and his wife +and children--for more than twenty years. And he became a union-man, +and spoke up for his rights; and his master marked him, and nigh +killed him for it. Was that five pounds' fine justice, I should like +to know?' The other instance was that of a labouring man who, under +more aggravating circumstances, had thrashed a gentleman and beat him +severely, and who was put in prison for six months for the offence. +'And while he was in prison,' said the speaker, 'how was his wife to +get bread for her children? After this, will any one dare to say that +there's not one law for the rich and another for the poor? And shall +this state of things be allowed to continue?' + +The recapitulation of these familiar illustrations accomplished more +than could have been accomplished by volumes of rhetoric, and cries of +'No, no!' came from all parts of the hall. + +'The mischief is,' whispered Robert Truefit to me, 'that these +instances are true. See how intent Jimmy is upon our worthy chairman.' + +After the passing of resolutions condemning the judicial decisions in +the strongest terms, other and more daring matter was gone into; and +then I saw plainly, what I had hitherto only suspected, that the +Working-man's League was in reality a republican club (in the shell), +the promoters of which were ready with fiery words to inflame the +minds of the ignorant against all recognised authority. One of the +great points that Mark Mallard made was, that he, like themselves, was +a working man. + +'Look at my clothes; look at my hands! They are the same as yours, and +I have as little money in my pocket, I daresay, as any of you.' + +'Yes,' growled Jimmy Virtue; 'and you're as ready as any on us to be +treated to a pint o' beer.' + +'Order, order!' cried some. + +'Quite as ready to be treated,' said Mark Mallard, with a frown at +Jimmy Virtue, which Jimmy received with a sneer; 'and as ready,' he +added, brightening up, 'to treat when my turn comes. We're rowing in +the same boat, you and me.' ('I'm 'anged if we are!' growled Jimmy +Virtue under his breath.) But Mark Mallard proceeded: 'I'm not being +rowed; I'm rowing, as all of you are; and we'll all row together, and +show our muscle.' + +There was a murmur of approval at this figure of speech; and thus +encouraged, the speaker proceeded. The cunning skill with which he +mingled familiar matters was enough to mislead any but fairly-balanced +minds--royal pensions dating back hundreds of years; manhood suffrage; +attempts to interfere with the poor man's beer; justices' justice; the +price of meat and coals; one man rolling in his carriage while another +starved in rags; bank and other directors who had ruined thousands of +poor families living, after exposure, on the fat of the land; the +starvation price which capital put upon labour, as instanced in the +condition of the agricultural labourers--all these were brought +forward and artfully handled to prove into what a deplorable and +abominable Slough of Despond the Rights of Man had been trodden by +masters and gentlemen. + +During the whole time Mark Mallard was speaking, Jimmy Virtue had +scarcely once removed his eyes from the man's face; and he had openly +expressed his disapproval of the false conclusions drawn by the +speaker. At first Mark Mallard had endeavoured to bully Jimmy Virtue +into silence, but Jimmy Virtue was the last man in the world to be so +bullied, and he expressed his dissent in stronger terms every time the +attempt was made. I noticed that Mark Mallard was gradually drawn to +observe the close manner in which he was being watched by Jimmy +Virtue, and I saw that he grew uneasy and nervous beneath the steady +gaze of my eccentric friend. From that time Mark Mallard took no open +notice of Jimmy Virtue, but nevertheless looked at him stealthily +every now and then. He wound up his most lengthy speech with a +peroration in which the Rights of Man and the boast that he, like +themselves, was a working man, were the two most conspicuous features; +and having resumed his seat amid applause, was wiping his forehead, +when Jimmy Virtue rose suddenly, and said in a loud tone that he +wanted to ask the Delegate a question or two. + +Cries of 'Hear, hear!' and 'No, no!' responded to this announcement; +and the latter, on a secret sign from Mark Mallard to his immediate +supporters, were swelling into a roar, which would have speedily +silenced those who were curious to hear Jimmy Virtue, when Robert +Truefit leaped upstanding on to the bench, and cried, in a ringing +voice which quelled the tumult, + +'Fair play! fair play!' + +The appeal, strengthened by the manly manner in which it was made, was +taken up and indorsed in different parts of the room. In the midst of +this counterbalancing excitement, Robert Truefit leaned down to Jimmy +Virtue, and asked hurriedly, + +'Jimmy, what is it you are about to do? + +'You stick to me. Bob,' replied Jimmy Virtue; 'I know what I'm about +You stick to me, and you'll 'ear somethin' as'll interest you. The +warmint!' His features were working in an extraordinary manner, and +his last two words were intended to apply to Mark Mallard. + +'Look here, mates,' cried Robert Truefit, commanding and compelling +silence by his earnest voice and action, 'we've been called +together to-night to discuss certain matters affecting the working +man. How _can_ we discuss these matters, and arrive at a proper +understanding--and from that point to a proper solution--of the +difficulties which surround us, unless we give fair play to those who +wish to speak? ('Hear, hear, hear! Well said, mate; go on.') 'I _am_ a +working man. My name's Robert Truefit, and I'm a working mason in Mr. +Turner's yard. Some of you know me, perhaps; I think I see a face or +two that I've seen before.' ('You do. Bob, you do. Go it, old fellow! +Fair play! fair play!' And a distinct voice from a gray-haired man in +a corner of the room, saying, 'There ain't a man in London that's got +the real interest of the working man more at heart than Robert +Truefit. And he's got a wife and six children as 'd be a credit to the +best man as ever trod shoe-leather.' This statement elicited cheers +for Robert Truefit, and 'Another for the old woman!' and 'Another for +the kids!' which were given heartily. Then a laughable episode +occurred by Robert Truefit saying, in correction, 'No, mate; I've only +five young ones;' and a voice replying, 'Never mind, old man; you can +soon make it up half a dozen!' A great many who had listened +listlessly to Mark Mallard's platitudes now shifted on their seats, as +if the meeting was beginning to be interesting.) + +'This man here,' continued Robert Truefit, 'who wants to ask Mr. Mark +Mallard a question or two, is a friend of mine. He's a rum 'un to look +at, but he's sound at bottom.' (Cries of 'Let's see him! Let's have a +look at him!') 'Wait a bit. _I_ don't know what he's going to say any +more than you do; but he has told me that he knows what he's about, +and I believe him, as I'd believe anything else he says.' ('Hurrah for +the rum 'un to look at!') 'And now to those who have made up their +minds beforehand not to hear what he has got to say, all I've got to +do with them is to direct their attention to the name of this hall, +written up over the chairman's head. Look at it. "The Temple of +Liberty!" A big name, mates, for such a little room as this, but it +will do if it prove to be what it professes to be. Great things have +been accomplished in little places before to-night; even now, I've no +doubt, busy hands and busy minds are at work in common garrets and +kitchens, and the world will be the better for their labours by and +by, I hope. Let those who wrote "The Temple of Liberty" at the head of +this hall--Mr. Mark Mallard, I presume, is chiefly responsible for +it--take it down if we are not to have a fair hearing.' ('Bravo, Bob! +You're a sound man, you are!') 'I hope so. I cry "Shame" on those who +would deny us a hearing! Why, if there were masters and gentlemen +among us who wanted to be heard, I hope we are manly enough to listen +to them. _Beg_ for fair play, indeed! Why, it's an Englishman's boast +that he makes a clear ring for all who, believing they have right on +their side, have the pluck to stand up for themselves and their +opinions; and we're not to be told to-night that in this respect we +are a nation of liars. Whatever our opinions, however much we may +differ about this and that, we're Englishmen, and we're proud of it! +Shall we, then, scream out--as we do--for liberty of speech, and deny +it to one of ourselves?' + +Robert Truefit had done his work well. From all parts of the room the +cry arose, 'Get on to the platform, mate!' and in obedience to that +request Robert Truefit jumped on to the platform, and assisted Jimmy +Virtue to get up after him. They pulled off their caps, and stood side +by side, facing the meeting. Immediately the people caught sight of +Jimmy Virtue's eccentric face and form, a shout of laughter came from +them, which the cause of it received most good-humouredly. But his +earnestness of purpose was apparent in the midst of the good-humoured +nods with which he responded to the merriment his appearance created. +When silence was restored, Jimmy Virtue said: + +'I want to ask the honourable Delegate a question or two as you'll +see the drift on presently. If he'll 'ave the kindness to step +forward----' + +'Well, here I am,' said the Chairman, rising; 'and now be quick with +your questions, for there's a deal of business to be got through.' + +'Some on us want to be sure,' replied Jimmy Virtue, 'that you're the +proper person to conduct the business; I'm one o' them as wants to be +convinced.' He referred to the handbill. Your name's Mark Mallard.' + +'That's my name. What's yours?' + +'Jimmy Virtue; and it's the name as I was christened by, and I never +'ad no occasion to take no other. Can the honourable Delegate say as +much as that?' + +'What do you mean by this fooling?' blustered Mark Mallard. 'What has +my name to do with the object of this meeting?' + +Some of those present were evidently asking this question of +themselves, but when Jimmy Virtue said excitedly, 'You wait a bit, and +you'll 'eer somethin' as'll open your eyes!' their curiosity became a +check to their impatience. + +'Now,' continued Jimmy Virtue, 'you've talked a good deal about the +Rights o' Man, and you say you're a workin' man yourself. For my part, +I've got a big respect for the Rights o' Man, and I wish with all my +'eart that every man 'ad his rights; though what the world'd do if it +was all rights and no wrongs, it's beyond me to answer. But about +you're bein' a workin' man, Mr. Delegate. What kind o' workin' man? +What's your trade?--that's what I want to know. What's your trade, and +where do you work?' + +Mark Mallard held out his arms to the meeting in remonstrance, and was +about to protest against the introduction of such irrelevant matter, +when Jimmy Virtue stopped him. + +'No; I bar that! No shirkin'. No runnin' away from what I'm a-coming +to. If you're a workin'-man you've got a trade, and you're not one o' +the sort this meeting's come to 'eer if you're ashamed of it.' ('Hear, +hear, mate!') 'There's a 'underd men 'ere as 'd be willin', if they +was asked, to say what their trade is and what shop they work for. And +why'd they be ready and willin' to say? Because they ain't got +nothink to be ashamed on--that's why!' + +But here Mark Mallard called out authoritatively that it was time this +nonsense was put a stop to. 'We are not here to discuss +personalities,' he said; 'we have higher matters in hand. The +condition of the working man has become too serious to be pushed out +of sight by one who is evidently no friend to the good cause. As +chairman of this meeting----' + +'Say Captain,' suggested Robert Truefit quietly. + +'Well, as Captain, if it pleases you better----' + +'It does,' said Robert Truefit, pushing his way to the front again, +'for it fits the story I'm going to tell.' + +'We want no stories,' shouted Mark Mallard; and a few of his followers +took up the cry. + +'A story,' continued Robert Truefit, not heeding the interruption, +'which concerns the business for which we have been called together, +and which concerns I won't say all here, but every honest-minded man I +see before me.' + +The meeting here was convulsed with laughter. Jimmy Virtue, in his +excitement, had taken out his glass eye, and was polishing it +vigorously with his red cotton handkerchief, perfectly unconscious +that he was doing anything extraordinary. + +'Go it, old chap,' cried a number of voices, 'with your one eye!' + +'I can see as far,' retorted Jimmy Virtue, 'with my one eye as you can +with two. And look 'ere, mates. This' (holding up the piece of glass) +'is the only sham thing I've got about me.' + +This hit told well, and when the laughter had subsided there were +calls for Robert Truefit's story. + +'I won't keep you long, mates, and I'll commence after a good +old-fashioned style. Once upon a time there lived on an island a great +number of persons of all stations and degrees. Some were born with +silver spoons in their mouths, some with iron ladles. Some were poor, +some were rich; some idled and lived well; some worked all the working +hours of the day and lived hard. These last were like ourselves, +working men; and whilst they had much to be grateful for, they had +also, no doubt, much to complain of. Many of them were married and had +children; others were courting and on their road to wedlock. The wages +they earned were about the same as we earn--say, from twenty to +forty-five shillings a week--and they found they had as much as they +could do to squeeze out a sufficient and reasonable subsistence for +their families. This pressed heavily upon them, and they began to +murmur at the inequality of things. "We can't enjoy ourselves as we +ought," they said to one another; "we can't afford to eat meat every +day; we can't afford to go to the theatres; we can't afford a holiday; +we can't make any provision for sickness, or for the time when we are +too old to work." These complaints they made, and a hundred others, +many of which were undoubtedly well-founded from their point of +view--and you will agree with me that the point of view which comes +home to their own doors is the only point of view from which nine +hundred and ninety-nine men out of a thousand care to argue, whether +they be rich or poor. Some sensible and straightforward workmen among +them resolved to agitate their grievances in such a manner as to make +things better for their children, if not for themselves. You know, I +daresay, what is the meaning of the Constitution: it is a system of +fundamental principles for the government of rational and social +beings. Well, these men were sensible enough to recognise that the +Constitution by which they were governed, and which was accountable +for the burdens which pressed heavily upon them, was not a creation, +but a growth--a steady gradual growth of many centuries. Let us liken +it to an old and deeply-rooted tree, which by undue favour or by force +of circumstance had grown crooked--but a tree, nevertheless, from +which they drew food and protection. The common sense of these men +told them that desolation and misery would fall upon them if by +violent and sudden means they strove to _force_ the crooked tree +straight. The violent straining of the fibres would weaken them, and +would so destroy the power of reproduction that the tree would not be +able to bear sufficient food for those who lived in the shadow of its +branches. And as to planting another, and expecting it to grow up and +have healthy limbs in a night----well, you know what a foolish +expectation that would have been! "But," they said, "we can sow the +seed for another and a healthier tree, and while it grows we will +wait, and watch, and assist it to the extent of our wisdom, and we'll +work steadily on the while--like men!" There were others who were for +more violent means--with as much reason as would exist in the man who, +having suffered all his life from an internal hereditary disease, goes +abruptly to a physician, and demands a dose of medicine that shall +cure him on the spot. But the sensible men were the most powerful +body, although possibly not the most numerous, and they worked +steadily on, educating their children, and taking advantage of those +aids which their own persistence and the natural advancement of the +times brought to them. In the midst of this, there comes to the island +a ship, and the Captain, convening a meeting of working men, says, "I +am one of yourselves, and I know a means of remedying your grievances. +Sail under my colours, and the oligarchs who monopolise the fat of the +land shall be mown down like chaff. There shall be no waiting! You +shall have as much fresh meat every day as you can eat; you shall have +good clothes always; you sha'n't know what it is to be pinched; you +shall have a man's rights--full measure! And these things shall be +accomplished at once." He spoke confidently and boldly, and his words +were tempting, and made an impression even upon those whose views were +in favour of more temperate action than he advocated. But some among +them asked of themselves, "What is it that we are asked to do?" And +they thought, after all, that there were worse lots than that they had +to bear. Many of their homes were happy, though poor. By their own +firesides they enjoyed the greatest blessings of life. They loved +their wives; they loved their children. They saw these stems of theirs +growing to womanhood and manhood under their loving protection. "If we +stagger," they said to themselves, "they will fall and get hurt." And +we know,' said Robert Truefit, with intense and heartfelt earnestness, +'we who are husbands and fathers--we know how our own hearts bleed +when those who are dear to us suffer! Said these men to themselves, as +they looked around upon other communities and other countries, "Here +is a community that strove to accomplish by force what we are striving +to accomplish by steady and reasonable means. What do we see as the +result? Fire, pillage, murder, civil war; food-fields laid waste, +homes burnt to the ground, families in mourning, lives wrecked! Shall +we bring these things upon ourselves and upon our wives and children?" +But still the captain urged his views. "Well, then," said they, +turning to him'--and Robert Truefit with a startlingly significant +movement turned towards Mark Mallard--'"prove to us at all events that +you are honest--prove to us that you are one of ourselves--that the +name you go by is your own, and has always been your own. Some of us +fear that you have hoisted false colours, and they don't want to sail +under them. Prove to us that our fears are unfounded, and then, when +we are satisfied as to your honesty and integrity, we will give a more +careful attention to the temptations you hold out, and shall be the +better able to judge of their value."' + +Robert Truefit paused, and from the hearty cheers that were given as +he retreated a step and laid his hand on Jimmy Virtue's shoulder, it +was evident that his sentiments were indorsed by the better class of +men in the meeting, and that they would not allow him or his friend to +be put down. Mark Mallard saw that there was no escape for him, and +without the slightest suspicion of the shot Jimmy Virtue was about to +fire, said, in a blustering tone, + +'Now, then, say what you've got to say, and be done with it.' + +'I will,' replied Jimmy Virtue; 'and as you don't seem willin' to say +what's your trade, I won't press you there. I'll just be satisfied +with an answer to two questions, and I'll put 'em both in one breath.' +The "two" men were standing in front of the platform in a line by +themselves, and the eyes of all were upon them. Crooking the +forefinger of his right hand, extending his arm, and bending forward +towards Mark Mallard with an earnestness there was no withstanding, +Jimmy Virtue said, 'Tell this meetin' if you ever lived in a place +they calls Stoney-alley, and then tell 'em what's become of the wife +you left there to starve!' + +Mark Mallard staggered as if shot, and a deathly paleness came into +his face. + +'I knowed it!' cried Jimmy Virtue. 'Look at 'im, mates, look at 'im! I +never set my eyes on a man but what I'd swear to 'im ag'in if there +was fifty year atween! Look 'ere, mates'--(Jimmy's excitement was +wonderful to witness)--'Look 'ere, mates. This man 'as come 'ere and +starts a Temple o' Liberty 'as got no more right to the name of Mark +Mallard than I've got to the name of Tippitiwitchet. Twenty-two year +ago he lived four doors from where my shop is now in Stoney-alley. All +the while he lives there he never does a stroke o' work, but passes +his time in pot-'ouses, drinkin' the beer as is given to 'im freely +because he's got the gift o' the gab, as we've 'eerd to-night. Don't +think, mates, I'm agin a poor man 'avin 'is beer; I ain't one as 'd +rob 'im of it. I'm _for_ it! though I do believe at the same time +that the poor man makes a sight too much of it--a blessed sight too +much--as if 'is liberty and the whole blessed constitootion depended +on it! Well, this man goes about pot-'ouses talkin' o' the Rights o' +Man and leavin' 'is wife to starve. He pawns every blessed thing of +'er'n he can lay 'is 'ands on--she's 'eavy in the family-way, mind +you!--he pawns 'er weddin' ring, and 'ere it is. I lent 'im money on +it myself. And a week afore 'is wife's confined; he carries out the +Rights o' Man, and makes a end of 'em, so to speak, by cuttin' away, +and leavin' 'er without a loaf o' bread, or as much as 'd buy one! +Nothin' more 's 'eerd of _'im_; 'is wife she's confined with twins, +and dies a week arterwards from sorrer and starvation. And I put it to +you, mates,--I put it to you, whether a mean thief like 'im is the +proper sort o' man to set up a Temple o' Liberty and to come preachin' +to us about the Rights o' Man!' + +It is impossible to describe the storm of agitation that ensued; I +know that the men present, stirred to honest indignation, would have +dealt violently with Mark Mallard if they could have laid hand on him; +but by strenuous means we saved him from their anger, and he escaped +safely through a door at the back of the platform. When he was gone, +Robert Truefit said in an agitated tone, 'For heaven's sake, Jimmy, +tell us who that man is.' + + +[Illustration] + + +'That man, Bob,' replied Jimmy Virtue, dabbing his face with his +handkerchief, 'is Blade-o'-Grass's father. I knowed 'im agin, the +thief, directly I set eyes on 'im!' + +The meeting broke up in confusion; but not before the placard with the +Temple of Liberty written on it had been torn into a thousand pieces. + + + + XII. + + IN THE DIM TWILIGHT OF THAT HOLY DAY. + + +It was but a little past nine o'clock when the meeting was over, and +the night, though cold, was fine. When we were clear of the Temple of +Liberty, Robert Truefit suggested that we should stroll as far as +London-bridge, and talk over what had occurred. The principal question +that arose in our conversation was what Mark Mallard would do. I was +inclined to believe that he would make inquiries after his children, +but Jimmy Virtue shook his head. + +'You'll never 'eer of him agin,' Jimmy said. 'He's got no feelin' and +no 'eart, and it ain't likely as he'd show his face in Stoney-alley. +Sich fellers as 'im ain't got the pluck of a mouse. No, no; we sha'n't +'eer nothin' more o' Mr. Mark Mallard, and a good job too. What'd be +the good of sich a father as 'im to Blade-o'-Grass?' + +We agreed not to mention what had occurred to Blade-o'-Grass, as it +could serve no good purpose. Jimmy Virtue and I united in praising +Robert Truefit for the admirable part he had played at the meeting. + +'Bob ought to do more o' that sort o' thing,' said Jimmy; 'that's what +I've told 'im over and over agin.' + +'And grow into an agitator!' exclaimed Robert Truefit. 'No, Jimmy; I +haven't time for the business. When it comes into my way naturally, as +it has come tonight, well and good. But I have my own little +commonwealth at home to look after; it takes all my time to administer +to that properly.' + +We retraced our steps towards Stoney-alley, and found the +neighbourhood in a state of great excitement. In answer to our +inquiries we learned that there had been a fire in Stoney-alley. As we +hurried thither, we were greeted by exclamations of + +'Ah, there he is! There's the old un! Wonder bow he'll take it!' + +We soon ascertained the meaning of these remarks. Jimmy Virtue's +leaving-shop was a heap of ashes. A house on each side was partially +burnt; but the only building completely destroyed was his shop. How +long ago did it occur? A hundred tongues volunteered information. Not +an hour ago; but, bless your heart! it was all over in twenty minutes. +The place burnt like a piece of tinder; it was nearly all wood, you +see, sir. The old man must have left a candle burning. To the +questions which elicited these and other answers, Jimmy Virtue +listened quietly, taking no part in them. The alley was strewn with +rickety furniture and beds which, in the first alarm, the occupants of +the adjoining houses had brought into the streets for safety; now that +the danger was over, they were carrying their furniture back to their +rooms. When it became buzzed about that Jimmy Virtue had arrived on +the scene of action, there came surging around him a number of girls +and women clamorously demanding their little bits of things, valueless +perhaps in themselves, but a great loss doubtless to the poor people +who had pledged them. + +'Where's my Sunday 'at?' demanded one. 'Where's my gal's boots?' +another. 'Where's my flannin-peddicoat?' another. 'Where's my +crinoline?' 'Where's my chignon?' 'Where's my old man's waistcoat?' + +These and a hundred other inquiries were literally hurled at Jimmy +Virtue. He simply glared at the women, and told them to look for their +things among the ashes. + +'Are you insured, Jimmy?' asked Robert Truefit. + +No; he was not insured for a shilling. His clients still continuing to +badger him, he turned savagely upon them, and said he couldn't help +the fire occurring; they were a parcel of fools; and they were welcome +to any odds and ends of rags they could find. Suddenly he darted +forward into the midst of the smouldering ruins, and fished-out an old +greasy pack of cards burnt round the edges. + +'Saved them!' he muttered triumphantly. 'I might 'ave lost every game +with a new pack. There's one good thing--Jack's safe. When I'm out, +he's never at 'ome.' + +I really think that the saving of that pack of cards with which he +played for great sums with his shadowy victim, Jack, was a perfect +consolation to him for the burning of all the rest; but indeed he did +not seem to be in any way depressed by the misfortune which had +overtaken him. + +'Well,' he said, 'it's no good starin' at it any longer. Bob, you'd +better go 'ome. Good-night, Mr. Meadow.' + +Robert Truefit and I looked at each other. + +'Mr. Virtue,' I said, 'you've no bed to sleep in to-night; and you'll +feel lonely by yourself after what has occurred. Will you come home +with me? I can make you up a rough bed in my room.' + +'Thank you, sir,' he replied, with a set expression on his face; 'I +was afraid you or Bob 'd say somethink o' that sort to me. I shouldn't +be surprised, now, if you'd orfer to 'elp me in other ways. How long +'ave you and me known each other. Bob?' + +'For more than ten years, old fellow.' + +'I'll trouble you, Bob, not to "old-feller" me; it sounds special, and +it don't suit me jist now. More than ten year, eh? So it is, Bob; so +it is. You've found me a pretty obstinate old chap--pig'eaded you +might say, eh?' + +'Well, Jimmy, you are rather--' + +'Pig-'eaded--that's the word. Now, look 'ere, you two! Pig'eaded I am, +and pig-'eaded I'm goin' to be, to the last. If either o' you--you, +Bob, or you, sir--ever orfers me anythink agin--bed, money, grub, I +don't care what!--you can say good-bye from that blessed minute to +Jimmy Virtue. I must be nigh on seventy year old--I can't speak for +two or three year one way or another, but I must be nigh on seventy if +I'm a day--and I've never took charity yet; and I don't mean to begin +now. I've never pocketed no money as I didn't work for--except Jack's, +and that's a matter 'twixt 'im and me--and I ain't a-going to begin +that game at my time o' life. So I'll thank you to say good-night, and +leave Jimmy Virtue to 'isself.' + +'You might as well talk to the Monument,' said Robert Truefit, as we +walked home, 'as talk to Jimmy after what he has said. He'll die +before he'll take a penny-piece. We must humour the old fellow, and +hope for the best.' + +The following day I learned that Tom Beadle was undergoing another +term of six months' imprisonment for pickpocketing. I went to him to +tell him of the death of his child, and I took a piece of black crape +with me for his cap. I had never spoken to him before, and I was +wishful to know something of his nature, so that I might judge in what +way I could best impress him to act for the good of the girl who clung +to him with so much devotion. He received me with cunning civility; +his lynx eyes watched every word from my lips, as if in every word +might be concealed a trap. In his mind he classed me with those who +wished Blade-o'-Grass to desert him, and therefore I was his enemy. I +knew, also, that the fact of my being a minister was an additional +argument against me in his eyes. But he must be civil to me, because +Blade-o'-Grass had told him I had been kind to her. His eyes moistened +when he heard of the death of his child, and his grief grew stronger +in the brief pause that ensued. But after a time he said it was the +best thing that could have happened to the little thing. I told him, +also, of the kindness of Mr. Merrywhistle, and that it was he who had +borne the expenses of the funeral. + +'Yes,' was Tom Beadle's careless comment, 'the old chap's 'elped +Blade-o'-Grass a good many times, on and off. He's knowed 'er since +she was a kid.' + +There was not a trace of gratitude in his voice. + +'She has made other friends as well,' I said. + +A jealous gleam shot into his eyes. + +'What friends? Swells?' + +'Friends,' I answered, 'who sympathise deeply with her, and who would +help her if they could.' + +'What's to 'inder 'em?' + +I did not answer him. I left it to him to gather from my silence that +it was he who barred the way to a better kind of life for the poor +girl; that it was her entire devotion to him that kept her down. + +'I know what you're drivin' at; it's me as 'inders 'em,' he said, with +a sneer. 'Well, that's nothink new. Blade-o'-Grass and me's 'eerd that +often enough. The way they'd 'elp 'er is by tellin' 'er to cut away +from me. I don't think the old gal 'd do that. I'd bet a penny +_you've_ been tryin' to persuade 'er.' + +'On the contrary; I have begged her to ask you to do something that +will bring her closer to you.' + +'Gammon!' he sneered. 'What is it you wanted 'er to ask me? + +'That you should marry her.' + +He looked at me in blank wonder. 'Marry 'er!' he exclaimed. He was +evidently puzzled, and he ransacked his mind for motives and reasons; +but all his cunning wit could not assist him. + +'It's me as 'inders people from 'elpin' Blade-o'-Grass, and yet the +parson wants me to many 'er!' + +I saw this expressed in his face, and I saw also a deep suspicion that +some treachery to himself lay behind the proposition. + +'I'll think on it,' he said aloud. 'Will you take 'er a letter from +me?' + +'Yes; I will write it for you if you like.' + +'Thank you for nothink!' he replied with a leer. 'I'll get it done +through the governor. He'll 'ave to read it, you know, before it goes. +Will you take your solemn oath you won't open it?' + +'I promise you not to open it.' + +'And you won't read it to 'er? You'll give it to the old gal 'erself, +and tell 'er she's got to git some one else to read it? + +I made this promise as well; and when I left with the letter, I think +he was half inclined to believe that my words and sympathy were +genuine. I gave an account of this interview to Mrs. Silver. + +'I have been thinking all the morning of the poor girl,' she +said. 'My servant is going to leave me to get married. I will take +Blade-o'-Grass in her place, if she will come. It will be a home for +her, and I may be able to do her some good.' + +The proposal delighted me, and I went at once to Blade-o'-Grass to +acquaint her with it. She thanked me and Mrs. Silver most gratefully, +but said she could not accept the offer. 'No, sir, not to save my +life.' + +'But why?' I asked in grief and annoyance. 'Your refusal is +unreasonable.' + +'You don't understand, sir. Read Tom's letter. You'll see what part of +it I mean.' + +She gave me the letter I had brought her from Tom Beadle. The words +she referred to were these: + +'When I come out, we'll get married. And mind! So long as you are true +to me, I will be true to you. But if you run away from Stoney-alley, +and go with them friends of yours, I shall know what that means.' + +'It means, sir,' said Blade-o'-Grass, 'as Tom'll think I've deserted +'im. So you see, sir, I can't go to Mrs. Silver's. Don't you fear for +me, sir; Mr. Wirtue is a real good friend to me now; he's took the +next room to this, and he's always bringin' things to me.' + +Since the night of the fire I had not seen Jimmy Virtue; and I went at +once to his room. He did not reply to my knock; and when I opened the +door, I found him playing cribbage with his shadow-companion. He was +so intent upon the game that he did not know I was in the room until I +was close to him. + +'Ah, Mr. Meadow, sir, I didn't 'eer yer. Take a chair.' + +I noticed that his face was pinched and careworn; and I asked him if +he was not well. + +'Well enough,' he replied. 'I can't expect to be too well. My time's +comin'. Yes, I'm near the end on it. I dreamt last night they was +diggin' my grave.' He pushed the cards from him impatiently. 'Look +'ere, Mr. Meadow, take an old man's advice. Don't lead a lonely life; +git somethin' about you to love, and as'll love you; if ever you git a +chance, snap at it, or you'll rue the day! A nice thing for a man to +play a game--it's life as I'm talkin' of--and when he comes to the end +of it, to find out that he's played it all wrong! Do you think it's +worth 'avin'?' + +'What?' + +'Life. Is it worth 'avin'?' + +'Surely, surely. It would be sinful to think otherwise.' + +'O, I don't put myself up for anythink good! And don't you think I'm +different to what I was because I've been dropped upon by bad luck. +But what's it worth 'avin' for?' + +'For itself; for the good that there is in it; for the good that one +can do; for that it is a preparation for the better life to come.' + +'Yes, yes; Blade-o'-Grass 'as been tellin' me. She says 'er baby's +there. Well, it's a good thing for her to look forward to. There's +nobody there for me, though; a good job then for me that I don't +believe. No,' he said, holding up a warning finger; 'don't preach to +me! I won't stand it! I've made my bed, and I've got to lay on it.' + +As I wished to divert his mind from gloomy thought, I did not pursue +the subject, but related what had passed concerning Tom Beadle and +Blade-o'-Grass, and asked if he had anything to advise. + +'Why not marry 'em at once,' he said, 'if you think sich a lot o' good +is comin' out of it? _I_ think it's about the worst thing as could +'appen to 'er.' + +'I have my plan already settled,' I replied, 'and if I can carry it +out, it will be the redemption of both of them. Marry them at once, +you say. But Tom is in prison!' + +'Is there any law agin marryin' 'em there? I daresay you could manage +it if you tried.' + +I had not thought of that, and I resolved to act at once upon the +suggestion. There were serious difficulties in the way, but I was +fortunate enough to gain the sympathy of the governor and the chaplain +of the prison, who, when they heard the story of Blade-o'-Grass, were +most eager to aid me in carrying out my design. With their assistance, +then, all obstacles were overcome, and the day was fixed for the +ceremony. I decided that the marriage should be consecrated early in +the morning of Christmas-day. + +''Ow about the weddin'-ring?' asked Jimmy Virtue. + +I said that I would have it ready on the morning of the ceremony. + +'You'll 'ave to measure 'er finger,' he said; 'let's do it now.' + +We were conversing in his room. He called Blade-o'-Grass, and she +entered. + +'We're a-goin' to measure your finger for the weddin'-ring. Hold on, +Mr. Meadow, don't you say a word! Give us your 'and, Blade-o'-Grass.' + +The blood mounted to her face as she held out her hand. Jimmy Virtue +took a wedding-ring from his pocket, looked at it curiously, and +placed it on her finger. + +'See, Mr. Meadow,' he said, 'it just fits. This is my present, +Blade-o'-Grass.' + +She thanked him tearfully, and kissed the ring, and held it to her +lips. + +'It's 'er mother's,' whispered Jimmy Virtue to me. + + +The sun rose bright and clear on Christmas-day. How well I remember +the morning! It is three years since that time, and every incident is +as clear to my mind as if it had occurred but yesterday. Punctually at +half-past eight o'clock Blade-o'-Grass was at my lodgings; she was +nervous and very pale, and had evidently had but little sleep during +the night. I had never seen her so neatly dressed, and I expressed my +pleasure at her appearance. + +'Mrs. Silver and Miss Rachel brought the things to me yesterday, sir,' +she said. 'They are too good to me, sir--too good.' + +'It gives them pleasure.' + +'I don't deserve it, sir.' + +'You can deserve it. If you could do something for them in return for +their kindness, you would?' + +'That I would, sir, and grateful to be able to.' + +'Come, we are going to walk to their house now. It is a bright +Christmas morning, is it not?' + +'Yes, sir, I never remember sich a Christmas as this.' + +'May it prove the commencement of a happy life for you, my dear!' + +She turned from me and sobbed quietly. When she recovered we walked +together to Buttercup-square. Then Blade-o'-Grass told me how one +Christmas night, very soon after her baby was born, she had stood for +more than an hour at the door of Mrs. Silver's house, in the midst of +a heavy fall of snow, with her dear in her arms, waiting for Mr. +Merrywhistle. + +'If it 'adn't been for 'im, sir, we should 'ave been found dead in the +snow, baby and me!' + +'He is a good man, my dear. He is coming with us this morning. Do not +cry. This is a bright day for all of us. Rachel, also, is coming.' + +'O, sir!' she said, with quivering lips. 'What 'ave I done that you +should all be so good to me?' + +'It will be in your power to repay us all, my dear.' + +'Will you tell me 'ow, sir?' + +'By and by, my dear. The time will come.' + +We found Rachel with her hat and shawl on, ready to accompany us. She +gave Blade-o'-Grass a little present--a silk neckguard which she had +worked, with a jet cross hanging to it. Mr. Merrywhistle came in +almost at our heels, rubbing his hands, and saying what a fine morning +it was. By a quarter to ten o'clock we four were at the prison gates, +where Jimmy Virtue was waiting for us; he had smartened himself up for +the occasion, but his face looked worn and aged. Time was telling fast +upon him. + +The governor of the prison had kindly set apart a private room for us, +and there the ceremony was performed. Tom Beadle, when he first +entered, looked half shamefaced and half defiant; but the solemnity of +the prayers had its effect upon him, and after a time he drew his +breath in short gasps, and the words he had to repeat after me came +tremblingly from his lips. Jimmy Virtue gave Blade-o'-Grass away. So +these two human waifs were joined together according to God's holy +ordinance, and were made man and wife. + +The last words were said, and I prepared to go to my church. Tom +Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass were standing a little apart from us; there +was a dazed expression in his face, as if he could not fully realise +what had occurred, but it softened as he gazed into Blade-o'-Grass's +eyes, and saw the look of full-hearted love with which she was +regarding him. + +'Are you glad, old woman?' he asked. + +'I am very, very 'appy, Tom!' she said. + +Then Rachel, as had been arranged between us, asked Tom whether his +wife might spend the day with her. He hesitated a moment or two, but +the better part of his nature had been awakened, and he could not +resist Blade-o'-Grass's pleading look. + +'Tom told me,' said Blade-o'-Grass, as we walked to church, 'that he +feels as if he was just born like.' + +We wanted Jimmy Virtue to spend the day with the Silvers, but he +refused, saying that he could pass the time well enough with Jack. +'I'm pig-'eaded, you know,' he added; 'that's what I am; and you ain't +goin' to redemption _me!_' And so left us abruptly. + +That happy Christmas day was an era indeed in Blade-o'-Grass's life. +It was spent very peacefully; and every one strove in a quiet way to +make Blade-o'-Grass feel that she was in the midst of friends. I +watched her closely during the day, and I saw that new thoughts were +stirring in her mind. In the evening we were sitting together in the +parlour; the candles were not lighted, and the conversation was +carried on in low tones. Blade-o'-Grass had removed to the window, +where she sat, watching the birth of night. I drew a chair close to +her. + +'Mr. Meadow,' she whispered, 'I've been thinkin'----' + +'Yes, my dear.' + +'That if me and Tom 'ad 'ad a 'ome like this we might 'ave been +different to what we are.' She paused, and I did not speak, for I saw +that she was struggling to say something more. 'I'm almost sorry I +came 'ere, sir.' + +'Why, my dear?' + +'It's ungrateful of me to say it; but seein' what I've seen 'ere +today'll make me miserable to-morrer in Stoney-alley.' + +I made no attempt to console her. I strove to prepare her for the end +I had in view. + +'This is a happy home, indeed, Blade-o'-Grass, and other homes as +happy have sprung from it.' + +I recalled to her mind the circumstance, which Rachel had narrated to +me, of Ruth assisting her one day when she was beseeching Tom Beadle +to bring home some money as there was no bread in the cupboard. + +'I remember the young lady well, sir,' said Blade-o'-Grass; 'and I +thought of 'er orfen, though I never set eyes on 'er since then.' + +'She will be here presently. She is married, and has a baby.' + +Blade-o'-Grass turned from me, trembling, and hid her face in her +hands. + +'She and her husband have a very happy home, not far from where we are +sitting. If you had a home like theirs----' + +'O, sir! for pity's sake, don't mock me!' + +'Listen, my dear. Do you believe that we have your happiness and +well-doing very close to our hearts?' + +'If I didn't believe it, sir, I wouldn't be fit to live.' + +'Then believe this as well. Such a happy home as Ruth's and this may +be yours, if you have the courage to make a sacrifice. No, not yet! +nor will I tell you what it is until the time comes. But think of it, +and believe in it. Even if you doubted me, and Rachel told you it +would be a good thing to do----' + +She looked lovingly at Rachel. + +'I think, sir, that whatever she told me to do I would do, though I +was sure to die the next minute.' + +'You would be right, Blade-o'-Grass. All that she says and does is +sweet and good.' + + + * * * * * + + +Ah, Rachel, my wife, how my heart yearned to you then! How tenderly, +in the dim twilight of that Holy Day, did my thoughts dwell upon you +in purest love! In the solemn pause that ensued I endeavoured to +strengthen my heart by inward prayer. If the priceless gift of your +love were denied to me, I might still hope that your friendship would +sweeten my life. + + + * * * * * + + +Blade-o'-Grass laid her hand timidly upon mine, and whispered to me +that the prospect I had held out was like heaven to her. + +Soon after this, Charley, and Ruth with her baby, came in quietly, and +I brought Ruth and Blade-o'-Grass together. + + + * * * * * + + +I see them standing side by side at the window. I see Ruth showing her +baby to Blade-o'-Grass. I see Blade-o'-Grass's hands tremble and +wander. I see her stretch forth her arms convulsively, and presently I +see her sitting on a low stool, with the baby in her lap, sobbing +quietly over the child, whose fingers caress her face, pityingly as it +seems. Ruth sinks upon her knees by the side of the bereaved mother, +and their arms are round each other's neck. Night's shadows steal upon +them, and wrap them in a peaceful embrace. + + + + XIII. + + HIS SOUL IS IN YOUR HANDS TO SAVE AND PURIFY! + + +I had many opportunities of seeing Tom Beadle during his term of +imprisonment, and I soon became engaged in the contemplation of a +subject which has been studied and pondered over by thousands of +earnest minds, but never, I believe, with greater seriousness than at +the present time. Here was a man, with a man's strength, not unwilling +to do his work in the world, if he knew the way to do it. Of a low +type he certainly was, but he had grown into his condition through no +fault of his own. I penetrated the crust of his character, and I found +behind it much material which could be worked to a good end. Gradually +I won his confidence, and, in answer to certain remarks of mine +affecting his career and character, he answered me in plain terms and +with a rough shrewdness which greatly impressed me in his favour, I +saw that he was helpless; that, in this country, society could do +nothing for him, and that he would be utterly lost if he were left to +himself and his own resources. If he were lost, Blade-o'-Grass would +be lost also. + + +[Illustration] + + +'It will be a happy task accomplished,' I thought, 'if I can save +these two from the certain degradation which lies before them--if I +can make their after-life happy in an honourable way, and worthy of +the respect of men.' + +Tom Beadle gave me a great proof of his confidence. I asked him to +allow Blade-o'-Grass to visit the Silvers and Ruth, and he consented +with but little pressure. I took care that she was frequently in one +or other of the houses. She liked best to be with Ruth and Ruth's +baby, whom she often begged to be allowed to nurse. I said to her one +day when she was in Ruth's house, having spent a few happy hours +there, + +'If you and Tom had such a home as this----' + +'It'd be like 'eaven, sir,' she answered. 'Don't speak of it, sir. It +breaks my 'eart to think of it!' + +But I knew that the plan I had in view would give them such a home, +after a time, if they were willing to endure a present sacrifice. I +knew it from a letter which I had received from Canada a week after +Christmas. The letter was from Richard. I give it in its entirety: + + +'My dear Mr. Meadow,--I can now, I think, send you a letter which will +give you satisfaction. My dear mother, and Ruth, and Mary, write so +much about you, that I feel, although I have never seen you, as if I +was talking to an old friend; and I feel very proud, I assure you, +that you should write to me as you have written, and should place so +much confidence in me. I cannot express to you how much I have thought +of the story you have told me. I can see Tom Beadle and Blade-o'-Grass +as plainly as if they stood before me. I can see what they were when +they were children (I saw it often, my dear Mr. Meadow, when I was in +London), and what they are likely to become, if a helping hand is not +stretched forth to save them. You say you place your hopes in me, and +that if it is out of my power to help you, you will not know which way +to turn to accomplish what you desire. My dearly-beloved mother has +written to me also, urging me to try and do something, and I need not +say what an incentive that has been to me. + +'Now let me tell you. It has been my good fortune to make the +acquaintance of a farmer, at whose house I spend my day of rest +every week. His name is Gibson. Is it letting you into a secret, when +I tell you that he has a daughter, and that I hope some day, please +God!----Well, dear Mr. Meadow, you must finish the uncompleted +sentence yourself. And yet I must tell you that I do love her, with +all my heart! You are not the first I have told. My dear mother knows +all about it. + +'Mr. Gibson has a large farm, and employs eighteen hands, who all +receive fair wages, and have made comfortable homes for themselves. +The Sabbath before last, Mr. Gibson was telling me the history of some +of the men he has employed, and it suddenly flashed upon me that it +was in his power to do what you desire with respect to Tom Beadle. + +'Well, dear Mr. Meadow, I told him the story, and I gave him your +letters and my dear mother's letters to read. Annie--that is his +daughter--was present, and I spoke with all my earnestness. When I had +finished, Annie was crying, and I myself was very nearly crying too. +It would take too long for me to tell all that passed, but Mr. Gibson +said he would keep the letters for a week, and that he would consider +whether he could do anything. When I wished Annie good-night, I asked +her if she would help me with her father, and she said she would--and +said, too, how she wished that she knew you and my dear mother and +sisters! You have no idea, Mr. Meadow, what a dear good girl she is. + +'I didn't have one good night's rest all the week for thinking of what +Mr. Gibson would say, and last Sabbath I went to his house with a +trembling heart. We go to the same church, and after church we took a +walk. It was a fine cold morning--you should have seen how Annie +looked! Well, but I must not wander from the subject. Then Mr. Gibson +told me he had read all your letters, more than once he said, and that +he had made up his mind. This is what he says. If Tom Beadle will come +out to us, Mr. Gibson will take him into his service, and will give +him fair wages. He will work and live on the farm, and Mr. Gibson will +do all he can for him. But Mr. Gibson made conditions. Tom Beadle must +come out by himself, and must bind himself to work for Mr. Gibson for +five years. "At the end of that time," Mr. Gibson said, "he will, if +he is industrious, have a home of his own and money in his pocket. +Then he can send for his wife, and they will have a good future before +them." Mr. Gibson put it this way. "Tom Beadle," he says, "must do +something to show that he is worthy of the confidence that is to be +placed in him; he has to grow out of old bad ways into new good ones. +Give him something to work for," said Mr. Gibson, "something to look +forward to, and the chances of his turning out right are more in his +favour." Well, dear Mr. Meadow, that is how it stands. If Tom Beadle +will come over, there is a home for him at once, and there is honest +good work, with fair wages, for him to commence at, right away. + +'I hope you will be satisfied and pleased with this. I am sure it will +turn out right. _I_ will make a friend of Tom Beadle, and he shall not +go wrong, if we can help it. Annie will help too, I am sure. I do not +write any news about myself; dear mother will tell you all about me. I +am getting along famously. With affectionate esteem, my dear Mr. +Meadow, believe me to be most faithfully yours, + + 'RICHARD SILVER.' + + +I deemed it wise not to disclose the contents of this letter to +Blade-o'-Grass until the day before Tom Beadle was to come out of +prison. I had persuaded her to spend a few hours of that day with +Ruth, and when I went to Ruth's house in the evening, I found that +Blade-o'-Grass had gone to her home in Stoney-alley. About nine +o'clock in the night I went to her room, to play the great stake upon +which her future rested, and as I walked through the labyrinth of +narrow thoroughfares which led to Stoney-alley, I prayed fervently +that my mission would be successful. Blade-o'-Grass's room was very +clean and tidy; she had been busy making preparations for the return +of Tom Beadle. When I entered, her work was done, and she was sitting +with her head resting on her hand. + +'Don't disturb yourself, my dear,' I said; 'I have come to have a long +chat with you. You have been busy, I see.' + +'Yes,' she said; 'Tom's comin' 'ome to-morrer.' + +I noticed that there was sadness in her tone. + +'You are glad?' I said. + +'Yes, sir, of course I'm glad. But I've been thinkin' of a good many +things. I've been thinkin' of baby, and--and----' + +She bit her lips, as if that effort were necessary to restrain the +expression of what was in her mind. + +'Don't hide anything from me, my dear; tell me what you've been +thinking of.' + +'I 'ardly know 'ow to tell it, sir. My thoughts seem as if they was +turnin' agin myself. I see that I must ha' been goin' on wrong all my +life, and that Tom 's been doin' the same. And my 'eart's fit to +break, when I think it can't be altered now!' + +'It can be altered, my child.' + +She looked at me imploringly. + +'You've said somethin' like that afore, sir; but it's all dark to me. +Tom'll come 'ome to-morrer, and things'll go on in the old way, and +per'aps he'll be took up agin before long----' + +She could not proceed for her tears. + +'You see, my dear, that the life he is leading is wrong.' + +'I see it, sir--I see it. It'd be better, arter what you've told me, +if Tom and me was to die to-morrer!' + +'Our lives are not in our own hands, my dear. What has been done in +the past has been done in ignorance, and the shame of it can be wiped +away. It _is_ shame, my dear. Place yourself and Tom by the side of +Ruth and _her_ husband.' + +She uttered a cry, as if a knife had struck her. But I continued: + +'Place your home by the side of theirs. See the happy future that lies +before them, and think of what lies before you, if, as you have said, +things go on with you in the same old way.' + +She covered her face with her hands. I was striking her hard, but I +knew it was necessary for the sacrifice I was about to call upon her +to make. I drew a picture of the two homes. I placed children in them, +and contrasted their appearance, their lives, their chances of +happiness. I did not spare her; I spoke with all my strength and +earnestness. Suddenly she interrupted me with wild looks and in a wild +tone. + +'What are you tellin' me all this for?' + +'Because it is in your power to choose between them,' I replied. 'Not +only for yourself, but for Tom. His future is in your hands to shape +to a good end, if you have the courage to make a sacrifice. Nay, not +only his future in this world--his soul is in your hands to save and +purify!' + +She parted the hair from her eyes, and gazed at me as if she were in a +dream. + +'Will you do this? Will you save your husband from the net of crime +and shame in which he is entangled?' + +'Will I do it?' she cried, in a tone of wonder. 'Can you arks me? Show +me the way!' + +I did. I told her the end I had been working for. I read Richard's +letter to her, and dilated upon the prospect it held out. + +'There is no chance for Tom here,' I said; 'there is in that new land, +and with such friends as he will have about him. I believe it is in +your power to persuade him to go. He loves you, and would do much for +you. The separation will not be a very long one. Five years will soon +pass, and then you will both be young. While he is working out the +commencement of a good and better life there, you can stop with Mrs. +Silver; she bids me offer you a home. Will you make the sacrifice?--a +sacrifice that in all your after-life you will bless us for persuading +you to make. My dear sister,'--she bowed her head to her breast +convulsively as I thus addressed her--'it will be your salvation, and +his. All our hearts are set upon it for your good and his. I know how +you will suffer in parting from him, but the love's sacrifice that you +will make for him will be a truer test of love than all you have +hitherto done.' + +She was silent for a long, long time before she spoke. + +'When will he 'ave to go, sir?' + +'A ship sails from Liverpool the day after to-morrow.' + +'So soon!' she cried, clasping her hands. + +'It is best so. Every hour that he passes here after he is out of +prison is an hour of peril to you both. I will myself accompany him to +Liverpool to-morrow. Let him commence his baptism at once, and in the +new land work out his regeneration. He will thank you for it by and +bye. Shall I tell you what I see in a few years from this present +moment, my dear?' + +'If you please, sir,' she said, tears streaming down her face. + +'I see you and Tom in the new land living happily in your own little +home. I see you standing at the door in the morning looking after him, +as he goes to his work, and he turning round to smile upon you. I see +him, when he is out of your sight, exchanging friendly greetings with +men whose respect he has earned; no longer ashamed to look men in the +face, my dear, but walking with head erect, without fear, as one can +do who earns his bread honestly. I see him coming home at night, when +his day's work is done, and you, perhaps, reading to him----' + +'Reading, sir!' + +'Yes, my dear, reading. Reading a letter, perhaps, that Mrs. Silver, +or Ruth, or Mr. Merrywhistle has written to you and Tom. It will +come--you will learn while he is away. I see your cupboard well +stocked, your house prettily furnished, yourselves comfortably +clothed. Perhaps Richard--Ruth's brother--and his wife come in to see +you, and you talk together of the dear ones at home, bound to you as +to him, my dear, by links of love. I hear you thank God before you +sleep for all His goodness to you. I see you helping some poor child +who has been left orphaned and helpless as you were left----' + +'O, sir!' + +'It will come, my dear, if you live, as surely as we are speaking +together at this minute. I see you, perhaps, with a baby in your arms, +like the dear one who has passed away from you----' + +She caught my hand hysterically, and I paused. I saw that my work was +done. I will not set down here what she said when she was calmer. When +I left her she was animated by a high resolve, and I knew that she +would not falter. + +'What time will you be 'ere in the mornin', sir?' she asked, as she +stood with me at the street-door in Stoney-alley. + +'At twelve o'clock, my dear.' + +'Tom'll be ready to go with you then, sir. It'll 'urt 'im to leave +me, sir, but he'll do it for my sake. I know 'im, sir!' + +'Good-night, my dear; God bless you!' + +'And you, sir,' she said, kissing my hand. + +I was punctual to my appointment on the following day. Blade-o'-Grass +heard my step on the stairs, and came into the passage to meet me. + +'Tom's inside, sir.' + +I looked into her face, and saw in the anguish expressed there the +marks of the conflict she had passed through. + +'He's ready to go with you, sir.' + +Tom Beadle's face bore marks of trouble also, and he evidently had not +made up his mind whether he should receive me as a friend or an enemy. + +'I feel as if I was bein' transported,' he said in a dogged manner. + +'You will live to thank us, Tom,' I said, as I held out my hand to +him. He hesitated a moment or two before he took it, and then he +gripped it fiercely. + +'Look 'ere!' he exclaimed hoarsely. 'Is it all goin' to turn out as +you've told 'er? Take your oath on it! Say, May I drop down dead if it +won't all come right!' + +'As surely as I believe in a better life than this, so surely do I +believe that this is your only chance of bestowing happiness upon the +woman who loves you with her whole heart and soul.' + +'I wouldn't do it but for 'er!' he said, and turned to Blade-o'-Grass. +She crept into his arms, and clasped him to her faithful heart, and +kissed him again and again. I went into the passage, and I heard her +tell him, in a voice broken by sobs, how she loved him, and would love +him, and him only, till death, and after death, and how she would +count the minutes while he was away, till the blessed time came when +they would be together again. Powerful as was her influence over him, +it would not have been perfect if he had not had some good and tender +qualities in his nature. I felt that the words that were passing +between them in this crisis of their lives were sacred, and I went +downstairs to the street-door. I found Mr. Merrywhistle there. + +'I have a cab waiting for you,' he said, 'and a box.' + +'A box!' + +'With some clothes in it for Tom Beadle, my dear sir. It will make a +good impression upon him. And here are two sovereigns for him.' + +'Give them to him yourself, Mr. Merrywhistle,' I said; 'he will be +down presently.' + +Tom Beadle joined us in a few minutes. + +'Mr. Merrywhistle has brought a box of clothes for you, Tom,' I said; +'and he has something else for you also.' + +'It's only a matter of a couple of sovereigns, Tom,' said Mr. +Merrywhistle, stammering as if he were committing an act of meanness +instead of an act of kindness. 'They may come useful to you when you +land in Canada.' + +Tom took the money and thanked him; then said that he had forgotten to +say something to Blade-o'-Grass, and ran up-stairs. I learnt +afterwards that he had given her the money, and had insisted, despite +her entreaties, that she should take it. + +I did not leave Tom Beadle until the ship sailed. He related to me the +whole story of his life, and asked me once, + +'Won't the old devil break out in me when I'm on the other side o' the +water?' + +'Not if you are strong, Tom--not if you keep your thoughts on +Blade-o'-Grass, and think of the perfect happiness you can bestow upon +her by keeping in the right path.' + +'I'll try to, sir. No man's ever tried 'arder than I mean to.' + +When I thought of the friends that were waiting on the other side of +the Atlantic to help him, and encourage him, and keep him straight, I +was satisfied that all would turn out well. + +I returned to London with a light heart. It was nearly nine o'clock at +night when I reached home. I lit my lamp, and saw upon my table a +large envelope, addressed to me in a lawyer's handwriting. I opened +the letter, and found that it contained a sealed packet, and the +following note, dated from Chancery-lane: + + +'Sir,--In accordance with instructions received from our late client, +Mr. James Fairhaven, we forward to you the enclosed packet, seven days +after his death.--We are, sir, your obedient servants, + + 'WILSON, SON, & BAXTER. + +'To Andrew Meadow, Esq.' + + +The news of the death of my benefactor and old friend, Mr. Fairhaven, +shocked and grieved me. It was a sorrowful thought that he had parted +from me in anger. If I had known of his illness, I am sure I should +have gone to him, despite his prohibition. But I did not know; and +even the consolation of following to the grave the last remains of the +man who had so generously befriended me had been denied to me. I +passed a few minutes in sorrowful reflection, and then took up the +sealed packet. It was addressed, in his own handwriting, to Andrew +Meadow, and was very bulky. The manuscript it contained was headed, + + + '_James Fairhaven's last words to + Andrew Meadow_.' + + +It was with a beating heart I prepared to read what he had written. + + + + XIV. + + IT IS SUNRISE. A GOLDEN MIST IS RISING FROM THE WATERS. + + +On two occasions you have expressed to me your wish to know what it +was that induced me to take an interest in you when you were left an +orphan, friendless, as you might have supposed. As the answer to your +inquiry would have disclosed one of the secrets of my life, I refused +to answer. But tonight, sitting, as I am sitting, alone in this +desolate house, I am impelled to write an answer in my own +way--impelled by the resurrection of certain memories which have +arisen about me during the last hour, and which cling to me now with +terrible tenacity. For the only time in my life that I can remember I +will indulge myself by a free outpouring of what is in my mind, +setting no restraint upon myself, as has hitherto invariably been my +rule. I do this the more readily, as these words will certainly not be +read by you until I am dead, and may never be read by you at all, for +the whim may seize me to destroy them. To this extent I may therefore +think that I am speaking to myself only--making confession to myself +only. I strip myself of all reserve; the mere expression of this +resolution gives me relief. + +I am not writing in my study; it was my first intention to do so, but +the room was close and warm, and when the door was shut a stifling +feeling came upon me, as if other forms besides my own were there, +although I was the only living presence in it. Directly the fancy +seized me, it grew to such monstrous proportions that, with a vague +fear, I brought my papers away, and felt when I left the room as if I +had escaped from a prison. I am writing now in the large drawing-room, +by the window which looks out upon the garden and the river, where you +and I have sometimes sat and conversed. The night is dark; the river +and the banks beyond are dark; the garden is filled with shadows. The +only light to be seen is where I am sitting writing by the light of a +reading-lamp. The other portions of the room, and the garden, and the +river, and the river's banks are wrapped in gloom. I open the window; +I can breathe more freely now. + +Certain words you spoke to me, during our last interview, have +recurred to me many times, against my wish, for I have endeavoured +vainly to forget them. According to your thinking, you said, money, +was only sweet when it was well-earned and well-spent. Well-earned? I +have worked hard for the money which I have gained. I have toiled and +laboured and schemed for it, and it is mine. Has it not been well +earned? I ask this question of myself, not of you; for I believe your +answer, if you could give it to me, would not please me. Well spent? I +do not know--I never considered. I have gone on accumulating. 'Money +makes money,' I used to hear over and over again. Money _has_ made +money for me. Well, it is mine. The thought intrudes itself, For how +long? This thought hurts me; I am an old man. For how many years +longer will my money be mine? But I go on accumulating and adding; it +is the purpose of my life. + +It has been the purpose of my life since I was a young man. Then I was +clerk to a great broker. I became learned in money; I knew all its +values and fractions; it took possession of my mind, and I determined +to become rich. It seemed to me that money was the only thing in life +worth living for; I resolved to live for it, and for it only, and to +obtain it. I have lived for it--I have obtained it--and I sit now in +my grand house, a desolate man, with a weight upon my heart which no +words can express. + +How still and quiet everything is around me! I might be in a deserted +land, alone with my wealth, and the end of my life is near! 'Money is +only sweet when it is well-earned and well-spent?' Are you right, or +am I? Has my life been a mistake? + +The great broker in whose employ I was, noticed my assiduity and +my earnestness. There were other clerks of the same age as myself +in the office, but I was the most able among them, and I rose above +them. Little by little I became acquainted with the mysteries of +money-making, and it was not long before I commenced to take advantage +of the knowledge I gained. I began to trade upon the plots and schemes +of the money men. Others lost; I gained. Others were ruined; I was +prospering. In time to come, I said, I shall ride in my brougham--like +my master. In time to come, I shall own a fine house--like my master. +I never paused to consider whether he was happy. I knew that he was +rich; I knew that he had a fine wife and a fine daughter, a fine +house and a fine carriage. His wife was a fine lady--a fashionable +lady--who, when I saw her in her carriage, looked as if life were a +weariness to her; her daughter was growing into the likeness of her +mother. I know now that he was an unhappy man, and that his pleasures +were not derived through home associations. + +A clerk--Sydney by name--over whose head I had risen, had often +invited me to visit him; I spent one Sunday with him. He lived +half-a-dozen miles from the City, and his salary at the time I visited +him was a hundred and seventy-five pounds a year. I was then making, +with my salary and speculations, at least a thousand. He was a married +man, with a pretty wife and a baby. The house in which they lived was +small, and there was a garden attached to it. After dinner we sat in +the garden and talked; he told his wife what a clever fellow I was, +and how I had risen over all of them. I told him that he could do as +well as I if he chose, although I was inwardly sure he could not, for +his qualities were different from mine. 'You have only to speculate,' +I said. He returned a foolish answer. 'This is my speculation,' he +said, pinching his wife's cheek. 'Is it a good one?' his wife asked +merrily. I do not know what there was in the look he gave her which +caused her to bend towards him and kiss him; I think there were tears +in her eyes too. 'Well,' I said, 'every one to his taste.' 'Just so,' +he replied, with his arm round his wife's waist In the evening, your +mother, then a single girl, came in with her father. They and the +Sydneys were friends. + + +[Illustration] + + +Now, to whom am I speaking? To myself or to you? Shall I go on with my +confession, and go on without moral trickery, or shall I tear up these +sheets, and deaden my memory with excess of some kind? It is rather +late in life for me to commence this latter course. I have often been +drunk with excitement, but never with wine. My life has been a steady +one, and it has been my study to keep a guard over myself. Indeed, it +has been necessary for success, and I _have_ succeeded. 'When the wine +is in, the wit is out'--a true proverb. Why am I debating about my +course? I have already decided that I will speak plainly, and will +strip myself of all reserve. When I have finished, I can destroy. I +will not waver; I will go on to the end. + +Even if you do read what I write, it will not matter to me. I shall +have gone, and shall not know. Stop, though. You, as a clergyman, +would tell me otherwise, and would doubtless, if you had the +opportunity, enlighten my darkness, to use a common phrase. I have +never considered it before; but I suppose I am a Christian. Is that a +phrase also? To speak without reserve, as I have resolved to do, it is +to me nothing more than a name. If the question, What has been your +religion? were put to me, and I were compelled to answer (again +without moral trickery), I should answer, Money. These reflections +have come to me without foreshadowing, and I set them down. If they +cause you to be sad, think for a moment. How many Christians do you +know? I could argue with you now, if you were here. Christianity, as I +have heard (not as I have seen), cannot mean a set belief in certain +narrow doctrines; it cannot include trickery and false-dealing in +worldly matters. It means, as I have heard and not seen, the practical +adoption of a larger view of humanity than now obtains. Certain +self-sacrifices, certain tolerations, which are not seen except in the +quixotic, are included in this larger view. I repeat my question: How +many Christians do you know? + +A bitter mood is upon me; it may divert me from my purpose. I will lay +down my pen, and look into the shadows. + +What have I seen after an interval of I do not know how many minutes? +Shadows in the future. Shadows from the past. Shadows all around me as +I sit--in the room, in the garden, in the river. Stay. I see a light +coming into the sky. The waters of the river are trembling. The moon +is rising. + +Andrew, I loved your mother. I never told her this, in words; but she +knew it. There was a time, I have sometimes thought, when I might have +won her. But I held back until, so far as she herself was concerned, +it was too late. If she had not met your father--(she had not seen him +when I first knew her)--and if she had not loved him, I should still +have held back. For my design then was to many money, if I married at +all. My master had married money. Other rich men, to whose height I +had hoped to rise, had married money. I would do the same. Love was a +dream to be blotted out. It stopped advancement. I strove to blot out +my love for your mother, but I could not. I did the next best thing; I +strove to conceal it. Even in that attempt, however, I was not +successful. The Sidneys whose house I frequently visited in the hope +of meeting her, saw it, and threw us much together. Mrs. Sydney said +to me once, out of her ignorance, 'See how happy we are! You can be +the same if you please.' I smiled, but did not reply. I could be the +same, if I pleased! Why, I could have bought them up twenty times +over. Sydney himself owed me money, having been duped by a friend, as +foolish persons almost always are. I have never been duped by a friend +in all my long life. I have lost money in the way of business, but I +have never been duped by a friend. Life is an intellectual battle. +Those win whose wits are the sharpest. + +Your mother and I grew very intimate. I interested her in my career, +although I never entered into the details of my successes. I told her +only the results. Her father encouraged our intimacy. I had already +lent _him_ money. About this time I saw signs of an approaching panic. +I said to myself, 'This is your chance; there will be precious +pickings in the ruins. Sharpen your wits; now is your time.' I +gathered in my money; I studied the signs, with a cool head. I +mentioned the matter, under the seal of secrecy, to your mother. 'If +all goes well,' I said, 'in six months I shall be worth so-and-so.' +Your mother answered, 'But how about the people with whom all will go +ill?' I said gaily, 'What is one man's meat is another man's poison. +If I don't gather, others will.' The panic came and parsed, and did +not leave me a mourner. England was strewn with wrecks, but I was +safe; I was one of the fortunate wreckers. It was an anxious time; +sharp wits were about, but few sharper than mine; and every man's hand +was against his neighbour. Thousands of weak ones lost their all, and +thousands more were bruised to death in rash attempts to recover what +they had lost I saw them struggling all around me, and I saw here and +there a foolish one holding out a helping hand, and being dragged +into the whirlpool for his pains. When the storm passed, and the sky +became clear, the land was filled with mourning. Among the foolish +ones was Sydney. How could such a man expect to get on in the world? +'Self-preservation is the first law of nature.' What wisdom there is +in many of these proverbs! There were very few smiling faces after the +storm; but mine was one. I had netted thirty thousand pounds. This was +the solid commencement of my fortune. + +During this time I had but little leisure, and I saw scarcely anything +of your mother. Now that the struggle was over, I went to her to tell +her of my successes. Then I learned that her father had been ruined in +the panic, and that if it had not been for a friend who sacrificed his +small fortune for them, they would have been turned out of house and +home. This friend was your father. He was a friend also to Sydney; and +it was with his money, I believe, that Sydney discharged his debt to +me; I had other security, but I was glad that there was no need to +enforce it. + +I held my passion in full control when I was told that your mother was +engaged to be married. It was bitter to bear, but I argued with myself +that it was best so; I _might_ have done a foolish thing. A coldness +sprang up between the Sydneys and me, and our intimacy weakened. It +was natural, for our positions were very different from what they were +a few months before. I had risen, and he had fallen. We were not upon +an equality. + +I never saw your mother after she was married. Engrossed in the +purpose of my life, deeply engaged in schemes involving large +interests, rising and prospering, amassing and accumulating, I lost +sight of her. But I did not forget her. Now and again, in my calmer +moments, when a great venture had been brought to a successful issue +and I had added to my store, or when the fever of a great speculation +was over, I thought of her with a certain tenderness and a certain +regret; but I strove to find happiness in my money. Did I find it? No. + +No; I did not find it. Looking back into my life, with all its cares +and anxious struggles, I know that I was never happy. Looking upon +myself now, as I sit in my great house, an old man, writing my +confession, I know that I am an utterly miserable man. Yet are not +most men unhappy? It seems so to me. Then I am no different from +others, and under any other circumstances I should be as I am. Should +I? Supposing I had married, and had children who loved me. There would +be consolation in that, surely. Children, wife, friends, who loved me! +Answer me, Myself. Is there one living being in the world who thinks +of you with affection, who pauses now and then to give you a thought +of love? Answer honestly. Not one! + +Is it fancy, and am I working myself into a morbid state of feeling? +From the dense shadows that lurk in the corners of the room, seemed to +come an echo of the unspoken words--Not one! The air seemed to carry +the words to the river--Not one! The river is flowing to the sea--to +the vast unseen waters which in my present mood I liken to the future +into which my life will sink, unremembered, unblessed! + +Most men are unhappy, I have said. Well, it is so in my experience. +Yet the Sydneys were happy; I am sure of it. Even after the panic +which enriched me and impoverished him, I have seen him on the top of +an omnibus, after business hours, on his way home, with happiness in +his face. Home! Is this my house a home? I have seen glimpses of +happiness also elsewhere, and always, as I now recognise, in +connection with women and children. + +I thought often of your mother; but years passed, and I made no effort +to see her. One day among my letters was one with a black envelope. I +have the letter by me now. Knowing what I was about to write, I +brought it with me from my study. You will recognise your mother's +writing. I place it after these words, so that--should these pages +come to your hands--you may read it in its natural order. + +'My dear Sir,--You will be surprised to receive a letter from me, but +not angry, I hope. You will regard it with kindly feelings, perhaps, +when I tell you that when you read it I shall be in my grave. I come +to you a suppliant, and with all the earnestness of my soul I pray +that I may not write in vain. My husband--whom I shall soon see +again--died three years since, leaving me with a child, a boy, in whom +you will see a resemblance to the girl to whom you used to confide +your hopes and plans. He has his father's mouth, but he has my eyes +and hair. I was very very happy with my husband, who was a good man, +but not fortunate in worldly matters. I used sometimes to wish that +you could have visited us, and seen our happy little home. But you +were too far removed from us in station; I often heard of your great +successes in life, and was very very glad to know that you had gained +what you most desired. When my husband died, he left me very poor. Can +you guess now--you who must receive so many applications from the +unfortunate--my purpose in writing to you? + +'The doctor tells me I have not many days to live. I may live a month, +he says; I may die tomorrow; and my child will be left quite penniless +and unprovided for. I made up my mind to write before my strength +fails me. Will you befriend my orphan boy? I do not know what words to +use to strengthen my appeal. If you were to ask me what it is I wish +you to do, and I could answer from my grave, I would say. Arm him for +the battle of life; give him some sort of plain and useful education; +and when he is old enough, put him in some way so that he may be able +to work for his living. Will you do this, for the sake of old times, +for the sake of the girl you used to like to chat with, for the sake +of charity? When I write my name to this letter, I will kneel down and +pray to the Almighty that you will not turn a deaf ear to my appeal, +and I will bless you with my dying breath. As you read these words, +think that I am by your side, imploring you to say, "Yes, I will do +this out of pity for the orphan and his dead mother, and for the sake +of old times." God prosper you in all your undertakings!--Your old +friend and suppliant, ISABEL.' + +You know now why I interested myself in you. Yes, I think there is one +living being who will remember me with affection when I am gone. + +I am thinking of you now, Andrew, and I am considering whether I shall +carry out an idea which has occurred to me with reference to my money. +I have nearly run my span of life. Death may, in the natural order of +things, claim me at any moment. Say it claims me to-morrow, and I die +without a will, what will become of the great fortune I shall leave +behind me? Litigation will ensue. The lawyers will have a banquet You +said once, 'If there were in the world one lawyer where now there are +a hundred, the world would be the better for it, and justice would be +more easily administered.' Well, the law shall not juggle with my +money if I live another week; neither shall you have it for your own +use; no, not one shilling of it. And yet, if I keep in my present +mind, you shall have the entire control of it, and shall have the +power of disposing of it in any way you please--except for your own +benefit. I know that I can trust you thoroughly; there is not another +man in the world whom I would dream of placing such confidence in. It +was my desire that you should take my name after my death, and spend +my money in such a manner as to make the name a great one in society. +As that satisfaction is denied to me, and as you say that 'money is +only sweet when it is well-spent,' use mine in fulfilment of your +sentiment. The more I think of it the more am I disposed to regard my +scheme with favour. To-morrow morning I will go to my lawyer, who will +communicate with you after my death. You may be sure that everything +will be plainly set down, and that you will not be able to appropriate +the money to your own private use. But I must be just. Every labourer +is worthy of his hire. If the administration of the trust occupies the +chief portion of your time, you shall be warranted in drawing from the +funds the sum of one hundred and fifty pounds per annum--to cease +immediately your labours cease. + + + * * * * * + + +It is long past midnight. As I look out of window, I see that the moon +has risen, and that the heavens are filled with stars. My garden is +really beautiful now, with the light shining upon it. I have never +seen my property present so fair an aspect as it does at this present +moment. The river is very beautiful also. I will go out and stroll +along the banks, or sit and muse, as the whim seizes me. Shall I wish +you 'Good-night before I go? No, I will wait until I return. + + + * * * * * + + +Three hours have passed since I wrote the last words. I have heard no +human voice, and yet it seems to me that I have heard voices. The air +has grown very sweet. Flecks of gold are coming into the sky. I have +watched their faint colour grow strong. It is sunrise. A golden mist +is rising from the waters. I cannot tell you what has passed through +my mind during the last few hours. I cannot tell you what is in it +now. I can scarcely comprehend it myself, but I feel happier than I +have felt for some time. I cannot wish you Good-night, for the night +has passed. Good-morning, Andrew! + + + + XV. + + FAIRHAVEN. + + +The perusal of this remarkable document affected me beyond power of +description. My mother's letter to Mr. Fairhaven brought her dear +figure vividly to my mind's eye, and I sobbed from happiness. It was +love that had accomplished this wonderful thing--love, which death +cannot destroy. + +I read the latter portion of the document again and again, until I +could almost repeat the words from memory. 'Good-morning, Andrew,' +were Mr. Fairhaven's last words to me. Ah, yes! In the night of his +life the morning had dawned sweetly and holily. I blessed him for his +noble revenge. I prayed for strength, for wisdom, to worthily fulfil +the solemn trust reposed in me. + +But in what way to apply it, so that unalloyed good might spring from +its use? My heart cried out, 'Teach me! Show me the way!' An answer +came. Side by side I saw the figures of Ruth and Blade-o'-Grass. 'Look +here and here,' a voice seemed to say to me. 'See this one trodden +into the mire. See this one tended, cared for, raised to purity and +usefulness.' I trembled with mingled fear and happiness. A great +thought loomed upon my mind, like a sunrise to my soul. + +I placed my hand upon my heart to still its beating. I was alone, and +I yearned for the presence of friends in whom I could confide. Should +I go to those who were dearest to me--to Rachel and to Mrs. Silver, +and tell them this wonderful news? I started to my feet with the +intention of proceeding at once to Buttercup-square. I placed the +precious document in my breast-pocket, and I buttoned my coat tightly +and securely. But what, after all, if it should prove a mockery? No, I +would wait until I had assured myself. I knew what hopes would be +raised in their breasts, and I would spare them a possible +disappointment. + +If it were not mockery--if it were true, clear, incontestable--this +immense fortune was at my disposal to do as I pleased with. Not to +spend upon myself; to spend upon others; to sow and reap the crop. +Golden Grain! + +But before it grew to fulness and ripeness, before it waved in perfect +comeliness in the eyes of God and man, to watch the tender green +leaves springing from the beneficent earth, smiling in the face of the +bright sun, with nature's health-giving tears glistening upon them--to +watch them gather sufficient strength to resist the attacks of wind +and storm and adverse circumstances, each Blade of Grass a thing of +beauty---- Ah, Golden Grain! Golden Grain indeed! + +I could not sleep on that night I rose many times, and paced the room, +praying for sunrise. And then, when the business of the day had fairly +commenced, I was in the office of Mr. Fairhaven's lawyers. The +principal member of the firm received me. He eyed me with curiosity +through his golden spectacles. + +'I expected you would call,' he observed, as he motioned me to a seat. + +'Are you acquainted,' I asked, 'with the contents of the packet you +sent to me yesterday?' + +He answered me like a lawyer. + +'It came to me sealed; my instructions were to forward it.' + +I placed it in his hands, and he read it, slowly and attentively. + +'I was in doubt,' he said, as he handed it back to me, 'whether you +were a relative of the late Mr. Fairhaven.' + +'You see that I am not' + +'I see. It is all the more remarkable because of that.' + +'The will,' I said, and paused. He took up my words. + +'----Is in exact accordance with the terms of the letter.' + +He opened his safe, and produced the will. He referred to the date of +the letter. + +'I received my instructions,' he said, 'from the late Mr. Fairhaven on +the morning following the day on which he wrote this communication.' + +'I should have wished to attend his funeral,' I said, 'if I had but +known! Even without this, it would have been my earnest desire. I owe +much to him.' + +'I received no instructions that have not complied with.' + +'You saw my dear friend before his death?' + +'Frequently. Two days before his death, indeed. You are aware that he +died rather suddenly.' + +'I was not aware. I am glad to know that he did not suffer long.' + +'Up to the last his intellect was remarkably clear.' He said this with +a half smile. + +'You put stress upon that,' I observed. + +'Undoubtedly, my dear sir. It is an important point.' + +'In what way?' + +He gave me an odd look, and said: 'The late Mr. Fairhaven must have +relations. The will he has made is undoubtedly an eccentric one. Has +it occurred to you that its validity may be disputed?' + +'No.' + +'It will be,' he said dryly; 'and that is the reason why it is +important to be able to prove that his intellect was clear to the +last. You need have no fear, Mr. Meadow. The will cannot be shaken.' + +I thanked him for the assurance, and asked him if he was acquainted +with the extent of the property. + +'It will probably realise,' he answered, 'not less--yes, I should +certainly say not less--than two hundred and thirty thousand pounds.' + +'A vast fortune, indeed,' I said, with a beating heart at this +confirmation of my hopes. + +'And made out of nothing,' he added. 'He commenced life as a poor +clerk. I have heard it said of him that whatever he touched turned to +gold.' + +I left to the lawyer the management of everything connected with Mr. +Fairhaven's will. As he had predicted, it was disputed, on the ground +of the testator's incapacity. But it was proved, beyond the shadow of +a doubt, that Mr. Fairhaven was in the full possession of his +reasoning faculties not only at the time he made his will, but up to +the very day of his death. The validity of the will was unhesitatingly +upheld by the judges, and the property came into my possession. +Nevertheless the case was not finally settled until after the lapse of +many months, and during this time the newspapers were busy upon Mr. +Fairhaven's eccentricity. 'It remains to be seen,' said an influential +paper, in a leading article, 'and it is a matter of much curiosity, +how the legatee will administer his trust' I found myself quite a +public character, and I was inundated with applications and with +letters of advice. But my resolution was already formed. + +I did not disclose this resolution to the Silvers while the matter was +in the law-courts. So great was my anxiety that I feared, even up to +the last moment, that some chance or quibble of the law would deprive +me of the means for carrying it out. Not until everything was settled, +not until the property was declared to be mine incontestably, not +until it was realised, and the money invested in the Funds, did I +consider myself free to open my mind to my dear friends. I had my last +interview with the lawyer; he had acted throughout in the most +straightforward manner, and I thanked him sincerely. + +'And yet,' he remarked, 'you said once to Mr. Fairhaven that if there +were in the world one lawyer where now there are a hundred, the world +would be the better for it.' + +'I think so still,' I replied. + +'Strange,' he said, with a touch of pleasant satire, 'that the world +has never been able to get along without us.' + +'Never!' I exclaimed. 'Nay, you must be mistaken.' + +'I am not mistaken. I can go as far back as the days of Abraham for +proof. Did not that patriarch buy "the field of Ephron, which was in +Macphelah, which was before Mamre; the field, and the cave which was +therein, and all the trees that were in the field, that were in all +the borders round about?" The very words we read in Genesis. Do you +mean to tell me that any one but a lawyer could have written such a +description? We have our uses, my dear sir!' + +I smiled. I was too happy to argue with him, and we parted the best of +friends. In the evening I found myself, as I had designed, in +Buttercup-square. I knocked at Mrs. Silver's door, and she herself +opened it. Only Rachel and she were at home. I had kept her fully +acquainted with the progress of affairs, and she knew that I expected +to have my final interview with the lawyer on this day. + +'All is settled,' I said. 'What do you see in my face?' + +'Happiness.' + +'It is in my heart. This is a supreme moment in my life. I feel that I +am about to commence a great work.' Mrs. Silver did not reply, but +looked earnestly at me. I noticed also that Rachel suspended her +sewing. 'The vast fortune that Mr. Fairhaven left has been safely +invested in Consols. What income, do you think, is derivable from the +money?' + +'I am afraid to guess.' + +'What would you say to nearly nine thousand pounds a year?' + +'As much as that?' asked Mrs. Silver, with an exclamation of +astonishment. + +'Quite as much. What is to be done with this great sum, of which I am +the steward?' + +'It is a grave question,' she said; 'one not easily answered.' + +'Still I have not found it difficult to decide. When I first received +Mr. Fairhaven's letter an inspiration fell upon me, and my resolution +was formed. But I did not dare to consult you upon it, for I feared +that the means of carrying it out would slip from me. Now I am free to +speak. Listen to me in silence, and when I have unfolded my plan, tell +me what you think of it. The inspiration that fell on me on the first +disclosure of this good fortune came, my dearest friend, from you, and +from the history and influence of your happy home. During the interval +that has passed since that eventful day I have thought deeply over my +scheme, and have matured it to some extent in my mind. I have not been +so wrapt up in it as to be regardless of other modes of expending the +money in a good and useful way; but, in the continual contemplation of +it, I have become more and more strengthened in my belief that my +first thoughts are the happiest and the best. I know the solemnity of +the trust reposed in me, and from this moment I consecrate my life to +it, convinced that I shall find true happiness in it. I propose to +establish on a large scale a Home for the poorest orphaned and +friendless children, whom we shall adopt while they are very young, +and educate and rear in such a manner as shall make them good and +useful members of society. We will take them from the gutters, and +rescue them from ignorance and crime; and as they grow up we will +draft them into the ranks of honest bread-winners, either in this or +in other countries, and fill their places with other poor children. +There shall be no distinctive mark of charity upon them; they shall be +so brought up as to be proud of the Home in which they are armed for +the battle of life. There are numerous matters of detail which need +not be discussed and decided upon at present; such as establishing +schools of trade in our Home, so that the children may be usefully +employed until they take their places in the ranks of out-door +workers. I have seen a large building, with ground attached, which +will suit our purpose admirably; the rental is three hundred pounds a +year. I requires a great deal of alteration, which the proprietor is +willing to make if he can let it on a long lease. There is sufficient +available land round the building for playgrounds and gardens. The +children themselves shall learn to be the gardeners. This, in brief, +is my scheme, of which I ask your approval. I see many beautiful +pictures in the future in connection with it, the contemplation of +which makes me supremely happy. I see men and women in whom have been +implanted the seeds of cleanliness, industry, virtue, and religion, +living their useful lives, and some among them rising even to eminence +in this and other lands--men and women who, without this Home, would +be lurking about in rags and want, and filling the public houses and +prisons. I see them marrying, and bringing up _their_ children in the +right path, and holding out a helping hand to others. I see the means +for enlarging our Home coming from some of the prosperous ones, out of +the gratitude of their hearts. And when the time comes for me to +render an account of my stewardship, I trust I shall have earned the +approval of Him from whom all blessings are derived. Tell me, dear +friend, do you think my scheme a good one?' + + +[Illustration] + + +Mrs. Silver took my hand in hers, and retained it. She was too +agitated to speak, but I saw perfect approval in her sweet face, and +in the sweet face of Rachel. I continued: + +'In his first proposition to me to make me his heir, Mr. Fairhaven +expressed a wish that I should take his name after his death, and +spend his money in such a manner as to make the name a great one in +society. I shall call our Home, Fairhaven; and thus his goodness will +be perpetuated. I look to you, dear madam, to assist me in my scheme, +and I ask you to enlist under my banner, as I once enlisted under +yours.' + +She gave me the assurance of her fullest help, and said she had never +hoped such happiness would be hers as to assist in the development of +a scheme which she described as noble and good. + +'And now,' I said, in tones which trembled with emotion, for I was +approaching a subject very dear to my heart, 'if I might be permitted +to say a few words privately to you----' + +Rachel rose and left the room. I followed her form with wistful eyes, +and when I turned to Mrs. Silver I saw that good woman regarding me +more attentively than she had hitherto done. I paused for awhile +before I resumed. + +'I am about to speak of a selfish subject--myself. In Mr. Fairhaven's +letter to me, he states that every labourer is worthy of his hire, and +that if the administration of the trust he has reposed in me occupies +the chief portion of my time, I am warranted in drawing from the funds +an annual salary of one hundred and fifty pounds. As I shall make my +home at Fairhaven, and shall devote all my time to the furtherance of +my scheme, I believe I am fairly entitled to that sum. If I were +possessed of private means I would not accept one shilling of the +money for my own use; I would cheerfully give my labours without fee +and without reward. But it is otherwise with me, and in the annual +statement which I shall draw up and endeavour to get published in the +papers, I shall place the sum of a hundred and fifty pounds as the +fixed salary paid to the general manager of the Home. I _am_ justified +in doing that, am I not?' + +'Quite justified.' + +'The income I have hitherto received for my labours has been +sufficient for my personal needs, but not more than sufficient. I have +felt this sorely, for with those means I have not dared to indulge in +the contemplation of the dearest wish and hope of my heart. But now +all is clear before me, and I may speak without hesitation.' + +My agitation communicated itself to her; I saw the signs of it in her +face. + +'Not very long ago you said something to me which was very sweet to my +ear. You said that if it had pleased God to give you a son of your +own, you would have wished him to resemble me. I have thought of these +words very often. Have you sufficient confidence in me to give into my +care one whom I love with all the strength of my heart and soul? Will +you give me Rachel for my wife? Will you let me call you Mother?' + +I leant towards her eagerly; she looked at me with solemn affection. + +'I _am_ proud of you,' she said, 'and I love you as if you were my +own. But have you well considered? Rachel is blind----' + +'Not to me--not to me, Mother! To make her my wife is the dearest hope +of my heart.' + +'If I seem to hesitate,' she said tearfully, 'it is because I love +you. I would trust you with the dearest treasure I have.' + +'If you hesitate,' I replied, 'I shall think that you begin to doubt +me. You must believe what I say. Rachel's love will crown my life with +perfect happiness.' + +I have cause to remember and bless that night. Before I left the house +Rachel and I plighted our troth to each other. The dear girl, while +confessing that she loved me, actually needed persuasion to accept me +as her husband. She was full of doubts of herself, and of her fitness, +being blind, to fulfil a wife's duties. Pure, gentle heart! Her +presence would sweeten and add lustre to a palace. It was decided that +we should not be married until Fairhaven was fairly established, and +this I knew would occupy some considerable time. + +So now, with everything fair before me, I set to work upon my scheme. +The house and grounds I had mentioned to Mrs. Silver as being suitable +for the Home, I took on a long lease, in which a purchasing clause was +inserted. The necessary alterations were carefully discussed, and were +commenced as soon as possible. As I had resolved, I made my scheme +public, through the medium of the newspapers, the writers in which +gave me the most generous assistance and encouragement. To my +surprise, not one thought my idea quixotic; and before Fairhaven was +ready to receive inmates, its name became famous not only in this, but +in other countries. Every hour of my time was occupied, and I think +I may fairly say I earned my wages. It would occupy too much space +here to narrate the details of my work; they were numerous and +onerous--more so than I had contemplated; but I did not shrink from +them, and the assistance I received from the Silvers was of +incalculable value to me. Letters poured in upon me, and among them +were some addressed to the Master of Fairhaven. It pleased my friends +to adopt this title for me, and I accepted it with pride and pleasure. + +One of the most gratifying features of the movement was that many of +the letters contained subscriptions in money in aid of the Home. These +subscriptions it was necessary to acknowledge, and I thought it would +be a good thing to acknowledge them in the newspapers. I did so; and +the result was astonishing. Stimulated by the example, money was sent +to me from all quarters and from all kinds of people, even from the +poorest. Before many weeks had elapsed I found that the work of +answering these letters was too much for me. + +'You want a secretary,' said Mrs. Silver. + +'I have been thinking of it,' I said; 'and I have thought of offering +the situation to some one whom you know.' + +'To whom?' + +'To Mary. The work will be no harder for her than that which she +already accomplishes in the telegraph office.' + +Mrs. Silver was delighted with the suggestion, and Mary was offered +and accepted the situation. Thus the work went on harmoniously, and a +fortnight before Christmas the Home was in a sufficiently forward +state to commence operations. I had schemed that the inauguration +should take place on Christmas-day, and I proposed that all my +friends--the Silvers and their children, Mr. Merrywhistle, Jimmy +Virtue, Robert Truefit and his family, and Blade o'-Grass--should +spend the day at Fairhaven. It was thus arranged, and this Christmas +two years, Fairhaven received more than sixty poor orphaned children, +and the good work was actually commenced. + +I must mention here that Blade-o'-Grass had lived with Mrs. Silver +from the time of Tom Beadle's departure; and on this, our inauguration +day, I found her assistance with the children peculiarly valuable. + +'This is the anniversary of your wedding-day, my dear,' I said to +Blade-o'-Grass. + +'Yes, sir,' she answered; 'there are only four years now to wait. Did +you know I had a letter last night from Tom?' + +'No, my dear.' + +She gave me the letter, and I found that it was written--very badly, +of course--by Tom Beadle himself. He was learning to read as well, he +said in the letter; Richard was his tutor. + +'You are getting along also, my dear, with your reading and writing.' + +'Yes, sir. It's a good letter, isn't it? + +It was a good letter. Everything was turning out as I had hoped. The +different life which Tom was leading was having its effect upon him, +and he was beginning to look forward. From Richard's letters to me I +knew that he had had some trouble with Tom at first; Tom had not taken +too kindly to the restrictions of his time which regular labour +imposes; but this feeling--the natural result of the vagrant life he +had hitherto led--was passing away, and Tom's mind was nearly settled. +In his letter, which I held in my mind, there was a message of +goodwill to all who had been kind to Blade-o'-Grass. + +'Now, my dear,' I said, as I returned the letter, 'I have a +proposition to make to you. You have four years to wait before you +wish us good-bye, and sail for your new home in another land. What do +you say to living at Fairhaven until that day comes? You shall be one +of my matrons--I want those about me whom I can depend upon--and I can +afford to pay you twenty pounds a year for your services. You will +have a little purse to give Tom when you see him, and that will be an +agreeable surprise to him. What do you say to my proposition?' + +She could not answer me immediately; but when she was sufficiently +recovered to speak, she told me that she had yearned to be allowed to +stop at Fairhaven, but that she should not have been able to muster +courage to ask me--not deeming herself capable enough or good enough. +She accepted the offer gratefully, but begged me not to pay her money. + +'Let me work for you for love, sir!' she pleaded. + +'No, my dear,' I said firmly, 'not entirely for love. Why! _I_ take +money for my services, and so shall you! It is just and right.' + +From that time until this, Blade-o'-Grass has not spent a day away +from Fairhaven, and she is the most valuable assistant I have in the +Home. I shall miss her sorely when she goes. Her influence over the +children is wonderful, and they, as well as we, love her very +sincerely. + +The year that followed was even busier than the preceding year. So +much had to be seen to! Rachel and I decided to wait until everything +was settled and in far working order before we were married. We had +another reason for the delay. The rooms in Fairhaven that I had set +aside for ourselves required to be furnished, and the money for the +furniture could not be taken out of the general fund. I had to earn +the money before I could offer Rachel a home which she could call +properly her own. During the year subscriptions continued to flow in +upon us, without any appeal being made. The charitable heart of +England is not hard to touch. And one day, to my intense delight and +joy, a letter came from a Great Lady, containing a cheque for a large +amount. The letter itself is a bright testimonial in favour of the +good work. + +I could tarry with pleasure over this portion of my story, but my +time is drawing short. My holiday is nearly at an end--the day after +to-morrow my wife and I return to Fairhaven. We have enjoyed our +honeymoon beyond description, although it is winter. Many a happy walk +have we taken in the crisp cold air; many a happy evening have we +spent by the cheerful fireside, Rachel busy with her needle, and I +reading to her what I have written; breaking off every now and then to +talk of the dear house in Buttercup-square, and of the dear ones in +it; of the children at home in Fairhaven, and of the happy future +there is before us, and we hope before them. The house in which we +have been living during our honeymoon is completely covered with ivy +up to the very chimneys, and the wrens find shelter there, and leave +not a crumb of the bread we scatter for them every morning upon our +windowsill. The holly-bushes are bright with crimson berries; +Christmas will be with us soon; a bunch of Christmas-roses is on my +table now. But one eventful circumstance remains to be narrated. + +It was the autumn of last year; I had called into see Mrs. Silver +early in the morning, to consult her on some arrangements for the +Home. She asked after all there, and we fell a-talking, as we often +did, about Blade-o'-Grass, who was very much changed in appearance +from what she was. A stranger, looking upon her now for the first +time, would never have guessed what her previous life had been; her +dress was neat and modest, her hair was done up in a simple knot, hope +and happiness dwelt in her face. Day by day she was strengthening her +hold upon all our hearts; her gentle behaviour to the children, her +gratitude and her love for all around her, her patience, her cheerful +willingness, were very pleasant to behold. Mrs. Silver and I spoke of +one fancy which Blade-o'-Grass indulged in. She seemed to have set +Ruth before her as a model; and in the matter of dress and the fashion +of her hair, she copied Ruth as closely as she could. The subject of +her resemblance to Ruth had never been touched upon by any of us since +my conversation with Rachel, although I am sure it was in the mind of +my friends as it was in my own. But it seemed to be avoided by general +and unexpressed consent. I was telling Mrs. Silver that before I left +Fairhaven, Ruth had come with her child to spend the day there with +Blade-o'-Grass, when the servant entered to say that a visitor wished +to see Mrs. Silver very particularly. + +'She says she don't think you know her, ma'am, but that she'll tell +you who she is herself.' + +'Let her come in, Emma.' + +The visitor proved to be a tidily-dressed woman, of about fifty or +fifty-five years of age; she looked like a farmer's wife. If I wished +to describe her by a word, I should use the word 'comfortable.' In her +dress and general appearance she was eminently a comfortable woman. +She looked at Mrs. Silver very earnestly, and took the chair that was +offered to her. There was something very homely and genial about her; +and although I felt somewhat curious to know her errand, I asked Mrs. +Silver if I should retire. + +'Not unless this lady wishes it,' said Mrs. Silver. + +'Love your heart!' was the reply, in a pleasant tone; 'I don't wish it +if you don't. And I hope you'll forgive the liberty I've took in +coming here; but I couldn't rest without seeing you, after coming all +these miles.' + +'You have come a long way, then,' said Mrs. Silver; 'you must be +tired.' + +The visitor laughed. 'I've come sixteen thousand miles over the water, +all the way from Australia, and I'm going back there next month, +please God!' + +'You are an Englishwoman?' + +'O yes, ma'am; I was born in London. Me and my husband emigrated +eighteen year ago. It was the best day's work we ever done, though I +love the old country, ma'am; but we were driven out of it, in a manner +of speaking. My husband was a carpenter--he's a builder now, and +we've done well, thank God, and our children are in the way of doing +well too.' + +'I am glad to hear it.' + +'I'm the mother of fourteen, ma'am--twelve of them living.' + +'That's a large family.' + +'Not a bit too large out there; too large here for a poor man, but not +there. I've been longing these five or six years past to come and see +the old country once more before I die; and four months ago, my man +said, "Well, mother, if your mind's set on it, we'd best go and get it +over." So we've come, and we sha'n't lose anything by it. He's busy +this morning looking at a steam-plough we're going to take back for +our eldest son, who has a farm--if you'll excuse me for rambling on in +this way, ma'am.' + +'It interests me to hear you.' + +'When a person comes back to the old spots, after being away for so +many years, all sorts of curious feelings comes over her. It seemed to +me as if I was in a dream when I walked through Stoney-alley this +morning----' + +'Stoney-alley!' + +'I lived there a long time, ma'am; but I never knew until this morning +what a dreadful place it is. I think I should die if I was compelled +to live there again. There's the old shops there, just the same as +they were eighteen years ago--all except Mr. Virtue's leaving-shop, +which I was told was burnt down. You look as if you knew the place, +sir.' + +'I know it well,' I said, 'and Mr. Virtue also.' + +'Ah, he was a queer old man! but he had a heart, though he _was_ so +grumpy! But I mustn't ramble. I've come to make a confession to you, +ma'am, and to ask you after some one I nursed in these arms when she +was a baby.' + +Mrs. Silver turned pale. + +'I've nothing to blame myself for, ma'am; what was done was done for +the best. Do you remember anything that, occurred last Christmas-eve +come twenty-three year ago?' + +'Yes, I remember it well; very well,' replied Mrs. Silver, in an +agitated tone. 'I have cause to remember it with gratitude. It was on +that night, Andrew, that Ruth came to us; it was on that night I +visited Stoney-alley, the place where this good woman lived.' + +'You came to the very house in which I lived, ma'am, and you took +away--bless your loving heart for it!--one of the sweetest children +that ever breathed. The landlady brought her to you out of these very +arms. Ruth, you say her name is. Tell me, ma'am--tell me--you know +what it is I want to ask.' + +'She is well and happy.' + +'Thank God for that!' + +'But you say the landlady gave me the child out of your arms. You are +not her mother----' Mrs. Silver was unable to proceed. + +'Love your dear heart, no! The poor child's mother was dead. But the +landlady only told you half the truth when she told you that. She said +there was only one baby--she didn't tell you that the poor mother was +confined with twin-girls. On the Christmas-eve that you came to +Stoney-alley I had them both on my knees--the sweet little things! +They hadn't a friend, and we were too poor to take care of them. We +had a large family of our own, and our hands were as full as full +can be! As I was nursing the dears, the landlady came into the +room in a flare of excitement, and said that there was a kind lady +downstairs--it was you, ma'am--who wanted to adopt an orphan child, +and who would give it a home and bring it up properly. The landlady +said that if she had told you there was twins left in that way, she +was sure you wouldn't be willing to part them, and that it would be a +good thing, at all events, if one of the poor little ones could be +taken care of. My husband thought so too; and though it cut me to the +heart to part the dears, I felt it was the best thing we could do. We +were a long time choosing between them; they were so much alike that +we could hardly tell which was which; but one of them had a pretty +dimple, and we kept that one, and sent the other down to you. If you +remember, ma'am, you left your name and address with the landlady, and +I never parted with the piece of paper you wrote it on, for I didn't +know what might turn up. That is how I've found you out now.' + +Mrs. Silver looked at me in distress. + +'There is no need for sorrow here,' I said. 'If what I suspect is +true, it is but a confirmation of what has been in my thoughts and in +Rachel's also for a long time.' I turned to our visitor. 'I should +know your name; Mr. Virtue has told me of you, and of your kindness to +these babes. You collected money for them before they were a fortnight +old.' + +'Yes,' she assented with pleasant nods, 'and Mr. Virtue himself gave +me a penny. My name is Mrs. Manning.' + +'Tell me. What became of the other child?' + +'That's what I want to know. If she's alive now, poor thing! she must +be a woman grown; very different, ma'am, I'm afraid, from the child +that you adopted. But if she wants a friend I'll be that friend. I'll +take her back with me, if she'll come--my man wouldn't mind! She'd +have a chance out there; and what's a mouth more or less at a full +table, as ours is, thank God! a slice off a cut loaf is never missed.' + +'You good soul! I said, pressing her hand. 'We want to know all you +can tell us about the other child. Do you remember what name she was +known by?' + +'Ah, that I do, and a curious way it was how she came by that name! +You see, ma'am, two or three blades of grass happened to sprout up in +our back-yard, and the child took to watching them, and fell quite in +love with them, poor little dear! This went on for three or four days, +till one morning, when she was sitting by the side of the blades of +grass, a lodger, hurrying along, happened to tread them down. The +child was in a dreadful way, ma'am, and, as children will do, she hit +at the man with her little fists. He pushed her down with his foot, +not intending to hurt her, I do believe; and I ran out, and blew him +up for his unkindness. He laughed, and said it was a fine fuss to kick +up about two or three blades of grass, and that it was a good job for +the child that she wasn't a blade of grass herself, or she might have +been trod down with the others. From that time the child began to be +called little Blade-o'-Grass, and that was the only name I ever knew +her to have.' + +'Ruth is at Fairhaven,' I said to Mrs. Silver. + +'We will go there at once,' said Mrs. Silver, rising. 'This will be a +joyful day for both of them. You will accompany us,' to Mrs. Manning. +'You would like to see these sisters whom you nursed and were good to +in their helplessness?' + +'It's what I've been praying for, ma'am. Many and many a time, over +the water, has my man and me talked of them, and wondered what has +become of them. Fairhaven! It's a pretty name; but are they both +there? and what kind of a place, is Fairhaven?' + +'You shall see for yourself,' replied Mrs. Silver, with tearful +smiles. 'And on the way the Master of Fairhaven shall tell you the +story of these sisters' lives.' + +How the good creature cried and laughed over the story I need not here +describe. When I came to the end her delight knew no bounds. She shook +hands with me and Mrs. Silver, her honest face beaming with joy, and +said, under her breath, 'Well, this is the happiest day!' + +Blade-o'-Grass and Ruth were in the garden. As we approached them +Mrs. Manning raised her hands in astonishment, and whispering to +us that they were as like each other as two peas, asked which was +Blade-o'-Grass and which was Ruth. We told her; and, in her motherly +homely fashion, she held out her arms to them. Blade-o'-Grass passed +her hands over her eyes and gazed earnestly at Mrs. Manning. + +'Do you remember me, my dear?' asked the good woman. 'I've come a long +way to see you--sixteen thousand miles--to see both of you, my dears! +I nursed you both on my knees before you were a week old----' + +Her motherly heart overflowed towards the girls, and Mrs. Silver and I +stole away and left them together. We did not disturb them for fully +half-an-hour. Then we went softly towards them. Blade-o'-Grass was +kneeling by the side of Ruth, looking into her sister's face with a +look of unutterable love. Ruth's arm was embracing Blade-o'-Grass, and +Mrs. Manning was standing, with clasped hands, contemplating the +sisters with ineffable gladness. + +My story is told. + + +I write these last words at Fairhaven. The morning after our arrival +home, I stood upon the threshold of our little snuggery, which is +built on an elevation, with my arm around my wife's waist, describing +to her the picture which I saw. It was the play-hour of the day, and +the grounds were filled with children, comfortably dressed. We have +nearly three hundred children in our Home. Immediately before me, in +the centre of a group of young ones, who were clustering round her, +was Blade-o'-Grass, strengthened and chastened by the troubles she has +experienced, beautified by the better sphere of life which she now +occupies. The innate goodness of her nature has made her beloved by +all. Of all our sisters she is the dearest. + +We are making great preparations for Christmas. May it be as happy a +time to you, dear reader, as, in all human probability, it will be to +us and to the little ones who are in our charge! + + + + THE END. + + + + * * * * * + LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. + + + + + + +[Illustration: Saul and David.] + + + + + + +[Illustration: Bread and Cheese and Kisses. +By B. L. Farjeon +AUTHOR OF BLADE OF GRASS "GRIF" AND JOSHUA MARVEL.] + + + + + + Introduction, + which + serves in part as a + Dedication + to the + Memory of my Mother. + + * * * + + +With a sense of infinite thankfulness upon me, I sit down to commence +my Christmas story. This thankfulness is born of overflowing +gratitude. I am grateful that I am spared to write it, and grateful +because of the belief that the Blade of Grass I put forth a year ago +was: out of the goodness of many sympathising hearts: not allowed to +wither and die. It has been pressed upon me, and I have had it in my +mind, to continue the history of the humble Blade of Grass that I left +drooping last year; but the social events that have occurred between +that time and the present would not justify my doing so now. I hope to +continue it before long. By and by, please God, you and I will follow +the Blade of Grass through a summer all the more pleasant because of +the bleak winter in which it sprung, and by which it has hitherto been +surrounded. In the mean time, the tears that I shed over it will keep +it green, I trust. And in the mean time, it gladdens me to see a star +shining upon it, although it stands amid snow and wintry weather. + +As I sit in my quiet chamber, and think of the happy season for which +I am writing, I seem to hear the music of its tender influence, and I +wish that the kindly spirit which animates that day would animate not +that day alone, but every day of the three hundred and sixty-five. It +might be so; it could be so. Then, indeed, the Good Time which now is +always coming would be no longer looked forward to. + +Not that life should be a holiday: work is its wholesomest food. But +some little more of general kindliness towards one another, of +generous feeling between class and class, as well as between person +and person; some little less consideration of self; some more general +recognition by the high of the human and divine equality which, the +low bear to them; some little more consideration from the poor for the +rich; some little more practical pity from the rich for the poor; some +little less of the hypocrisy of life too commonly practised and too +commonly toadied to; some better meaning in the saying of prayers, and +therefore more true devotion in the bending of knees; some little more +benevolence in statesmanship; some hearty honest practising of doing +unto others even as ye would others should do unto you:--may well be +wished for, more appropriately, perhaps, at this season than at any +other, associated as it is with all that is tender and bright and +good. + +Why does the strain in which I am writing bring to me the memory of my +Mother? It is, I suppose, because that memory is the most sacred and +the tenderest that I have, and because what I feel for her is inwoven +in my heart of hearts. + +But there is another reason. From her comes the title of my Christmas +story. And this introduction serves in part as a dedication to the +beautiful goodness of her nature. + +I think that in this wide world: among the thousands of millions of +human beings who live and have passed away: there is not, and never +was, a woman who lived her life more contentedly, nor one who strove +more heartfully to make the most cheerful use of everything that fell +to her lot--of even adversity, of which she had her full share. She +was beloved by all who knew her. To her sympathising heart were +confided many griefs which others had to bear; and, poor as she was +for a long period of her life, she always, by some wonderful secret of +which I hope she was not the only possessor, contrived to help those +who came to her in need. I remember asking her once how she managed +it. 'My dear,' she answered, with a smile which reminds me of a +peaceful moonlight night; 'my dear, I have a lucky bag.' Where she +kept it, heaven only knows; but she was continually dipping her hand +into it, and something good and sweet always came out. How many hearts +she cheered, how many burdens she lightened, how many crosses she +garlanded with hope, no one can tell. She never did. These things came +to her as among the duties of life, and she took pleasure in +performing them. I am filled with wonder and with worship as I think +how naturally she laid aside her own hard trials to sympathise with +the trials of others. + +She was a capital housewife, and made much out of little. She had not +one selfish desire, and being devoted to her children, she made their +home bright for them. There was no sunshine in the house when Mother +was away. She possessed wonderful secrets in cookery, and I would +sooner sit down to one of the dinners she used to prepare for us +(albeit they were very humble) than to the grandest banquet that could +be placed before me. Everything was sweet that came from her hands--as +sweet as was everything that came from her lips. + +I would ask her often, being of an inquisitive turn of mind, 'Mother, +what have you got for dinner to-day?' 'Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses,' +she would reply merrily. Then I knew that one of our favourite dishes +was sure to be on the table, and I rejoiced accordingly. Sometimes, +however, she would vary her reply by saying that dinner would consist +of 'Knobs of Chairs and Pump-Handles.' Then would I sit in sackcloth +and ashes, for I knew that the chance of a good dinner was trembling +in the balance. + +But Knobs of Chairs and Pump-Handles was the exception. +Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses was the rule. And to this day +Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses bears for me in its simple utterance a +sacred and beautiful meaning. It means contentment; it means +cheerfulness; it means the exercise of sweet words and gentle thought; +it means Home! + +Dear and sacred word! Let us get away from the garish light that +distorts it. Let you and I, this Christmas, retire for a while, and +think of it and muse upon it. Let us resolve to cherish it always, and +let us unite in the hope that its influence for inconceivable good may +not be lost in the turmoil of the Great March, to the thunderous steps +of which the world's heart is wildly beating. Home! It is earth's +heaven! The flowers that grow within garret walls prove it; the +wondering ecstasy that fills the mother's breast as she looks upon the +face of her first-born, the quiet ministering to those we love, the +unselfishness, the devotion, the tender word, the act of charity, the +self-sacrifice that finds creation there, prove it; the prayers that +are said as we kneel by the bedside before committing our bodies to +sleep, the little hands folded in worship, the lisping words of praise +and of thanks to God that come from children's lips, the teaching of +those words by the happy mother so that her child may grow up good, +prove it. No lot in life is too lowly for this earth's heaven. No lot +in life is too lowly for the pure enjoyment of Bread-and-Cheese and +Kisses. + +I wish you, dear readers and friends, no better lot than this. May +Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses often be your fare, and may it leave as +sweet a taste in your mouth as it has left in mine! + + + + + + PART I. + + COME AND SHOW YOUR FACE, LIKE A MAN! + + +[Illustration] + + +If I were asked to point to a space of ground which, of all other +spaces in the world, most truly represents the good and bad, the high +and low, of humanity, I should unhesitatingly describe a circle of a +mile around Westminster Abbey. Within that space is contained all that +ennobles life, and all that debases it; and within that space, at the +same moment, the lofty aspiration of the statesman pulses in the great +Senate House in unison with the degraded desires of the inhabitant of +Old Pye-street. There St. Giles and St. James elbow each other. There +may be seen, in one swift comprehensive glance, all the beauty and +ugliness of life, all its hope and hopelessness, all its vanity and +modesty, all its knowledge and ignorance, all its piety and profanity, +all its fragrance and foulness. The wisdom of ages, the nobility that +sprung from fortunate circumstance or from brave endeavour, the +sublime lessons that lie in faith and heroism, sanctify the solemn +aisles of the grand old Abbey. Within its sacred cloisters rest the +ashes of the great: outside its walls, brushing them with his ragged +garments, skulks the thief--and worse. + +But not with these contrasts, nor with any lesson that they may teach, +have you and I to deal now. Our attention is fixed upon the striking +of eight o'clock by the sonorous tongue of Westminster. And not our +attention alone--for many of the friends with whom we shall presently +shake hands are listening also; so that we find ourselves suddenly +plunged into very various company. Ben Sparrow, the old grocer, who, +just as One tolls, is weighing out a quarter of a pound of brown sugar +for a young urchin without a cap, inclines his head and listens, for +all the world as if he _were_ a sparrow, so birdlike is the movement: +Bessie Sparrow, his granddaughter, who, having put Tottie to bed, is +coming downstairs in the dark (she has left the candle in the +washhand-basin in Tottie's room, for Tottie cannot go to sleep without +a light), stops and counts from One to Eight, and thinks the while, +with eyes that have tears in them, of Somebody who at the same moment +is thinking of her: Tottie, with one acid-drop very nearly at the +point of dissolution in her mouth, and with another perspiring in her +hand, lies in bed and listens and forgets to suck until the sound dies +quite away: a patient-looking woman, pausing in the contemplation of a +great crisis in her life, seeks to find in the tolling of the bell +some assurance of a happy result: James Million, Member of Parliament, +whose name, as he is a very rich man, may be said to be multitudinous, +listens also as he rolls by in his cab; and as his cab passes the end +of the street in which Mrs. Naldret resides, that worthy woman, who is +standing on a chair before an open cupboard, follows the sound, with +the tablecloth in her hand, and mutely counts One, Two, Three, Four, +Five, Six, Seven, Eight, the last number being accompanied by a +resigned sigh, as if Eight were the end of all things. + +The room in which Mrs. Naldret is standing is poor and comfortable; a +cheerful fire is burning, and the kettle is making up its mind to +begin to sing. An old black cat is lazily blinking her eyes at the +little jets of gas that thrust their forked tongues from between the +bars of the stove. This cat is lying on a faded hearthrug, in which +once upon a time a rampant lion reigned in brilliant colours; and she +is not at all disturbed by the thought that a cat lying full-length +upon a lion, with his tongue hanging out, is an anomaly in nature and +a parody in art. There is certainly some excuse for her in the +circumstance that the lion is very old, and is almost entirely rubbed +out. + +Mrs. Naldret steps from the chair with the tablecloth in her hand, and +in one clever shake, and with as nimble a movement as any wizard could +have made, shakes it open. As it forms a balloon over the table, she +assists it to expel the wind, and to settle down comfortably--being +herself of a comfortable turn of mind--and smoothes the creases with +her palms, until the cloth fits the table like wax. Then she sets the +tea-things, scalds the teapot, and begins to cut the bread and to +butter it. She cuts the bread very thick, and butters it very thin. +Butter is like fine gold to poor people. + +'I don't remember,' she says, pausing to make the reflection, with the +knife in the middle of the loaf, 'its being so cold for a long time. +To be sure, we're in December, and it'll be Christmas in three weeks. +Christmas!' she repeats, with a sigh, 'and George'll not be here. +He'll be on the sea--on the stormy ocean. It'll be a heavy Christmas +to us. But, there! perhaps it's all for the best; though how George +got the idea of emigrating into his head, I can't tell; it seemed to +come all of a sudden like. The house won't seem like the same +when he's away.' For comfort, her thoughts turn in another +direction--towards her husband. 'I wish father was home, though it +isn't quite his time--and he's pretty punctual, is father.' She goes +to the window, and peeps at the sky through a chink in the shutters. +'It looks as if it was going to snow. What a bright clear night it is, +but how cold! It's freezing hard!' Turning, she looks at the fire, and +at the cozy room, gratefully. 'Thank God, we've got a fire, and a roof +to cover us! God help those who haven't! There are a many of 'em, poor +creatures, and times are hard.' She turns again to the window, to +takes another peep at the sky through the shutters, and finds the +light shut out. 'There's some one looking into the room!' she +exclaims, retreating hastily out of view. 'It can't be Jim--he's never +done such a thing. He's only too glad to get indoors such nights as +this. And it can't be George. And there's the lock of the street-door +broken--no more use than a teapot with a hole in the bottom.' Being a +woman of courage, Mrs. Naldret runs into the passage, and opens the +street-door. 'Who's there? she cries, looking into the street, and +shivering, as the cold wind blows into her face. 'Who's there? Don't +sneak away like that, but come and show your face, like a man!' + +The man pauses at the challenge, stands irresolute for a moment or +two, then walks slowly back to the window, with hanging head. + +'Show my face, like a man!' he repeats, sadly, bitterly, and with a +world of self-reproach in his tone. 'There's not much of that stuff +left in me, Mrs. Naldret.' + +'Good Lord!' she exclaims, as he stands before her like a criminal. +'It's Saul Fielding!' + +'Yes,' he replies. 'It's Saul Fielding, God help him!' + +'Why can't Saul Fielding help himself?' she retorts, half angrily, +half pityingly. 'There was stuff enough in him once--at all events I +thought so.' + +'Show me the way!' he cries; but lowers his tone instantly, and says +humbly, 'I beg your pardon, Mrs. Naldret, for speaking in that manner. +It's ungrateful of me to speak like that to any of George's friends. +and least of all to his mother, that George loves like the apple of +his eye.' + +'So he does, dear lad,' says the grateful woman, 'and it does my heart +good to hear you say so. But you've nothing to be grateful to me for, +Saul. I've never done you any good; it's never been in my power.' + +'Yes, you have, and it has been in your power, Mrs. Naldret. Why, it +was only last week that you offered me----' + +'What you wouldn't take,' she interrupts hastily; 'so you don't know +if I meant it. Let be! Let be!' + +'----That you offered me food,' he continues steadily. 'But it's like +you and yours to make light of it. You've never done me any good! Why, +you're George's mother, and you brought him into the world! And I owe +him more than my life--ay, more than my life!' + +'I know the friendship there was between you and George,' she says, +setting the strength of his words to that account, 'and that George +loved you like a brother. More's the pity, because of that, that you +are as you are.' + +'It is so,' he assents meekly; 'but the milk's spilt; I can't pick it +up again.' + +'Saul, Saul! you talk like a woman!' + +'Do I?' he asks tenderly, and looking into her face with respect and +esteem in his eyes. 'Then there's some good left in me. I know one who +is stronger than I am, better, wiser, than a hundred such as I--and I +showed my appreciation of her goodness and her worth by doing her +wrong. Show my face like a man! I ought to hide it, as the moles do, +and show my contempt for myself by flying from the sight of men!' + +Filled with compassion, she turns her face from him so that she may +not witness his grief. + +'She is the noblest, the best of women!' he continues. 'In the face of +God, I say it. Standing here, with His light shining upon me, with His +keen wind piercing me to my bones (but it is just!), I bow to her, +although I see her not, as the nearest approach to perfect goodness +which it has ever been my happiness and my unhappiness to come in +contact with. Ay; although virtue, as humanly exercised, would turn +its back upon her.' + +'Are you blaming the world, Saul Fielding,' she asks, in a tone that +has a touch of sternness in it, 'for a fault which is all your own?' + +'No,' he answers; 'I am justifying Jane. _I_ blame the world! a pretty +object I, to turn accuser!' + +He appeals to his rags, in scorn of them and of himself. + +'Saul Fielding,' she says, after a pause during which she feels +nothing but ruth for his misery, 'you are a bit of a scholar; you have +gifts that others could turn to account, if they had them. Before +you--you----' + +'Went wrong,' he adds, as she hesitates, 'I know what you want to say. +Go on, Mrs. Naldret. _Your_ words don't hurt me.' + +'Before that time, George used to come home full of admiration for you +and your gifts. He said that you were the best-read man in all the +trade, and I'm sure, to hear you speak is proof enough of that. Well, +let be, Saul; let the past die, and make up your mind, like a man, to +do better in the future.' + +'Let the past die!' he repeats, as through the clouds that darken his +mind rifts of human love shine, under the influence of which his voice +grows indescribably soft and tender. 'Let the past die! No, not for a +world of worlds. Though it is filled with shame, I would not let it +go.--What are you looking for?' + +'It's Jim's time--my husband's--for coming home,' she says, a little +anxiously, looking up the street. 'He mightn't like----' But again she +hesitates and stumbles over her words. + +'To see you talking to me. He shall not My eyes are better than his, +and the moment I see him turn the corner of the street, I will go.' + +'What were you looking through the shutters for?' + +'I wanted to see if George was at home.' + +'And supposing he had been?' + +'I should have waited in the street until he came out.' + +'Do you think Jim Naldret would like to see his son talking to Saul +Fielding?' + +'No, I don't suppose he would,' he replies quietly; 'but for all that, +I shall do George no harm. I would lay down my life to serve him. You +don't know what binds me and George together. And he is going away +soon--how soon, Mrs. Naldret?' + +'In a very few days,' she answers, with a sob in her throat. + +'God speed him! Ask him to see me before he goes, will you, Mrs. +Naldret?' + +'Yes, I will, Saul; and thank you a thousand times for the good +feeling you show to him.' + +'Tell him that I have joined the waits, and that he will hear my flute +among them any night this week. I'll manage so that we don't go away +from this neighbourhood till he bids good-bye to it.' + +'Joined the waits!' she exclaims. 'Good Lord! Have you come to that?' + +'That's pretty low, isn't it?' he says, with a light laugh, and with a +dash of satire in his tone. 'But, then, you know--playing the +flute--is one of my gifts--(I learnt it myself when I was a boy)--and +if s the only thing I can get to do. Is there any tune you're very +fond of, and would like to hear as you lie a-bed? If there is, we'll +play it.' + +'If you could play a tune to keep George at home,' says Mrs. Naldret, +'that's the tune I'd like to hear.' + +'Your old Gospel of contentment, Mrs. Naldret,' he remarks. + +'I like to let well alone,' she replies, with emphatic nods; 'if +you'd been content with that, years ago, instead of trying to stir men +up----' + +'I shouldn't be as I am now,' he says, interrupting her; 'you are +right--you are right. Good-night, and God bless you!' + +He shuffles off, without waiting for another word, blowing on his +fingers, which are almost frozen. Mrs. Naldret, who is also cold +enough by this time, is glad to get to her fireside, to warm herself. +Her thoughts follow Saul Fielding. 'Poor fellow!' she muses. 'I should +like to have had him by the fire for a while, but Jim would have been +angry. And to be sure it wouldn't be right, with the life he's been +leading. But how well he talks, and how clever he is! What'll be the +end of him, goodness only knows. He's made me feel quite soft. And how +he loves George! That's what makes me like him. "You don't know what +binds me and George together," he said. "I would lay down my life to +serve him," he said. Well, there must be some good in a man who speaks +like that!' + + + + AND SO THE LAD GOES ON WITH HIS BESSIE AND HIS BESSIE, UNTIL ONE + WOULD THINK HE HAS NEVER A MOTHER IN THE WORLD. + + +By an egregious oversight on the part of the architect, designer, or +what not, the door of Mrs. Naldret's room turned into the passage, so +that whenever it was opened the cold wind had free play, and made +itself felt. Mrs. Naldret, bending before the fire to warm herself, +does not hear the softest of raps on the panel, but is immediately +afterwards made sensible that somebody is coming into the room by a +chill on the nape of her neck and down the small of her back, 'enough +to freeze one's marrow,' she says. She knows the soft footfall, and, +without turning, is aware that Bessie Sparrow is in the room. + +'Come to the fire, my dear,' she says. + + +[Illustration] + + +Bessie kneels by her side, and the two women, matron and maid, look +into the glowing flames, and see pictures there. Their thoughts being +on the same subject, the pictures they see are of the same +character--all relating to George, and ships, and wild seas, and +strange lands. + +'I dreamt of you and George last night,' says Mrs. Naldret, taking +Bessie's hand in hers. She likes the soft touch of Bessie's fingers; +her own are hard and full of knuckles. The liking for anything that is +soft is essentially womanly. 'I dreamt that you were happily married, +and we were all sitting by your fireside, as it might be now, and I +was dancing a little one upon my knee.' + +'O, mother!' exclaims Bessie, hiding her face on Mrs. Naldret's neck. + +'I told father my dream before breakfast this morning, so it's sure to +come true. The little fellow was on my knee as naked as ever it was +born, a-cocking out its little legs and drawing of them up again, like +a young Samson. Many a time I've had George on my knee like that, and +he used to double up his fists as if he wanted to fight all the world +at once. George was the finest babby I ever _did_ see; he walked at +nine months. He's been a good son, and'll make a good husband; and +he's as genuine as salt, though I say it perhaps as shouldn't, being +his mother. Is your grandfather coming into-night, Bess? + +'I don't think it. He's busy getting ready a Christmas show for the +window; he wants to make it look very gay, to attract business: +Grandfather's dreadfully worried because business is so bad. People +are not laying out as much money as they used to do.' + +'Money don't buy what it used to do, Bess; things are dearer, and +money's the same. Father isn't earning a shilling more to-day than he +earnt ten years ago, and meat's gone up, and rent's gone up, and +plenty of other things have gone up' But we've got to be contented, my +dear, and make the best of things. If George could get enough work at +home to keep him going, do you suppose he'd ever ha' thought of going +to the other end of the world?' She asks this question, with a shrewd, +watchful look into Bessie's face, which the girl does not see, her +eyes being towards the fire; and adds immediately, 'Although he's not +going for long, thank God.' + +'It is very, very hard,' sighs Bessie, 'that he should have to go.' + +'It would be harder, my dear, for him to remain here doing nothing. +There's nothing that does a man--or a woman either, Bess--so much +mischief as idleness. My old mother used to say that when a man's +idle, he's worshipping the devil. You know very well, Bess, that I'm +all for contentment. One can make a little do if one's mind is made up +for it--just as one can find a great deal not enough if one's mind is +set that way. For my part, I think that life's too short to worrit +your inside out, a-wishing for this, and a-longing for that, and +a-sighing for t'other. When George began to talk of going abroad, +I said to him, "Home's home, George, and you can be happy on +bread-and-cheese and kisses, supposing you can't get better." "Very +well, mother," said George, "I'm satisfied with that. But come," said +he, in his coaxing way--_you_ know, Bessie!--"But come, you say home's +home, and you're right, mammy." (He always calls me mammy when he's +going to get the best of me with his tongue--he knows, the cunning +lad, that it reminds me of the time when he was a babby!) "You're +right, mammy," he said; "but I love Bess, and I want to marry her. I +want to have her all to myself," he said. "I'm not happy when I'm away +from her," he said. "I want to see her a-setting by _my_ fireside," he +said. "I don't want to be standing at the street-door a-saying +goodnight to her"--(what a long time it takes a-saying! don't it, +Bess? Ah, I remember!) "a-saying good-night to her with my arm round +her waist, and my heart so full of love for her that I can hardly +speak"--(his very words, my dear!)--"and then, just as I'm feeling +happy and forgetting everything else in the world, to hear +grandfather's voice piping out from the room behind the shop, 'Don't +you think it's time to go home, George? Don't you think that it's time +for Bessie to be a-bed?' And I don't want," said George, "when I +answer in a shamefaced way, 'All right, grandfather; just five minutes +more!' to hear his voice, in less than a half a minute, waking me out +of a happy dream, calling out, 'Time's up, George! Don't you think you +ought to go home, George? Don't you think Bessie's tired, George?" +"That's all well and good," said I to him; "but what's that to do with +going abroad?" "O, mammy," he said, "when I marry Bessie, don't I want +to give her a decent bed to lie upon? Ain't I bound to get a bit of +furniture together?" Well, well; and so the lad goes on with his +Bessie and his Bessie, until one would think he has never a mother in +the world.' + +There is not a spice of jealousy in her tone as she says this, +although she pretends to pout, for the arm that is around Bessie +tightens on the girl's waist, and the mother's lips touch the girl's +face lovingly. All that Mrs. Naldret has said is honey to Bessie, and +the girl drinks it in, and enjoys it, as bright fresh youth only can +enjoy. + +'So,' continues Mrs. Naldret, pursuing her story, 'when George comes +home very down in the mouth, as he does a little while ago, and says +that trade's slack, and he don't see how he's to get the bit of +furniture together that he's bound to have when he's married, I knew +what was coming. And as he's got the opportunity--and a passage free, +thanks to Mr. Million'--(here Mrs. Naldret looks again at Bessie in +the same watchful manner as before, and Bessie, in whose eyes the +tears are gathering, and upon whose face the soft glow of the +firelight is reflected, again does not observe it)--'I can't blame +him; though, mind you, my dear, if he could earn what he wants here, +I'd be the last to give him a word of encouragement But he can't earn +it here, he says; times are too bad. He can't get enough work here, he +says; there's too little to do, and too many workmen to do it. So he's +going abroad to get it, and good luck go with him, and come back with +him! Say that, my dear.' + +'Good luck go with him,' repeats Bessie, unable to keep back her +tears, 'and come back with him!' + +'That's right. And, as George has made up his mind and can't turn back +now, we must put strength into him, whether he's right or whether he's +wrong. So dry your eyes, my girl, and send him away with a light heart +instead of a heavy one. Don't you know that wet things are always +heavier to carry than dry? George has got to fight with the world, you +see; and if a young fellow stands up to fight with the tears running +down his cheeks, he's bound to get the worst of it But if he says, +"Come on!" with a cheerful heart and a smiling face, he stands a good +chance of winning--as George will, you see if he don't!' + +'You dear good mother!' and Bessie kisses Mrs. Naldret's neck again +and again. + +'Now, then,' says Mrs. Naldret, rising from before the fire, 'go and +wash your eyes with cold water, my dear. Go into George's room. Lord +forgive me!' she soliloquises when Bessie has gone, 'I'd give my +fingers for George not to go. But what's the use of fretting and +worriting one's life away now that he's made up his mind? I shall be +glad when they are married, though I doubt she doesn't love George as +well as George loves her. But it'll come; it'll come. Times are +different now to what they were, and girls are different. A little +more fond of dress and pleasure and fine ways. She was very tender +just now--she feels it now that George is really going. It would be +better for her if he was to stay; but George is right about the times +being hard. Ah, well! it ain't many of us as gets our bread well +buttered in this part of the world! But there! I've tasted sweet bread +without a bit of butter on it many and many a time!' + + + + YOU WORE ROSES THEN, MOTHER. + + +Having made this reflection, Mrs. Naldret thinks of her husband again, +and wonders what makes him so late to-night. But in a few moments she +hears a stamping in the passage. 'That's Jim,' she thinks, with a +light in her eyes. A rough comely man; with no hair on his face but a +bit of English whisker of a light sandy colour in keeping with his +skin, which is of a light sandy colour also. Head well shaped, +slightly bald, especially on one side, where the hair has been worn +away by the friction of his two-foot rule. When Jim Naldret makes a +purse of his lips, and rubs the side of his head with his rule, his +mates know that he is in earnest. And he is very often in earnest. + +'It's mortal cold, mother,' he says almost before he enters. + +'There's a nice fire, father,' replies Mrs. Naldret cheerfully; +'that'll soon warm you.' + +'I don't know about that,' he returns, with the handle of the door in +his hand. 'Now look here,--_did_ you ever see such a door as this? +Opens bang into the passage.' + +'You're always grumbling about the door, father.' + +'Well, if I like it, it doesn't do any one any harm, does it? The +architect was a born fool, that's what he was.' + +To support his assertion that the architect was a born fool, Jim +Naldret thinks it necessary to make a martyr of himself; so he stands +in the draught, and shivers demonstratively as the cold wind blows +upon him. + +'Never mind the door, Jim,' says Mrs. Naldret coaxingly. 'Come and +wash your hands.' + + +[Illustration] + + +'But I shall mind the door!' exclaims Jim Naldret, who is endowed with +a large organ of combativeness, and never can be induced to shirk an +argument. 'The architect he made this door for warm weather. Then it's +all very well. But in this weather, it's a mistake, that's what it is. +Directly you open it, comes a blast cold enough to freeze one. I ain't +swearing, mother, because I say blast.' + +This small pleasantry restores his equanimity, and he repeats it with +approving nods; but it produces little effect upon his wife, who says, + +'_Will_ you wash your hands and face, father, instead of maudlin?' + +'All right, all right, mother! Bring the basin in here, and I'll soon +sluice myself.' + +Mrs. Naldret, going to their bedroom, which is at the back of the +parlour, to get the soap and water, calls out softly from that +sanctuary, + +'Bessie's here, father.' + +'Ah,' he says, rubbing his knuckles before the fire. 'Where is she?' + +'Up-stairs in George's room. She'll be down presently. She's pretty +low in spirits, father.' + +'I suppose you've been having a cry together, mother,' By this time +Mrs. Naldret has brought in a basin of water and a towel, which she +places on a wooden chair, 'I daresay George'll pipe his eye a bit +too, when he says good-bye to some of his mates. Ugh! the water is +cold!' + +'George pipe his eye! Not him! He's a man is George--not one of your +crying sort.' + +'I don't know about that,' gasps Jim Naldret; 'a man may be crying +although you don't see the tears running down his face. Ugh!' + +There was something apposite to his own condition in this remark, for +Jim's eyes were smarting and watering in consequence of the soap +getting into them. + +'That's true, Jim. Many a one's heart cries when the eyes are dry.' + +'I can't get over Mr. Million getting that passage-ticket for George. +I can't get over it, mother. It's bothered me ever so much.' + +'Well, it's only steerage, Jim, and you can't say that it wasn't kind +of Mr. Million.' + +'I don't know so much about that, mother.' + +'Do you know, Jim,' says Mrs. Naldret, after a pause, during which +both seem to be thinking of something that they deem it not prudent or +wise to speak about, 'that I've sometimes fancied----' Here the old +black cat rubs itself against her ankles, and she stoops to fondle it, +which perhaps is the reason why she does not complete the sentence. + +'Fancied what, mother? + +'That young Mr. Million was fond of Bessie.' + +'I shouldn't wonder,' he replies, with a cough. 'Who wouldn't be?' + +'Yes; but not in that way.' + +'Not in what way, mother?' + +'You drive me out of all patience, Jim. As if you couldn't +understand--but you men are _so_ blind!' + +'And you women are so knowing!' retorts Jim Naldret, in a tone made +slightly acid because he is groping about for the towel, and cannot +find it. 'Where _is_ the towel, mother? That's Bessie's step, I know. +Come and kiss me, my girl.' + +'There!' exclaims Bessie, who has just entered the room, standing +before him with an air of comical remonstrance, with patches of +soapsuds on her nose and face, 'you've made my face all wet.' + +'Father never _will_ wash the soap off his skin before he dries it,' +says Mrs. Naldret, wiping Bessie's face with her apron. + +'Never mind, Bessie,' says Mr. Naldret, rubbing himself hot; 'your +face'll stand it better than some I've seen. I can't wash the colour +out of your cheeks.' + +Bessie laughs, and asks him how does he know? and says there is a sort +of paint that women use that defies water. While Mrs. Naldret tells +him not to be satirical, remarking that all women have their little +weaknesses. + +'Weaknesses!' echoes Mr. Naldret, digging into the corners of his eyes +viciously. 'It's imposition, that's what it is!' + +'You'll rub all the skin off your face, if you rub like that.' + +'It's a playing a man false,' continues Jim Naldret, not to be +diverted from the subject, 'that's what it is. It's a----' + +'Is George coming home to tea, do you know, father?' asks Mrs. +Naldret, endeavouring to stem the torrent. + +'No; he told me we wasn't to wait for him. It's a trading under false +pretences----' + +'Not coming home to tea! And here I've been laying the tablecloth for +him, because I know he enjoys his tea better when there's something +white on the table. Mind you remember that, Bessie. There's nothing +like studying a man's little ways, if you want to live happy with +him.' + +'I wondered what the tablecloth was on for,' remarks Jim Naldret; and +then resumes with bulldog tenacity, 'It's a trading under false +pretences, that's what it is! Little weaknesses! Why----' + +'Now, father, will you come and have tea?' + +'Now, mother, _will_ you learn manners, and not interrupt? But I can +have my tea and talk too.' + +Mrs. Naldret makes a great fuss in setting chairs, and a great clatter +with the cups and saucers, but her wiles produce not the slightest +effect on her husband, who seats himself, and says, + +'Well, this is my opinion, and I wouldn't mind a-telling of it to the +Queen. What do girls look forward to naturally? Why, matrimony to be +sure----' + +'Put another lump of sugar in father's cup, Bessie. He likes it +sweet.' + +'Well,' continues the irrepressible Jim, 'looking forward to that, +they ought to be honest and fair to the men, and not try to take them +in by painting themselves up. It's a good many years ago that I fell +in love with you, mother, and a bright-looking girl you was when you +said Yes, to me. You wore roses then, mother! But if, when I married +you, I had found that the roses in your cheek came off with a damp +towel, and that you hadn't any eyebrows to speak of except what you +put on with a brush, and that what I saw of your skin before I married +you was a deal whiter than what I saw of your skin after I married +you,--I'd--I'd----' + +'What on earth would you have done, father?' asks Mrs. Naldret, +laughing. + +'I'd have had you up before the magistrate,' replies Jim Naldret, with +a look of sly humour. 'I'd have had you fined, as sure as my name's +Jim.' + +'That wouldn't have hurt me,' says Mrs. Naldret, entering into the +humour of the idea, and winking at Bessie; 'my husband would have had +to pay the fine.' + +Jim Naldret gives a great laugh at this conclusion of the argument, in +appreciation of having been worsted by these last few pithy words, and +says, with an admiring look at his wife, + +'Well, let you women alone!' + +Then, this subject being disposed of, and Jim Naldret having had his +say, Mrs. Naldret asks if he has brought home the _Ha'penny Trumpet_. + +'Yes,' he answers, 'here it is. A great comfort to the poor man +are the ha'penny papers. He gets all the news of the day for a +ha'penny--all the police-courts----'. + +'Ah,' interrupts Mrs. Naldret, 'that's the sort of reading I like. +Give me a newspaper with plenty of police-court cases.' + +But police-court cases have not the charm for Jim Naldret that they +have for the women, with whom a trial for breach-of promise is perhaps +the most interesting reading in the world. + +'There's a strike in the North among the colliers,' says Jim. 'The old +hands are beating the new men, and setting fire to their houses.' + +'And turning,' adds Mrs. Naldret, 'the women and children into the +streets, I daresay--the wretches!' + +'I don't know so much about that, mother. Men are goaded sometimes, +till they lose their heads. If a man puts my blood up, I hit him.' + +'You, father! You hurt any one.' + +'I said I'd hit him--I didn't say I'd hurt him. I'd hit him soft, +perhaps; but I'd be bound to hit him if he put my blood up!' + +'A strike's a wicked thing, father,' is Mrs. Naldret's commentary. + +'I don't know so much about that. There's a good deal to be said on +both sides.' + +'There's Saul Fielding,' says Mrs. Naldret; 'getting up a strike was +the ruin of him--and hurt a good many others, hurt 'em badly, as you +know, Jim.' + +By this time the tea-things are cleared away, the hearth is swept up, +and the fire is trimmed. The picture that is presented in this humble +room is a very pleasant one; Bessie and Mrs. Naldret are doing +needlework more as a pastime than anything else, and Jim is looking +down the columns of the _Trumpet_. + +'Saul Fielding went too far,' says Jim; 'and when he had dragged a lot +of men into a mess, he deserted them, and showed the white feather. +I'm for my rights, and I'll stand up for them, but I'm not for +violence nor unreasonable measures. Saul Fielding's fine speech misled +a many, who swore by him, and would have followed him through thick +and thin. He makes a speech one night that set the men on fire. I +heard it myself, and I was all of a quiver; but when I was in the cold +air by myself I got my reason back, and I saw that Saul Fielding was +putting things in a wrong light. But other men didn't see it. Then, +what does he do? Deserts his colours the very next day, and leaves the +men that he's misled in the lurch.' + +'He may have got in the air, as you did, Jim, and thought better of +what he had said. He may have found out afterwards that he was wrong.' + +'Not he! He had plenty of time to consider beforehand--seemed as if he +had studied his speeches by heart--never stumbled over a word, as the +others did, who were a deal honester than him--stumbled over 'em as if +words was stones.' + +'Well, poor fellow, he's suffered enough. From that day masters and +men have been against him.' + +'He's made his bed, and he must lay on it,' says Jim Naldret; 'and you +know, mother, even if he could wipe that part of his life away, he's +not fit company for honest men and women.' + +Jim Naldret feels inclined to say a great deal more on another subject +about Saul Fielding, but as the subject which he would have ventilated +is a delicate one, and refers to a woman who is not Saul Fielding's +wife, he refrains, because Bessie is present. + +'Let Saul Fielding drop, mother.' + +Mrs. Naldret deems it wise to say no more about Saul, and allows a +minute or so to elapse before she speaks again. + +'Anything in the paper, Jim, about that working-man that put up for +Parliament?' + +'He didn't get in.' + +Mrs. Naldret expresses her satisfaction at this result by saying that +'it's a good job for his family, if he's got one.' + +'Why shouldn't a working-man be in Parliament, mother?' asks Jim +Naldret. + + +[Illustration] + + +'Because he can't be two things at once. If he fuddles away all his +time at Parliament, he can't have time to work; and if he don't work +for his living, he's not a workingman.' + +'He'd work with his tongue, mother.' + +'He'd better work with his hands,' says Mrs. Naldret emphatically, +'and leave the tongue work to his wife. She'd do it better, I'll be +bound.' + +'I've no doubt she would,' says Jim Naldret, with a chuckle. 'But that +working-man in Parliament question is a problem.' + +'Well, don't you bother your head about it--that's other people's +business. My old mother used to say that every hen's got enough to do +to look after its own chicks, and it clacks enough over that, goodness +knows.' + +'But I'm not a hen, mother,' remonstrates Jim; 'I'm a cock, and I like +to have a crow now and then.' + +'Well,' exclaims Mrs. Naldret, stitching viciously, 'crow on your own +dunghill. Don't you go encroaching on other people's premises.' + + + + IF I DID NOT LOVE HER, I WOULD NOT GO AWAY. + + +The entrance of George Naldret and young Mr. Million gives a new turn +to the conversation, and to the aspect of affairs. George Naldret +needs but a very few words of introduction. He is like his father was +when his father was a young man. More comely-looking because of the +difference in their ages, but his little bit of English whisker is +after the same model as his father's, and his hair is also of a light +sandy colour. His head is well shaped, and he has contracted his +father's habit of rubbing one side of it with his two-foot rule when +he is in earnest. When he came into the world, his mother declared +that he was as like his father as two peas, which statement, regarded +from a purely grammatical point of view, involved a contradiction of +ideas. But grammar stands for nothing with some. Poor folk who have +received imperfect education are not given to hypercriticism. It is +not what is said, but what is meant. George's father and his father's +father had been carpenters before him, and as he has taken after them, +he may be said to have become a carpenter by hereditary law. Mrs. +Naldret was satisfied. To have a trade at one's finger-ends, as she +would have expressed it, is not a bad inheritance. + +Young Mr. Million was named after his father, James, and was therefore +called young Mr. Million to prevent confusion. _His_ father and his +father's father had been brewers, or, more correctly speaking, in the +brewing interest before him, and he was supposed to take after them. +There was this difference, however, between him and George Naldret. +George Naldret was a thoroughly good carpenter, but it cannot be said +that young Mr. Million was a thoroughly good brewer. In point of fact, +he was not a brewer at all, for he knew no more of the trade than I +do. He knew a good glass of beer when he was drinking it, but he did +not know how to make it; as George knew a good piece of carpentering +work when it was before him; but then George could produce a similar +piece of work himself. George took pride in his trade; young Mr. +Million looked down upon his because it _was_ a trade--he thought it +ought to be a profession. Although he and his were the last who should +have thought unkindly of it, for from the profits of the family +brewery a vast fortune had been accumulated. Estates had been bought; +position in society had been bought; a seat in the House had been +bought; perhaps, by and by, a title would be bought: for eminence +deserves recognition. And a man can be eminent in so many different +ways. One maybe an eminent tea-dealer, or an eminent chiropodist, or +an eminent dentist, if one's profits are large enough. The seat in the +House was occupied at the present time by Mr. James Million senior, +whose chief business in the Senate appeared to be to look sharply +after his own interests and those of his class, and to vote as +he was bid upon those indifferent questions of public interest which +did not affect the profits of his brewery, and which were not likely +to lessen his income from it. For Mr. Million's brewery, being an +old-established institution, had become a sacred 'vested interest,' +which it was absolute sacrilege to touch or interfere with. And it is +true that 'vested interests' _are_ ticklish questions to deal with; +but it happens, now and then, in the course of time, that what is a +'vested interest' with the few (being fed and pampered until it has +attained a monstrous growth) becomes a vested wrong to the many. Then +the safety of society demands that something should be done to stop +the monstrous growth from becoming more monstrous still. The name of +Million was well known in the locality in which the Naldrets resided, +for a great many of the beershops and public-houses in the streets +round about were under the family thumb, so to speak, and it was more +than the commercial lives of the proprietors were worth to supply any +liquids but those that Million brewed to the thirsty souls who +patronised them. And nice houses they were for a man to thrive +upon--worthy steps upon the ladder of fame for a man to grow Eminent +by! + +Young Mr. Million was a handsome-looking fellow, with the best of +clothes, and with plenty of money in his purse. Having no career +marked out for him pending the time when he would have to step into +his father's shoes, he made one for himself. He became a merchant in +wild oats--a kind of merchandise which is popularly considered to be +rather a creditable thing for young men to speculate in; and it was a +proof of his industry that he was accumulating a large supply of the +corn--having regard probably to its future value in the market. But in +this respect he was emulated by many who deem it almost a point of +honour to have their granaries well supplied with the commodity. + +As the young men enter the room, Bessie's eyes brighten. She knows +George's footsteps well, and has not recognised the other. George +enters first, and he has drawn Bessie to him and kissed her, and she +him, before she sees young Mr. Million. When she does see that heir to +the family brewery, she gently releases herself from George's embrace, +and stands a little aside, with a heightened colour in her face. The +action is perfectly natural, and just what a modest girl would do in +the presence of a comparative stranger--as young Mr. Million must have +been, necessarily, he being so high in the social scale, and she so +low. The young gentleman, in the most affable manner, shakes hands all +round, and gives them good evening. + +'Meeting George as I was strolling this way,' he says, accepting the +chair which Mrs. Naldret offers him, 'and having something to say to +him, I thought I might take advantage of his offer to step in, and +rest for a minute or so.' + +Had he told the exact truth, he would have confessed that he had no +idea of coming into the house until he heard from old Ben Sparrow, at +whose shop he had called, that Bessie was at Mrs. Naldret's, and that, +meeting George afterwards, he had walked with him to the door, and had +accepted a casual invitation to walk in, given out of mere politeness, +and almost as a matter of form. + +'You have the _Trumpet_ there, I see,' continues young Mr. Million, +addressing the master of the house; 'is there anything particular in +it?' + +'No, sir,' replies Jim, 'nothing but the usual things--strikes, +elections, and that like. There's always plenty stirring to fill a +newspaper.' + +'That there is,' says the young brewer; 'I'm sorry to hear of the +strikes spreading. They make things bad in every way.' + +'That they do, sir,' chimes in Mrs. Naldret; 'let well alone, I +say.' + +Young Mr. Million assents with a motion of his head. Perhaps he would +have spoken if his attention had not been fixed upon Bessie, whom +George has drawn within the circle of his arm. + +'Women can't be expected,' says Jim Naldret, with rather less +politeness than he usually shows to his wife in company, 'to +understand the rights and wrongs of this sort of thing. It's only the +horse in the shafts that feels the weight of the pull.' + +'Well,' says young Mr. Million in a careless manner, 'I'm no +politician; I leave that to my father. So, without venturing an +opinion in the presence of one who has studied these questions'--with +a condescending nod to Jim Naldret--'I can't do better than side with +Mrs. Naldret, and say with her. Let well alone.' With a graceful bow +to that worthy creature, who receives it without gratitude, for it +does not please her to find herself trapped into taking sides with a +stranger, however much of a gentleman he may be, against her husband. + +'Mr. Million came to tell me,' says George during the lull that +follows, clearing his throat, 'that the Queen of the South sails +earlier than was expected. It goes out of the Mersey the day after +to-morrow.' + +He does not look at any one of them as he says this, but they all, +with the exception of young Mr. Million, turn their anxious eyes to +George. The Queen of the South is the name of the ship in which George +is to sail for the other end of the world. + +'So soon!' exclaims Mrs. Naldret, with a motherly movement towards her +son. + +'So soon!' echoes Bessie faintly, clinging closer to her lover. + +And 'Why not stop at home?' is on the mother's tongue. 'Even now, why +not stop at home, and be contented? But she knows what George's answer +would be, so she restrains her speech. 'I want my Bessie,' he would +have answered, 'and I want a home to bring her to. If I did not love +her, I would not go away, but I would be content to work here as you +have done all your lives, and live as you have done, from hand to +mouth.' + +To cheer them, young Mr. Million tells them the latest best news from +the other side of the world--how cheaply a man could live; how much +larger a workman's earnings were there than here; what a demand there +was for skilled labour; and what chances there were for every man +whose head was screwed on the right way. + +'Suppose a man doesn't wish to work at his trade,' he says, 'and takes +it into his head to make a venture for three or four months. There are +the gold-fields. All over New South Wales and New Zealand new +gold-fields are being discovered. They say that the natives of New +Zealand are bringing in great lumps of gold from the north, and that +the ground there has never been turned over, and is full of gold. Once +in the colonies, it takes no time to get to these places; and even if +a man is not fortunate enough to do well, he can come back to his +trade. The experiment that occupies three or four months in making is +not a great slice out of a young man's life, and the prize that's +likely to be gained is worth the venture. Then at these new places, +supposing George does not care to run the risk that lies in +gold-digging, but determines to stick to his trade, what better one +can he have than that of a carpenter? Houses and shops must be built, +and they must be built of wood. Who is to build them? Why, carpenters! +Think of the scope there is for good workmen. Why, a carpenter must be +almost a king in those places! If I hadn't been born into a fortune,' +he concludes, 'I would give three cheers for Captain Cook, and be off +without a day's delay.' + +'When he bids them good-night, as he does presently, seeing that +silence falls upon them and that they wish to be left alone, he does +not leave a bad impression behind him. But although he has not +addressed half a dozen words to the girl, he sees with his mind's eye +Bessie's bright face, and no other, as he walks through the cold air. +Now, what on earth could a pretty girl like Bessie have to do with the +stock of wild oats which young Mr. Million was so industriously +collecting? + + + + WITH THE DAWNING OF A NEW YEAR, BEGIN A NEW LIFE. + + +When Saul Fielding left Mrs. Naldret he made his way through the +narrow streets, shivering and stamping, until he came to a house, +the lower portion of which was devoted to the sale of plum- and +peas-pudding, and food of that description. The side door which led to +the upper portion of the house was open, and Saul ascended the dark +stairs until there were no more stairs to ascend, and entered a room, +the low roof of which shelved in one part almost to the floor. A +common lamp was alight, the flame being turned very low down, more, it +is to be presumed, for the sake of economy than for safety, for there +was nothing in the room of the slightest value. What little furniture +there was was rickety and broken: two cane chairs, nearly bald; the +few ragged pieces of cane that were left in the frames were tattered +and of various lengths, and mournfully proclaimed, 'See what we have +come to!' while one of the chairs was so completely decrepit, that it +had lost its backbone, and had so little life left in it, that it +wheezed when sat upon; a turn-up bedstead, which made a miserable +pretence of being something else; a deal table, which once could flap +its wings, but could do so no longer; on the table two cups, which +were not of a match, but this was really of the smallest consequence, +for one was chipped and one was without a handle; and a metal teapot, +the surface of which was so battered, that it might be likened to the +face of a worn-out prizefighter who had played second best in a +hundred fierce encounters. But, common and poor as was everything in +the room, everything was as clean and tidy as orderly hands could make +it. + +Saul Fielding turned up the light of the lamp, and the lamp spat and +spluttered in the operation with a discontented air of being ill-fed; +this discontent was plainly expressed in the top of the wick, which +was lurid and inflamed. There were signs in the room of a woman's +care, and Saul Fielding sat down upon the wheezy chair, and waited +with his head resting upon his hand. He had not long to wait; the +sound of light steps running up the stairs caused him to rise, and +look towards the door. + +'Jane!' + +She nodded and kissed him, and asked him if he were hungry. + +'No,' he answered; 'where have you been to?' + +'Only on a little errand. Come, you _must_ be hungry. You've had no +tea, I know.' + +She took the remains of a loaf, and a yellow basin containing a little +dripping, from a cupboard, and cut the bread and spread the dripping +solicitously. Then she pressed him to eat. + +'I shall have some with you,' she said. + +To please her, he forced himself to eat. + +'It's very cold, Jane.' + +'Very, Saul.' + +She was a woman who once was very fair to look at, who was fair now, +despite her poverty. She was not more than twenty-five years of age, +but she looked older; there was no wedding-ring on her finger, and she +was too poor for adornment of any kind about her person. There was +beauty in her, however; the beauty that lies in resignation. And now, +as Saul Fielding looked at her furtively, he noticed, with evident +inward fear, a certain kind of sad resolution in her manner which +tempered the signs of long suffering that dwelt in her face. He put +his hand timidly upon her once, and said in a troubled voice. + +'You have no flannel petticoat on, Jane.' + +'No, Saul,' she answered cheerfully; 'I have pledged it.' + +An impressive silence followed. As the darkness that fell upon Egypt +could be felt, so the silence that fell upon this room spoke: with +bitter, brazen tongue. + +'I have been out all the afternoon,' she said presently. 'First I went +to----you know where.' Her soft voice faltered, and carried the +meaning of the vague words to his sense. + +'And saw her?' he asked wistfully. + +'Yes; she was playing on the door-step. She looked so beautiful! I--I +kissed her!' + +All the love that woman's heart can feel, all the tenderness of which +woman's love is capable, were expressed in the tone in which she +uttered these simple words. She placed her fingers on her lips, and +dwelt upon the memory of the kiss with tearful eyes, with heart that +ached with excess of love. + +'Did I tell you that last week I tried again to get work, Saul?' + +'No,' he said; 'you failed!' As if he knew for certain with what +result. + +'Yes; I failed,' she repeated sadly. + +'I ask myself sometimes if I am a man,' exclaimed Saul, in contempt of +himself, spurning himself as it were; 'if I have anything of a man's +spirit left within me. Mrs. Naldret said something of that sort to me +this very night--not unkindly, but with a good purpose. When I think +of myself as I was many years ago, it seems to me that I am +transformed. And the future! Good God! what lies in it for us?' + +'I am a tie upon you, Saul.' + +'A tie upon me!' he said, in a tone of wonder. 'Jane, you are my +salvation! But for you I should have drifted into God knows what. You +are at once my joy and my remorse.' + +He took from the mantelshelf a broken piece of looking-glass, and +gazed at the reflection of his face. A bold and handsome face, but +with deeper lines in it than his years, which were not more than +thirty-two or three, warranted. Strong passion and dissipation had +left striking marks behind them, but his clear blue eyes were as yet +undimmed, and shone with a lustre which denoted that there was vigour +still in him. His mouth was large, and the lips were the most +noticeable features in his face; they were the lips of one to whom +eloquence came as a natural gift, firm, and tremulous when need be. +The change that he saw in himself as he looked back to the time gone +by gave point and bitterness to his next words. + +'I was not like this once. When you first saw me, Jane, these marks +and lines were wanting--they have come all too soon. But no one is to +blame but I. I have brought it all on myself. On myself! On you!--you +suffer with me, patiently, uncomplainingly. You have a greater load +than I to bear; and you will not let me lighten it.' + +'I will not let you, Saul! I don't understand.' + +'Because every time I approach the subject, I try to approach it by a +different road.' + +'Ah, I know now,' she said softly. + +'Jane, I ask you for the twentieth time.' He held out his hands +supplicatingly to her. 'Let me do what I can to remove the shame from +you. Let me do what I can to atone for my fault. As you love me, Jane, +marry me!' + +'As I love you, Saul, I refuse!' + +He turned from her, and paced the room; she watched him with steady +loving eyes, and the signs of a sad, fixed resolution deepened in her +face. + +'Come and sit by me, Saul.' + +He obeyed her, and she drew his head upon her breast and kissed his +lips. + +'There's no question--no doubt of the love between us, Saul?' + +'None, Jane.' + +'If some chance were to part us this night, and I was never to look +upon your face again----' + +'Jane!' + +--'And I was never to look upon your face again,' she repeated with a +cheerful smile, 'I should, if I lived to be an old woman, and you to +be an old man, never for one moment doubt that you loved me through +all the years.' + +'It is like you, Jane; your faith would not be misplaced.' + +'I know it, and I know that you would be to me the same--you would +believe that no other man could hold the place in my heart that you +have always held.' + +He took her in his arms, and said that she was his anchor; that as +nothing on earth could shake her faith in him, so nothing on earth +could shake his faith in her; after what she had said (although he +knew it before, and would have staked his worthless life on it) could +she still refuse to allow him to make her the only reparation it was +in his power to make? + +She waived the question for the present and said, + +'We are at the lowest ebb, Saul.' + +'Ay,' he answered. + +'Then you must not speak of drifting,' she said tenderly; 'we have +drifted low enough. Remember, Saul,' and she took his hand in hers, +and looked into his eyes, 'we have not ourselves alone to think of. +There is another. It only needs resolution. Come--let us talk of it +Here, there is no hope.' + +'There seems none, Jane; all heart has left me.' + +'Elsewhere things might be better for you.' + +'For us,' he said, correcting her. 'What is better for you is better +for me,' she replied. 'I heard today that George Naldret----' + +'God bless him!' + +'Amen! God bless him! I heard to-day that he was going away sooner +than was expected.' + +'I heard so too, Jane; and I went round to Mrs. Naldret's tonight to +see him if I could. But he had not come home.' + +'Saul,' she said, hiding her face on his shoulder, and pressing him in +her arms, as one might do who was about to lose what she loved best in +this world, 'we have suffered much together; our love for each other +seems to keep us down.' + +'It is I--I only who am to blame. I commenced life badly, and went +from bad to worse.' + +She placed her hand upon his lips, and stopped farther +self-accusation. + +'It is a blessing for many,' she said, 'that those new lands have been +discovered. A man can commence a new life there without being crushed +by the misfortunes or faults of the past, if he be earnest enough to +acquire strength. It might be a blessing to you.' + +'It might,' he assented, 'if you were with me.' + +'You, with your gifts, with your talent for many things, might do so +well there. Saul, turn that lamp down; the light glares, and hurts my +eyes.' + +He turned down the lamp; the sullen wick flickered, once, twice, +thrice, and the room was in darkness. + +'Let it be, Saul; don't light it. I love to talk to you in the dark. +It reminds me of a time----do you remember?' + + +[Illustration] + + +Did he remember? There came to him, in the gloom of the mean room, the +memory of the time, years ago, when he first told her that he loved +her. In the few brief moments that followed, after the light had gone +out, the entire scene was presented to him; every word that was +uttered by him and by her came to him. It was in the dark that he had +told her; it was in the dark that he vowed to be faithful to her, and +she to him. It seemed as if it might have been yesterday, for he held +her in his arms now, as he had held her then, and he felt her heart +beating against his. But the misery of the present time was too +pressing to forget for more than a brief space, and he raised his head +from her breast, and faced the gleams of the clear bright cold night, +as they shone through the garret-window. + +'If I were to tell you,' she resumed, 'that I have felt no sorrow +because of the position we are in--not as regards money, though that +cannot be worse, but as regards our living together, not being +married--I should tell you what is not true. I have felt bitter, +bitter sorrow--bitter, bitter shame. When friends fell off from me, I +suffered much--when the dearest one I had, a girl of my own age, said, +"Father forbids me to speak to you because you are leading a wrong +life; when you are married, perhaps father will not be so hard upon +you, and we may be friends again,--though never as we were, Jane! +never as we were!" I turned sick, Saul, because I loved her.' + +She paused a moment, and he, with a full sense of his own +unworthiness, drew a little away from her. What she was saying now was +all the more bitter because hitherto no word of implied reproach had +passed her lips. She knew his thoughts, and in her tenderness for him, +put forth her hand to draw him closer to her; but withdrew it +immediately without fulfilling her purpose, as though it might make +her waver. + +'I said to myself, Saul knows what is right; when he is in a position +he will say to me, Come, Jane; and I pictured to myself our going to +some quiet church one morning, without any one knowing it but +ourselves, and coming back married. But it was not to be; the part you +took in the strike crushed you and kept you down. The masters were +against you naturally; and I knew that as my friends had fallen off +from me, so your friends and fellow workmen had fallen off from you. I +blamed myself for it, for it was my counsel that caused you to desert +the men as you had deserted the masters. I did not see the +consequences when I spoke; I should have held my tongue.' + +'Jane,' said Saul gloomily, 'you were right; I had my doubts that very +night, after I had made the speech that inflamed me in the making as +much as it inflamed the men in the hearing. I lost my head; no wonder +they turned against me afterwards. I should have done the same by +them. But in acting as I did, I acted conscientiously. What, then, did +I do, when I began to feel the consequences of my own act? Sought for +consolation in drink, and but for your steady, unwavering faith--but +for your patient endurance, and your untiring efforts to bring me back +to reason--might have found a lower depth even than that. But patient +love prevailed. Death will overtake me, or I will overtake it, when I +break the promise I gave you not long ago!' + +'I know it,' she said, with a bright look which he could not see, her +back being towards the light, 'and that is why I can trust you now; +that is why I have courage to say what I am about to say. There is no +fear between us of misapprehension of each other's words, of each +other's acts; and therefore I do not hesitate. Saul, if I have done +my duty by you--and I have striven to do it, with all my heart and +soul--it remains for you to do your duty by me.' + +He had no word to say in reply; that he had failed in his duty to her, +that upon her had fallen the greater part of the misery, and all the +shame, of their lot, he was fully conscious. But he had never heard +her speak like this before; her voice was firm, though tender, and he +held his breath, waiting for her next words. + +'It remains for you to do your duty by me.' As she repeated these +words it required the strongest effort of her will to keep the beating +of her heart and her inward suffering from affecting her voice. She +was successful in her effort; for knowing what would occur within the +next few hours, the imminence of the coming crisis gave her strength, +and her voice was clear and steady. + +'How--in what way?' he asked, in an agitated tone. + +'Be sure of one thing, Saul,' she cried, turned aside for an instant +only by the agitation in his voice; 'be sure that I love you, wholly, +heartfully!' + +'I _am_ sure of it. Teach me my duty. I will do it.' + +She steadied herself again. + +'Saul, we cannot go on as we are. We have come low--very low; but +worse is before us, if we are content to let it come, without an +effort to avoid it. Listen. The greatest happiness that can fall to my +lot is to be your wife.' + +'I believe it,' he said. + +'But not as you are, Saul! Tear yourself from your present +surroundings--tear yourself from this place, where there is no hope +for you nor for me! If we were at opposite ends of the world, there is +a tie that binds us which neither of us can ever forget. If she were +in her grave, her lips would seek my breast, her little hands would +stretch themselves out to you, to caress your face! What kind of +happiness would it be for you to be able to say, Come, Jane; I have a +home for you, for her?' + +He repeated, with his lips, 'What kind of happiness!' but uttered no +sound. + +'Make the effort!--away from here. If you succeed--never mind how +humble it is, never mind how poor--I will be your wife, loving you no +more than I love you now, and you will repay me for all that I have +suffered. If you fail---- But you will not fail, Saul. I know it! I +feel it! Make the effort; for the sake of my love for you, for the +sake of yours for me. I think, if it were placed before me that you +should make the effort, and, failing, die, or that we should remain as +we are, I should choose to lose you, and never look upon your face +again---- Here! We are near the end of this sad year. Christmas is +coming, Saul. Let it be the turning over of a new leaf for us. Nerve +yourself--I will not say for your own sake, for I know how poor an +incentive that would be to you--but for mine, and with the dawning of +a new year, begin a new life!' + +'And this is the duty that remains for me to do, Jane?' + +'This is the duty.' + +Not from any doubt of her, or of the task she set before him, did he +pause, but because he was for a while overpowered by the goodness of +the woman who had sacrificed all for him--who loved him, believed in +him, and saw still some capacity for good in him. When he had +conquered his emotion, he said in a broken tone, + +'And then, should such a happy time ever come, you will let me make +the poor reparation--you will marry me?' + +'How gladly!' she exclaimed, 'O, how gladly!' + +'No more words are needed than that I promise, Jane?' + +'No more, Saul.' + +'I promise. With all my strength I will try.' + +He knelt before her, and, with his head in her lap, shed tears there, +and prayed for strength, prayed with trustfulness, though the road was +dark before him. Lifting his head, he saw the light of the clear cold +sky shining through the window at her back. With her arms clasped +round his neck, she leant forward and kissed him, and as he folded her +in his embrace, he felt that there were tears also on her face. + +'The world would be dark without you, dear woman,' he said. + +Again she kissed him, and asked if it was not time for him to go. + +He answered. Yes; and yet was loth to go. + +'Good-night, Jane.' + +'Good-night, dear Saul.' + +With the handle of the door in his hand, he turned towards her, and +saw her standing with the light shining upon her. + + + + DEAR LOVE, GOOD-BYE. + + +It was three o'clock in the morning before Saul Fielding came home. +The bell of Westminster proclaimed the hour with deep-sounding tongue. +Saul ascended the stairs quietly. He did not wish to disturb any one +in the house--least of all, Jane, if she were asleep. 'Although,' he +thought, dwelling in love upon her, 'the dear woman wakes at my +lightest footfall.' He crept into the room softly, and paused, with +hand upraised and listening ear. 'She is asleep,' he whispered gladly. +He stepped gently to the bedside and laid his hand lightly upon the +pillow; it was cold. 'Jane!' he cried, with a sudden fear upon him. +His hand travelled over the bed; it was empty. So strong a trembling +took possession of him that he could not stand, and he sank, almost +powerless, on the bed. 'What is this? he asked of himself. 'Why is she +not abed? Jane! Jane! Where are you?' Although he spoke in a tone +scarcely above a whisper, every word he uttered sounded in the dark +room like a knell, and seemed to come back to him charged with +terrible meaning--as though some one else were speaking. 'Let me +think,' he muttered vaguely. 'How did I leave her? She was not +angry with me. Her words were full of hope. She kissed me, and +stood--there!' He looked towards the window, and saw the outlines of +her face in the light--saw her eyes gazing tenderly, lovingly, upon +him. He knew that what he saw was but a trick of the imagination; but +he moved towards the light, and clasped a shadow in his arms. 'The +world is dark without you, dear woman!' he sobbed, with closed eyes, +repeating almost the last words he had said to her. 'The world is dark +without you! Where are you? Have you left me?' The table shook beneath +his hand, as he rested upon it to steady himself. But he could not +control his agitation; it mastered him. With trembling hands he struck +a match and lit the lamp; then saw with certainty that Jane was not in +the room. Mechanically he took from the table a sheet of paper with +writing upon it, which the light disclosed. 'Jane's writing,' he +muttered, and then read: + + +'Dear Love,--I have left you for your good--for mine. I had this in my +mind when I spoke to you to-night. I have had it in my mind for a long +time. It is the only secret I have ever had which you did not share. +We have been so unfortunate in the past, and so clear a duty remains +before us, that we should be undeserving of better fortune if we did +not strive ourselves to better it. I rely implicitly upon your +promise. Tear yourself away from this place, and begin a new life. As +long as I live, not a day will pass without my praying for a better +fortune for you and for me to Him who sees all things, and who my +heart tells me approves of what I am doing now. Pray to Him also, dear +Love. He will hear you, and pity. Remember what is the greatest +happiness that can fall to my lot, and remember that I shall not be +unhappy--loving you and having you always in my thoughts--while I +think that you are working towards a happier end. I have no fears in +leaving you. I know how you will keep your promise--and you have said +so much to-night to comfort me! I treasure your words. They are balm +to my heart. + +I have taken service with a respectable family, who live a long way +from here, and I have adopted an assumed name. The address I enclose +is where you can write to me. You will not, I know, seek to turn me +from my purpose. I shall write to you to the care of Mrs. Naldret; for +the sake of George's friendship for you she will receive the letters. +Tell George. + +Pear Love, good-bye! All my prayers are with you. Let them and the +memory of me sustain your heart; as the consciousness of your love for +me, and my faith in God's goodness, will sustain mine. + +Till death, and after it, + + Your own + + JANE.' + + +He read the letter twice, first with only a vague sense of its +meaning, but the second time with a clearer understanding. Sobs came +from his chest, tears came from his eyes, the hand that held the paper +trembled, as he read. He knew that she was right. But it was hard to +bear--bitterly hard to bear. How lonely the room looked--how mean and +miserable and desolate! Faint as he was--for he had been standing in +the cold streets for hours, playing with the waits, and nothing but a +sup of water from a drinking fountain had passed his lips--he had no +consciousness of physical weakness. All his thoughts were of Jane, all +his heart and soul and mind were charged with tenderness for his dear +woman. He looked at the words 'Dear Love,' until he heard her voice +speaking them. He had no thought of following her; her happiness +depended upon his obeying her, and he would obey her. He had resolved +upon that immediately. But, O, if he could hold her in his embrace +once more! If he could hear her dear voice again! If, with her arms +around him, he could tell her that he would be faithful to his +promise! He dashed the tears from his eyes. 'She is thinking of me +now,' he sobbed; 'she is awake and praying for me now! All the +suffering of our parting was hers. She took it all upon herself, dear +soul! She knew, and I did not; and her heart was bleeding while she +shed the light of hope upon mine! What does she say here, dear soul, +to lessen my pain? "You have said so much to-night to comfort me! I +treasure your words. They are balm to my heart." It is like her--it is +like her, to write those words. She knew, dear woman, she knew, dear +heart, that they would comfort _me!_ But I want strength! I want +strength!' His eyes travelled over the letter again, and again he read +the words, 'Pray to Him also, dear Love. He will hear you, and pity.' +Pressing the paper to his lips, Saul Fielding sank upon his knees, and +bowed his head upon the bed. + + + + TOTTIE IS READY TO TEAR OLD BEN SPARROW LIMB FROM LIMB. + + +As nearly all the persons with whom this history has to deal are +almost in the same station of life, and live within a stone's throw of +each other, it is not a difficult task for us to transport ourselves +to the little parlour in the rear of old Ben Sparrow's grocer's shop, +where Ben Sparrow himself is at present considering the mechanism of a +curious and complicated piece of work, the separate parts of which are +lying before him. Although the parlour and the shop adjoin each other, +Ben Sparrow looks upon the parlour as being a long way off, like a +country house, as a place where he can obtain repose from the cares of +the counter and shelves. And it really is a snug, cozy retreat. + +Ben Sparrow came into the world exactly at midnight of the 21st of +October 1805, a few hours after the battle of Trafalgar was fought and +won; and the doubtful compliment was at once passed on the new arrival +of being the very smallest baby that ever was seen. But then women go +into extremes in these matters, and their statements that this is the +most beautiful baby in the world, and this the smallest, and this the +chubbiest, and this the darlingest, must be taken with very large +pinches of salt. On that occasion the very smallest baby in the world +acted in precisely the same manner as he would have done if he had +been the very largest baby in the world. Looking upon the world as his +own especial dunghill (as we all of us do), he immediately began to +crow, and sounded his trumpet with the weakest of lungs to show that +he had made his appearance upon the stage. The sound of Westminster +bells was ringing in his ears as he gathered up his little toes and +legs and clenched his little fists with an air of saying, Come on! to +his brothers and sisters in the profession; and in after-days he often +declared jocosely that he perfectly well remembered hearing his first +twelve o'clock proclaimed by the tongue of old Westminster. Between +that time and this, Ben Sparrow had grown from a very small baby to a +very small man, and many eventful things had occurred to him. When he +came to man's estate--the only estate he ever came into--he entered +into business as a grocer; married, and lost his wife, who left behind +her one child, a son, who had 'gone wrong,' as the saying is, and +whose place knew him no more. The 'ups and downs' of life are +generally believed to be a very common experience; but they could +scarcely have been so with Ben Sparrow, he had so very many downs and +so very few ups (if any) in the course of his career. Still he managed +to plod on, somehow or other, until the present time, when he and his +granddaughter, Bessie Sparrow, whom you have seen, and Tottie, a child +of whom you have had a glimpse, after she had been put to bed by +Bessie, are living together in the small house of which the grocer's +shop forms part. + +This short biography being concluded, we come upon Ben Sparrow, +sitting in his parlour, contemplating the separate parts of the +curious piece of work above referred to. The only other person in the +room is Tottie, who is perched on a high chair, with a rail in front, +to prevent her making an attempt to walk in the air, and whose +attention is divided between the old man and certain sweet things +which are spread upon the table. Such as three large fat +figs--luscious young fellows, new, ripe, and with so tempting an air +about them as to make their destruction appear inevitable. (Tottie is +ready to act as executioner; her eager eyes attest that they would +have short shrift with her.) Such as half-a-dozen or so sticks of +cinnamon, not as fresh-looking as the figs, being indeed rather +wrinkled specimens of spice; but, notwithstanding their snuffy colour, +they have an inviting odour about them, and tickle the nose +tantalisingly. (Tottie would not say them nay, and is ready to devote +them to destruction on the first word of command.) Such as a few dozen +of plump dried currants, of exquisite sweetness. (As Tottie well +knows, from experience of their fellows, not honestly come by; for, +notwithstanding her tender years, Tottie has a vice, as you shall +presently see.) Such as two or three bunches of muscatel raisins, +rich-looking, princes among grapes, with a bloom upon their skins, +which speaks eloquently of luscious juices within. (Tottie's eyes +wander to these, and her mouth waters, and her fingers wait but for +the opportunity. If some kind fairy would but cry 'Shop!' now, and +call for a quarter of a pound of brown sugar, or an ounce of tea--the +best one-and-fourpenny--or a ha'porth of barley-sugar! But business is +slack, as Ben Sparrow will tell you, with a doleful shake of the head, +and there appears no such fairy, in the form of a slattern with shoes +down at heel, or of a bold-faced girl with her baby in her arms, and +with a blue handkerchief tied crosswise over her bosom, or of a +gutter-student, capless, with straggling-hair, or of a man of any age, +weak-eyed with shaking limbs: no such fairy calls 'Shop!' in Tottie's +interest, and taps the counter with the nimble penny.) Such as two +whole halves (the prettiest of paradoxes) of candied lemon-peel, +with such an appetising fragrance oozing out of them, with such +delicious patches, of sugar clinging to their aldermanic insides and +outsides--pearls in mussels are valueless as a comparison--that the +precious things of the world, such as dolls and boxes of wooden +soldiers (would they were all so!), and oyster-shells and pieces of +broken china to play at dinners and teas with, fade in the +contemplation of them. (At least, such are Tottie's feelings, as she +looks and longs. O, for the fairy!) Such, to conclude with, as a few +shreds of mace, and a clove or two--scarcely worth mentioning in the +presence of their superiors. + +These delectable joys of life being spread upon the table, immediately +under Tottie's nose, and Tottie's attention being divided between them +and their lawful owner, Ben Sparrow, it will not be difficult to see +which of the two possessed the greater charms for her. A rapid glance +at Ben Sparrow's face, a lingering gaze upon fruit and spice, another +rapid glance (with a slight reproach in it this time) at Ben Sparrow's +face, and, finding no benevolent intention there, a more fixed and +longing gaze upon the treasures of the earth--thus it goes without a +word on either side (the thoughts of each being so intensely +engrossing), and thus it might have continued for goodness knows how +long, but that Ben Sparrow, with a cheery laugh, taps Tottie's cheek +with his forefinger, and cries, in a tone of satisfaction, + +'Now, I've got it!' + +(Tottie wishes _she_ had.) + +'Now, I've got it,' cries the old man again; 'all complete.' + +Tottie shifts restlessly in her high chair. + +'And Tottie shall see me make it,' says Ben, with beaming face, +rubbing his hands, and shifting the fruit and the spice about much the +same as if they form pieces of a puzzle, and he has found the key to +it. 'Especially,' adds Ben, 'as Tottie will sit still, and won't +touch.' + +'No, I never!' exclaims Tottie. + +This is Tottie's oath, which she is much given to swearing when her +honour is called into question. Tottie's 'No, I never!' is in her +estimation worth a volume of affidavits, but it is much to be feared +that her sense of moral obligation is not of a high order. + +'And as Tottie's a good little girl----' + +'Tottie's a dood little girl!' + +There is no expression of doubt in the nods of the head with which +Tottie strengthens this declaration. + +'And'll sit still, she _shall_ see me make it.' + +The good old fellow laughs. He does not seem to realise how difficult +is the task he has set Tottie. To sit still, with these treasures in +view! Here an agonising incident occurs. A small piece of candied +sugar has become detached from one of the halves of lemon-peel, and +Ben Sparrow, with an air of abstraction, picks it up, and puts it--in +his own mouth! Tottie watches him as he moves it about with his +tongue, and her own waters as the sweet dissolves in her imagination. +She knows the process as well as Ben, and appreciates it more, and she +sighs when the candy is finally disposed of. + +'You see, Tottie,' says Ben, taking her into his confidence, 'business +is very slack, and Christmas is coming, Tottie.' + +Tottie gives a nod of acquiescence. + + +[Illustration] + + +'So I think to myself--another nod from Tottie; she also is thinking +to herself--'if I can put some thing in the window that'll make the +people look at the figs----' + +Here Tottie introduces an artful piece of diplomacy. 'Tottie can spell +fig,' she says, and proceeds to do it smilingly--'F-I-G, fig.' + +But Ben, intent upon his scheme, does not see the point of Tottie's +interruption, and proceeds: + +'--Something that'll make 'em look at the figs, and the currants, and +the raisins--something new and spicy'--(Ben laughs at this joke, and +repeats it)--'something new and spicy, perhaps it'll wake 'em up, and +bring 'em in here instead of going to another shop. For they want +waking up, Tottie, they want waking up badly.' + +Solemn nods from Tottie proclaim the serious consideration she has +given to the general sleepiness and indifference of Ben Sparrow's +customers. + +Ben Sparrow picks up a fat currant and contemplates it with as much +interest as a geologist would contemplate a new fossil. Tottie's eyes +follow his movements; she sits like Patience on a monument, and +another sigh escapes her as Ben Sparrow (again abstractedly) puts the +currant in his mouth, and swallows it. Draw a veil mercifully over +Tottie's feelings. + +'It was in the middle of the night,' says Ben Sparrow with all the +impressiveness demanded by the historical fact, 'that I first thought +of making ME, and putting ME in the window to attract custom. I was a +good deal puzzled about my legs, and my stomach got into my head, and +I couldn't get it out; but little by little all my limbs and every +other part of me came to me until the idea was complete. And now we'll +try it--now we'll set to work and make a MAN! And if you're a good +girl, and'll sit still, you shall see ME made.' + +Tottie's experience in literature is very limited--extending no +farther, indeed, than b-a-t bat, c-a-t cat, r-a-t rat, d-i-g dig, +f-i-g fig, p-i-g pig--and she knows nothing of the terrible story of +Frankenstein; therefore, she is not at all frightened at the idea of +seeing a man made, nor has she any fear that it will turn out to be a +monster. On the contrary, if Ben Sparrow's thoughts would only take a +benevolent turn in the shape of a fig for Tottie, or a few plums for +Tottie, or some candied sugar for Tottie, she would be prepared to +enjoy the feat which Ben is about to perform as much as if it were the +best bit of fun in the world. + +'Now, then,' commences Ben, with a whimsical glance at Tottie, who +smiles back at him like a true diplomatist, 'I don't know what part is +generally made first, but perhaps it'll be as well to commence with +the stomach. Here it is--here's my stomach.' + +He takes one of the halves of the candied lemon-peel, and places it +before him, round side up. + +'There's a little too much sugar in me,' he says, with a more +whimsical glance than the first; 'it'll make me rather too heavy, I'm +afraid. And besides, Tottie, it ain't true to nature. My inside ain't +got such a coating as this.' + +He breaks a piece of candied sugar from the inside of his stomach, +looks at Tottie, notices her wistful eyes, and gives it to her. She +eats it eagerly, and so quickly as to cause amazement to Ben Sparrow, +who says, + +'You shouldn't eat so fast, Tottie. Good little girls don't eat so +fast as that.' + +Tottie, with feminine duplicity, accepts this warning in an inverted +sense, and cries, with her mouth full of sugar, + +'Tottie's a dood little girl!' as if indorsing a statement made by her +grandfather. But Tottie's thoughts are not upon the good little girl; +at the present moment she resembles a savage. She has tasted blood, +and thirsts for more. + +'It's a fatter stomach than mine,' proceeds Ben, laying his hand upon +his stomach of flesh, the stomach he came into the world with; 'it's +rounder and plumper, and would fit the Lord Mayor or an alderman, but +it'll do, I daresay. Now for my neck.' + +He picks up the thickest piece of cinnamon, and measures it with his +eye, breaking the stick in two. 'I mustn't make my neck too long--nor +too short--and I take the thickest piece, Tottie, because it's got to +support my head. Like this.' He makes a hole in the end of the +lemon-peel, and sticks the cinnamon in firmly. 'Now to stick my head +on, Tottie.' + +He selects the largest of the fat figs, and attaches it to his neck. +'What's the next thing? My eyes, to be sure. Currants.' Remarkably +like eyes do they look when they are inserted in the face of the fat +fig. Then he takes a clove for his nose, and, making a thin slit in +the fig for his mouth, inserts an appropriate morsel of mace. All this +being successfully accomplished, he holds himself up (as far as he +goes) for his own and Tottie's inspection and approval. Tottie claps +her hands, and laughs, but subsides into a quieter humour at a guilty +thought that steals into her mind. She thinks what a delightful thing +it would be to take her grandfather (as far as he goes) and eat him +bit by bit. + +'I begin to look ship-shape,' observes Ben Sparrow, gazing admiringly +at the unfinished effigy of himself. 'You see, Tottie, what the people +want nowadays is novelty--something new, something they haven't seen +before. Give them that, and you're all right' (Which vague generality +appears to satisfy him.) 'Now, here it is--here's novelty--here's +something they've never seen before; and if this don't bring custom, I +don't know what will.' + +Tottie gives a grave and silent assent; she cannot speak, for her mind +is bent upon cannibalism. She is ready to tear the old man limb from +limb. + +'But,' continues Ben Sparrow, unconscious of the horrible thought at +work in the mind of the apparently innocent child before him, 'I must +get along with myself, or I shall never be finished. I haven't been in +any battle that I know of, and I wasn't born a cripple, so my limbs +must be all right when I appear in public. Now for my arms. More +cinnamon! I think I may call cinnamon my bones.' + +When two pieces of cinnamon are stuck into the sides of the candied +lemon-peel, they look so naked that he says, + +'I must put sleeves on my arms.' + +And impales raisins upon them, and sticks five small slips of mace in +each of the last raisins, which serve for fingers. + +'Now for my legs, and there I am. More cinnamon!' + +Two sticks of cinnamon stuck in the bottom of his candied stomach, and +then clothed with raisins, form his legs, and there he _is_, complete. + +'I think I'll do,' he says complacently. + +At this moment a voice calls 'Shop!' and a fairy, in the shape of a +shoeless ragged girl, taps upon the counter. Ben Sparrow goes into the +shop to serve, and Tottie is left alone with his effigy. Now it has +been mentioned above that Tottie has a vice, and this is it: she is +afflicted, not with a raging tooth, but with a tooth so sweet as to +weaken her moral sense, so to speak: she is unable to resist +temptation when it presents itself to her in the shape of sweetmeats +or fruit, and her notions as to the sacredness of such-like property +are so loose that (no one being by to see her do it) she helps +herself. And yet it is a proof that she possesses a wakeful +conscience, that she turns her back upon herself when she pilfers, as +if she would wish to make herself believe that she is unconscious of +what she is doing. Thus, seeing, say, a bowl of currants near, and no +person within sight, she will approach the bowl stealthily, and, +turning her back to it, will put her hand behind her, and take a +fistful, with an air of thinking of something else all the while. And +it is a proof that the moral obligation of her conscience is not +entirely dormant, that, after the act is committed and enjoyed, she +will, under the influence of a human eye, instantly defend herself +without being accused, by 'No, I never! no, I never!' This express +admission of guilt she can no more resist than she can resist the +temptation itself. At the present time the sweet effigy of Ben Sparrow +is lying within reach upon the table. Shutting her eyes. Tottie +stretches out her hand, and plucking her grandfather's left leg bodily +from his candied stomach, instantly devours it, cinnamon, raisins, and +all--and has just made the last gulp when Ben Sparrow, having served +his customer, reënters the parlour. He casts a puzzled look at his +dismembered effigy, and mutters, + +'Well! if I didn't think I had made my two legs, may I be sugared!' +Which sweet oath is exactly appropriate to the occasion. Then he turns +to Tottie, who is gazing unconsciously at vacancy, with a wonderfully +intense expression in her eyes, and she immediately shakes her head +piteously, and cries, + +'No, I never! no, I never!' + +Ben Sparrow, having his doubts aroused by this vehement asseveration +of innocence, says mournfully, + +'O, Tottie! Tottie! I didn't think you'd do it! To begin to eat me up +like that!' + +But Tottie shakes her head still more vehemently, and desperately +reiterates, 'No, I never! no, I never!' With the frightful +consciousness that the proofs of her guilt are in her inside, and that +she has only to be cut open for them to be produced. + +Ben Sparrow, with a grave face, makes himself another leg, moving +himself, however, out of Tottie's reach with reproachful significance. +An unexpected difficulty occurs at this point. Being top-heavy he +cannot balance himself upon his legs; but Ben is of an ingenious turn +of mind, and he hits upon the expedient of shoring himself up from +behind with stout sticks of cinnamon. Then, setting himself up, he +gazes at himself in admiration. Tottie's eyes are also fixed upon the +effigy; it possesses a horrible fascination for her. + + + + HERE AND THERE ARE FORGET-ME-NOTS. + + +All night long Saul Fielding kneels by the side of his bed, absorbed +in the memory of the woman whom he loves, and who, out of her great +love for him, has deserted him. At first his grief is so great that he +cannot think coherently; his mind is storm-tossed. But after a time +the violence of his grief abates, and things begin to shape themselves +in his mind. The night is cold, but he does not feel the winter's +chill. The wind sighs and moans at his window, but he does not hear +it. As it leaves his lattice, and travels through the courts and +streets, it bears upon its wings the influence of the grief it has +witnessed, and it sobs to the stone walls, 'There kneels a man in +woe!' It gathers strength when it leaves the packed thoroughfares, +which, huddled together like a crowd of beggars, seem to seek warmth +in close contact, and becomes angry when it reaches the wide streets, +angrier still when it reaches the woods, where the trees tremble as it +rushes past them. Say that it rushes onward and still onward, and that +we have the power to follow it--that we see it merge into other winds, +and become furious--that we see its fury die away--that we leave the +winter and the night behind us--that we travel ahead of it over lands +and seas until we come to where spring and daylight are--that we +travel onward and still onward, until noon and spring are passed, and +we come to where bright sun and summer are. Where are we? Thousands, +upon thousands of miles away; but the time is the same, for as the +warm wind kisses us we look back and see the man kneeling by the side +of his bed. It is winter and night, and there kneels the man. It is +summer and day, and here is another man among the mountains lying on +the earth, looking at the clouds. And the time is the same. The +thoughts of both these men are in the past. What connection can there +be between these two in such adverse places, seasons, and +circumstances? They have never touched hands. What link can bind them? +Heart-links? Perhaps. It would not be so strange. It may be that at +this present moment, in some distant part of the world of which we +have only read or dreamt, links in your life's chain and mine are +being forged by persons whose faces we have never seen. + +He is desolate. Jane has gone from him. She has left words of comfort +behind her, but he may never look upon her face again. She has given +him a task to fulfill. 'If I have done my duty by you,' she said, 'and +I have tried to do it, it remains for you to do your duty by me.' He +will be true to his dear woman, as she has been to him. He will strive +to perform the task she has set before him--he will strive to find a +way. Ay, if he dies in the attempt. He will consider presently how he +shall commence. In the mean time, he must think of Jane. + +He falls into a doze, thinking of her, and with her in his mind the +past comes to him. The aspirations which filled his boyish mind--his +love for books--his desire to rise above his surroundings--his +reasonings upon the relation of this and that, and his theoretical +conclusions, which were to suddenly divert the common custom of +things, as if a creation could in a moment crumble into dust the +growth of centuries--his delight when he found that he was an orator, +and could move an assembly of men to various passions--his meeting +with Jane---- He went no farther. The memory of her as she was when he +first saw her, a bright flower--ah, how bright, how trustful and +womanly!--stopped farther thought, and for a time no vision appears of +his downfall, his weakness, his disgrace, his sinking lower, lower, +until he is almost a lost man. It comes to him presently with all its +shame; but when he wakes, the chaos of images in his mind resolves +itself into this: his life is before him, full of weeds, like an +untended garden, but here and there are Forget-me-nots, and each one +bears the name of Jane. + +The morning light steals in upon his vigil, and still he has not +decided how or in what way he shall commence his new life. In truth he +is powerless. He has no weapons to fight with. His old confidence in +himself, his pride, his strength of will, are covered with the rust of +long weakness. Rising from his knees, he breaks the crust of ice upon +the water in his pitcher, and bathes his face. The cold water seems to +bring strength to him. He looks about the room, and everything within +the poor walls speaks of Jane's love and care for him. The fire is +laid with the last few sticks of wood and the last few lumps of coal. +The old kettle, filled, is on the hob. The last pinch of tea is in the +cup; the remains of the loaf are on the table. Not a thing is +forgotten. 'Dear woman!' he murmurs. 'It is like you!' He paces the +room slowly, striving to think of some path by which he can obtain a +home for Jane, and thereby win her and reward her. It is useless, he +knows, to seek for work here in the neighbourhood where he is known. +He is known too well, and has sunk too low. Who would believe in his +profession of amendment? Besides, what is the use of trying? He is of +the same trade as George Naldret, and even George, a better workman +than he, has resolved to leave, and try his fortune elsewhere, because +of the difficulty he finds in saving sufficient money to buy a home +for the girl he desires to marry. Even George is compelled to +emigrate---- He stops suddenly in the middle of the room, and draws +himself up with a spasmodic motion. Jane's words come to him: 'It is a +blessing for many that these new lands have been discovered. A man can +commence a new life there, without being crushed by the misfortunes or +faults of the past, if he be earnest enough to acquire strength. It +might be a blessing to you.' 'A new life in a new land!' he says +aloud. 'All the weakness and shame of the past wiped away because they +will not be known to those around me. I should feel myself a new +man--a better man; my strength, my courage would come back to me!' So +strong an impression does the inspiration of the thought make upon +him, that he trembles with excitement. But can he leave Jane--leave +the country which holds her dear form? Yes, he can, he will; the +memory of her will sustain him; and she will approve, as indeed she +has done already by her words. 'It is the only way!' he cries; 'the +only way!' Thus far he thinks, and then sinks into a chair, +despairing. The means! How can he obtain the means? He has not a +shilling in the world, nor any friends powerful enough to help him. +Heaven's gate seems to be more easily accessible to him than this new +land across the seas. But he does not allow himself to sink into the +lowest depth of despondency. Jane stands before him; her words are +with him; like wine they revive his fainting soul. 'Come, Saul,' he +cries aloud to himself, resolutely. 'Come--think! Cast aside your +weakness. Be your old self once more!' These words, spoken to himself +as though they came from the lips of a strong man, sound like a +trumpet in his ears, and really strengthen him. Again he thinks of +George Naldret. 'Mr. Million gave him his passage ticket,' he says; +'would Mr. Million give me one?' No sooner has he uttered the words +than the current of his thoughts is diverted, and he finds himself +speculating upon the cause of Mr. Million's generosity to George. +Friendship? No, it can scarcely be that. There can be no friendship +between George and Mr. Million. Kindness? Perhaps; and yet he has +never heard that Mr. Million was noted for the performance of kindly +actions. These considerations trouble him somewhat on George's +account, although he cannot explain to himself why the fact of Mr. +Million giving George a free passage ticket to the other end of the +world should cause him uneasiness. 'I wonder how it came about,' he +thinks. 'I never heard George speak of emigrating until the ticket was +promised to him. At all events, if George has any claim upon him, I +have none. But Mr. Million is a public man, and may be in favour of +emigration. It will cost him but little to assist me. There are +Government emigration ships which take a man over for almost nothing, +I have heard. A line of recommendation from Mr. Million in my favour +would be sufficient, perhaps. I will try; I will try. If I knew a +prayer that would make my appeal successful, I would say it.' + + + + BATTLEDOOR AND SHUTTLECOCK. + + +As a public man, James Million, Esquire, M.P. for Brewingham, felt it +necessary to his position to spend two or three hours in his study +every morning, and to 'make-believe' to be busy. Had you asked James +Million what he was, he would not have told you that he was a brewer +or a capitalist, but would have replied briefly and emphatically, 'A +public man, sir.' Now, to be a public man, you must have a +shuttlecock; and whether it was that Mr. Million had a real sympathy +for the institution known as the working man, or because the working +man drank large quantities of Million's Entire and Million's Treble X, +it is certain that he set up the working man as his shuttlecock; and +it is quite as certain that he set it up without in the least +understanding it, being, indeed, a most unskilful player at any game +in which his own interests were not directly involved. The game of +battledoor and shuttlecock is a popular one with us from childhood +upwards, but I am not aware that any close observer and noter of +curious things has ever calculated how many shuttlecocks an ordinary +battledoor will outlast. Popular as the game is with children, it is +more popular with public men, who, battledoor in hand, are apt (in +their enthusiasm and love for the game) to run into exceedingly wild, +extremes when a new shuttlecock, with spick and span new feathers, is +cast among them. Such a superabundance of energy do they in their zeal +impart into the game that they often sorely bruise the poor +shuttlecock, and so knock it out of all shape and proportion that the +members of its family find it impossible to recognise it. How many a +poor shuttlecock have you and I seen on its last legs, as one might +say, in a desperate condition from being much hit and much missed and +much trodden into the mud, and with feathers that would rival those of +a roupy old hen in the last stage of dissolution! and looking upon it +in melancholy mood, may we not be excused for dwelling sadly upon the +time (but yesterday!) when its feathers were new and crimson-tipped, +and when it proudly took its first flight in the air? + +In appearance, James Million, the eminent brewer, was a small, flabby +man, with a white face on which the flesh hung loosely. It had been +said of him that his morals were as flabby as his flesh--but this was +invented by a detractor, and if it conveyed any reproach, it was at +best a hazy one. He had a curious trick with his eyes. They were sound +and of the first water--not a flaw in them, as diamond merchants say; +but whenever there was presented for his contemplation or +consideration a question of a perplexing or disagreeable nature, he +would close one of his eyes, and look at it with the other. It was a +favourite habit with him to walk along the streets so, with one eye +closed; and a man who set himself up for a satirist, or a wag, or +both, once said: 'Jimmy Million is so moral that he doesn't like to +look on the wickedness of the world; so he shuts one eye, and can only +see half of it, and thereby saves himself half the pain.' + +To James Million, as he sits in his study, comes a servant, who, after +due tapping at the door, so as not to disturb the ruminations of the +legislator, announces a man in the passage who desires to see Mr. +Million. + +'Name? asks Mr. Million. + + +[Illustration] + + +'Saul Fielding,' answers the servant, and adds, 'but he says he does +not think you know him.' + +'What does he look like?' + +The servant hesitates; he has not made up his mind. Although Saul +Fielding is shabbily dressed, he is clean, and Jane's watchful care +has made his wardrobe (the whole of which he wears on his back) seem +better than it is. Besides, there is 'an air' about Saul Fielding +which prevents him being placed, in the servant's mind, on the lowest +rung of vagabondism. + +'Is he a poor man? Is he a working man? demands Mr. Million +impatiently. + +'He looks like it, sir,' replies the servant, not committing himself +distinctly to either statement. + +Mr. Million has an idle hour before him, which he is not disinclined +to devote to the workingman question, so he bids the servant admit the +visitor. + +'Wait a minute,' says Mr. Million to Saul Fielding as he enters the +room. Mr. Million evidently has found some very knotty problem in the +papers before him, for he bends over them, with knitted brows and +studious face, and shifts them about, and makes notes on other pieces +of paper, and mutters 'Pish!' and 'Psha!' and 'Very true!' and 'This +must be seen to!' with many remarks indicative of the engrossing +nature of the subject which engages his attention. After a sufficient +exhibition of this by-play, which doubtless impresses his visitor with +a proper idea of his importance and of the immense interest he takes +in public matters, he pushes the papers aside with a weary air, and +looks up, with one eye closed and one eye open. What he sees before +him does not seem to afford him any comfort: for it is a strange thing +with public players of battledoor and shuttlecock, that although they +have in theory a high respect for their shuttlecocks, they have in +absolute fact a very strong distaste for them. Seeing that he is +expected to speak, Saul Fielding commences; he is at no loss for +words, but he speaks more slowly than usual, in consequence of the +heavy stake he has in the interview. + +'I have ventured to call upon you, sir,' he says, 'in the hope that +you will take some interest in my story, and that you will extend a +helping hand to a poor man.' + +Somewhat fretfully--for careful as he strives to be, Saul Fielding has +been unwise in his introduction, which might be construed into an +appeal for alms--somewhat fretfully, then, Mr. Million interposes with + +'A working man?' + +'I hope I may call myself so--although, strictly speaking, I have done +but little work for a long time.' + +Mr. Million gazes with curiosity at his visitor, and asks, in a + self-complacent, insolent tone, as if he knows all about it, + +'Not able to get work, eh? + +'I have not been able to get it, sir.' + +'But quite willing to do it if you _could_ get it?' + +'Quite willing, sir more than willing--thankful.' + +Saul Fielding knows that already he is beginning to lose ground,' but +his voice is even more respectful and humble than at first--although +the very nature of the man causes him to speak with a certain +confidence and independence which is eminently offensive to the +delicate ears of the friend of the working man. + +'Of course!' exclaims Mr. Million triumphantly and disdainfully. 'The +old cry! I knew it. The old cry! I suppose you will say presently that +there is not room for all, and that there are numbers of men who are +in the same position as yourself--willing to work, unable to obtain +it.' + +Saul Fielding makes no reply; words are rushing to his tongue, but he +does not utter them. But Mr. Million insists upon being answered, and +repeats what he has said in such a manner and tone that Saul cannot +escape. + +'I think, sir, that there are many men who are forced to be idle +against their will; that seems to be a necessity in all countries +where population increases so fast as ours does. But I don't complain +of that.' + +'O!' cries Mr. Million, opening both his eyes very wide indeed. 'You +don't complain of that! You are one of those glib speakers, I have no +doubt, who foment dissatisfaction among the working classes, who tell +them that they are down-trodden and oppressed, and that masters are +fattening upon them! I should not be surprised to hear that you are a +freethinker.' + +'No, sir, I am not that,' urges Saul Fielding, exquisitely distressed +at the unpromising turn the interview has taken; 'nor indeed have I +anything to complain of myself. I am too crushed and broken-down, as +you may see.' + +'But if you were not so,' persists Mr. Million, growing harder as Saul +grows humbler, 'if you were in regular work, and in receipt of regular +wages, it would be different with you--eh? You would have something to +complain of then doubtless. You would say pretty loudly that the +working man is underpaid, and you would do your best to fan the flame +of discontent kept up by a few grumblers and idlers. You would do +this--eh? Come, come,' he adds haughtily, seeing that Saul Fielding +does not wish to answer; 'you are here upon a begging petition, you +know. Don't you think it will be best to answer my questions?' + +'What is it you wish me to answer, sir?' asks Saul Fielding +sorrowfully. + +'The question of wages. I want to ascertain whether you are one of +those who think the working classes are underpaid.' + +Saul Fielding pauses for a moment; and in that brief time determines +to be true to himself. 'Jane would not have me do otherwise,' he +thinks. + +'I think, sir,' he says, firmly and respectfully, 'that the working +classes--by which I mean all in the land who have to work with their +hands for daily bread--do not receive, as things go, a fair equivalent +for their work. Their wages are not sufficient. They seem to me to be +framed upon a basis which makes the work of ekeing them out so as to +make both ends meet a harder task than the toil by which they are +earned. The working man's discontent does not spring from his work; he +does that cheerfully almost always. It springs out of the fact, that +the results of his work are not sufficient for comfort, and certainly +not sufficient to dispel the terrible anxiety which hangs over the +future, when he is ill and unable to work, perhaps, or when he and his +wife are too old for work.' + +'O, indeed!' exclaims Mr. Million. 'You give him a wife!' + +'Yes, sir; his life would be a burden indeed without a woman's love.' + +Mr. Million stares loftily at Saul Fielding. + +'And children, doubtless!' + +'Happy he who has them! It is Nature's law; and no man can gainsay +it.' The theme possesses a fascination for Saul Fielding, and he +continues warmly, 'I put aside as distinctly outrageous all that is +said of the folly and wickedness of poor people marrying and having +large families. This very fact, which theorists wax indignant +over--theorists, mind you, who have wives and families themselves, and +who, by their arguments, lay down the monstrous proposition that +nature works in the blood according to the length of a man's +purse--this very fact has made England strong; had it been otherwise, +the nation would have been emasculated. Besides, you can't set natural +feeling to the tune of theory; nor, when a man's individual happiness +is concerned, can you induce him to believe in the truth of general +propositions which, being carried out in his own person as one of the +units, would make his very existence hateful to him.' + +Mr. Million opens his eyes even wider than before; such language from +the lips of the ragged man before him is indeed astonishing. + +'What more have you to say? he gasps. 'You will want property equally +divided----' + +'No, sir, indeed,' interrupts Saul Fielding, daring to feel indignant, +even in the presence of so rich a man, at the suggestion. 'The man who +makes honestly for himself is entitled to possess and enjoy. I am no +socialist.' + +'You would, at all events,' pursues Mr. Million, 'feed the working +man with a silver spoon?--You would open the places of amusement for +him on the Sabbath?' + +'I would open some places and shut others.' + +'What places, now?' + +'The museums, the public galleries. I would give him every chance--he +has a right to it--to elevate himself during the only leisure he has.' + +'And in this way,' demands Mr. Million severely, 'you would desecrate +the Sabbath!' + +For the life of him Saul Fielding cannot help saying, + +'A greater desecration than even that can be in your eyes takes place +on the Sabbath in places that are open in the name of the law.' + +'You refer to----' + +'Public-houses. If they are allowed to be open, what reasonable +argument can be brought against the opening of places the good +influence of which is universally acknowledged? It is the withholding +of these just privileges that causes much discontent and ill-feeling.' + +This is quite enough for Mr. Million. This man, ragged, penniless, +has the effrontery to tell the rich brewer to his face that he would +have the public picture-galleries and museums of art opened on the +Sabbath-day, and that he would shut the public-houses. Mr. Million can +find no words to express his indignation. He can only say, stiffly and +coldly, + +'I have heard quite enough of your opinions, sir. Come to the point of +your visit. You see'--pointing to the papers scattered about the +table--'that I am very busy.' + +'I came, sir,' he says sadly, 'in the hope that, seeing my distress, +you would not have been disinclined to assist me--not with money, +sir,' he adds swiftly, in answer to an impatient look of dissent from +Mr. Million, 'but with your good word. But I am afraid that I have +injured my cause by the expression of my opinions.' + +'In what way did you expect that I could aid you?' asks Mr. Million +carelessly, as he settles himself to his papers. + +'I have been especially unfortunate in my career, sir. As I told you, +I am willing to work, but am unable to obtain it. If I could emigrate; +if I could get into a new country, where labour is scarce, things +might be better for me.' + +The poor man is helpless at the rich man's foot; and the rich man +plays with him, as a cat with a mouse. + +'Well,' he says, 'emigrate. The country would be well rid of such as +you.' + +Saul Fielding takes no notice of the insult. He is not to be turned +aside from his purpose, although he knows full well that he has missed +his mark. + +'I have no means, sir; I am poor and helpless.' + +'How do you propose to effect your object, then?' + +'There are Government emigrant ships which take men out, I have heard, +for very little--for nothing almost. A line of recommendation from you +would be sufficiently powerful, I thought, to obtain me a passage.' + +'Doubtless, doubtless,' this with a smile; 'but you are a man of some +perception, and having observed how utterly I disagree with your +opinions--which I consider abominable and mischievous to the last +degree--you can hardly expect me to give you the recommendation you +ask for. May I ask, as you are a perfect stranger to me, for I have no +recollection of you in any way, to what I am indebted for the honour +you have done me by choosing me to give you a good character?' + +'You are a public man, sir, and I have heard a friend to the working +man. And as you had helped a friend of mine to emigrate by giving him +a free passage in a ship that sails this week----' + +'Stop, stop, if you please. _I_ help a friend of yours to emigrate by +giving him a free passage! I think you are mistaken.' + +'If you say so, sir, I must be. But this is what George Naldret gave +me to understand.' + +'And pray who is George Naldret?' demands Mr. Million haughtily; 'and +what are his reasons for emigrating?' + +'George Naldret,' returns Saul Fielding, in perplexity, 'is almost the +only friend I have in the world, and he is emigrating for the purpose +of putting himself into a position to marry more quickly than his +prospects here will allow him.' + +'As you are introducing me,' says Mr. Million, with an air of supreme +indifference, 'to your friends, perhaps you would like also to +introduce me to the young lady--for of course' (with a sneer) 'she is +a young lady--he desires to marry.' + +'Her name is Sparrow--Bessie Sparrow, granddaughter to an old grocer.' + +Mr. Million becomes suddenly interested, and pushes his papers aside +with an exclamation of anger. + +'What name did you say?' + +'Miss Bessie Sparrow.' + +The rich brewer ponders for a moment, evidently in no pleasant mood. +Then suddenly rings a bell. A servant appears. + +'Is my son in the house?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +'Tell him to come to me instantly.' + +Saul Fielding waits gravely. Seemingly, he also has found new food for +contemplation. Presently young Mr. Million appears. + +'You sent for me, sir.' + +'Yes, James. Do you know this person?' with a slight wave of the hand +in the direction of Saul Fielding, as towards a thing of no +consequence. Saul Fielding knows that his mission has failed, but does +not resent this contemptuous reference to him. He stands, humble and +watchful, before father and son. + +'I have seen him,' says young Mr. Million, 'and I should say he is not +a desirable person in this house.' + +'My opinion exactly. Yet, influenced by some cock-and-a-bull story, he +comes here soliciting my assistance to enable him to emigrate. The +country would be well rid of him, I am sure; but of course it is out +of my power to give such a person a good character to the emigration +commissioners.' + +'Out of anybody's power, I should say,' assents young Mr. Million +gaily. 'To what cock-and-a-bull story do you refer?' + +'He tells me--which is news to me--that I have given a free passage +ticket to a friend of his, George--George--what did you say?' + +'George Naldret, sir.' Saul Fielding supplies the name in a manner +perfectly respectful. + +'Ay--George Naldret. Such a statement is in itself, of course, a +falsehood. Even if I knew George Naldret, which I do not, and desired +to assist him, which I do not, the fact of his being engaged to be +married to any one of the name of Sparrow--a name which means disgrace +in our firm, as you are aware-would be sufficient for me not to do +so.' + +Young Mr. Million steals a look at Saul Fielding, whose face, however, +is a mask; and in a hesitating voice says: 'I think I can explain the +matter; but it is not necessary for this person to remain. You do not +know, perhaps, that he was the chief mover in a strike a few years +ago, which threatened to do much mischief.' + +'I am not surprised to hear it,' says the rich brewer; 'the opinions +he has expressed have prepared me for some such statement concerning +him. He would desecrate the Sabbath-day by opening museums and +picture-galleries, and he would curtail the liberty of the subject by +closing public-houses, and depriving the working man of his beer! +Monstrous! monstrous! He has nothing to say for himself, I suppose.' + +'No, sir,' answers Saul Fielding, raising his head, and looking +steadily at young Mr. Million, 'except that I believed in the truth of +what I told you, and that I don't know whether I am sorry or glad that +I made the application to you.' + +The rich brewer has already touched the bell, and the servant comes +into the room. + +'Show this person to the door,' Mr. Million says haughtily; 'and if he +comes again, send for a policeman. He is a dangerous character.' + +Saul Fielding's lips wreathe disdainfully, but he walks out of the +room, and out of the house, without a word of remonstrance. This +chance has slipped from him. Where next shall he turn? He walks slowly +onwards until he is clear of the rich brewer's house, and then stops, +casting uncertain looks about him. As a sense of his utter +helplessness comes upon him, a young woman brushes past him without +seeing him. He looks up. Bessie Sparrow! She is walking quickly, and +seems to see nothing, seems to wish to see nothing. Without any +distinct purpose in his mind, but impelled by an uncontrollable +undefinable impulse, Saul Fielding turns and follows her. A gasp of +pain escapes him as he sees her pause before Mr. Million's house. She +rings the bell, and the door is opened. She hands the servant a +letter, and the next moment she is in the house, shut from Saul +Fielding's view. The terror that comes upon him is so great that the +street and the sky swim before his eyes, and he clings to a lamp-post +for support. + +'O, George!' he groans. 'O, my friend! How will you bear this? Good +God! what bitterness there is in life even for those who have not +fallen as I have done!' + + + + TOTTIE'S DREAM. + + +When Tottie was put to bed, it was no wonder that she was haunted by +the sweet effigy of old Ben Sparrow, and that his stomach of candied +lemon-peel and his head of rich figs and currants presented themselves +to her in the most tempting shapes and forms her warm imagination +could devise. As she lay in bed, looking at the rushlight in the +washhand basin, the effigy appeared bit by bit in front of the basin +until it was complete, and when it winked one of its currant eyes at +her--as it actually did--the light of the candle threw a halo of glory +over the form. Her eyes wandering to the mantelshelf, she saw the +effigy come out of the wall and stand in the middle of the shelf; and +turning to the table, it rose from beneath it, and sat comfortably +down; with its legs of cinnamon and raisins tucked under it like a +tailor. When she closed her eyes she saw it loom in the centre of +dilating rainbow circles, and in the centre of dark-coloured discs, +which as they swelled to larger proportions assumed bright borderings +of colour, for the express purpose of setting off more vividly the +attraction of the figure. Opening her eyes drowsily, she saw the old +man come down the chimney and vanish in the grate, and as he +disappeared, down the chimney he came again, and continued thus to +repeat himself as it were, as if he were a regiment under full +marching orders. Whichever way, indeed, Tottie's eyes turned, she saw +him, until the room was full of him and his sweetness, and with his +multiplied image in her mind she fell asleep. + +No wonder that she dreamt of him. Tottie and Bessie slept in the same +room, and Tottie dreamt that long after she fell asleep--it must have +been long after, for Bessie was in bed--she woke up suddenly. There +she was, lying in bed, wide awake, in the middle of the night. The +room was dark, and she could not see anything, but she could hear +Bessie's soft breathing. She was not frightened, as she usually was in +the dark, for her attention was completely engrossed by one feeling. A +frightful craving was upon her, which every moment grew stronger and +stronger. This craving had something horrible in it, which, however, +she did not quite realise. In the next room slept old Ben Sparrow, +who, according to the fancy of her dream, was not made of blood, and +flesh, and bone, but of lemon-peel, fig, and currants and raisins. All +the sweet things in the shop had been employed in the manufacture, and +there they lay embodied in him. + +Tottie knew nothing of theology; knew nothing of the value of her +soul, which, without a moment's hesitation, she would have bartered +for figs and candied lemon-peel. And there the delicious things lay, +in the very next room. If she could only get there!--perhaps he would +not miss an arm or a leg. But to eat the old man who was so kind to +her! She had a dim consciousness of the wickedness of the wish, but +she could not rid herself of it. Thought Tottie, 'He won't know if +he's asleep, and perhaps it won't hurt him. I know it would do me +good.' Her mouth watered, her eyes glistened, her fingers twitched to +be at him, her stomach cried out to her. She could _not_ withstand the +temptation. Slowly and tremblingly she crept out of bed, and groped +along the ground towards the door. Bessie was asleep. Everybody was +asleep. The house was very quiet. Everything favoured the +accomplishment of the horrible deed. 'Nobody will know,' thought +Tottie. Thoroughly engrossed in her desperate cannibalistic purpose, +and with her teeth grating against each other, Tottie turned the +handle of the door and opened it; but as she looked into the dark +passage Ben Sparrow's door opened, and a sudden flood of light poured +upon her. It so dazzled her, and terrified her, that she fled back to +her bed on all-fours, and scrambled upon it, with a beating heart and +a face as white as a ghost's. + +[Illustration] + + +Sitting there glaring at the door, which she had left partly open in +her flight, she saw the light steal into the room, and flying in the +midst of it, old Ben Sparrow. He was not quite as large as life, but +he was ever so many times more sweet and delicious-looking. As old Ben +Sparrow appeared, the room became as light as day, and Tottie noticed +how rich and luscious were the gigantic fig which formed his head, the +candied lemon-peel which formed his stomach, the raisins which clothed +his legs and arms; and as for the ripeness of his dark, beady, fruity +eyes, there was no form of thought that could truly express the +temptation that lay in them. Ben Sparrow hovered in the air for a few +moments, and then steadied himself, as it were: he stood bolt upright, +and, treading upon nothing; advanced slowly and solemnly, putting out +one leg carefully, and setting it down firmly upon nothing before he +could make up his mind to move the other. In this manner he approached +Tottie, and sat down on her bed. For a little while Tottie was too +frightened to speak. She held her breath, and waited with closed lips +for him to say something. But as grandfather did not move or speak, +her courage gradually returned, and with it, her craving for some of +him. She became hungrier than the most unfortunate church-mouse that +ever breathed; her rapacious longing could only be satisfied in one +way. Timorously she reached out her hand towards his face; he did not +stir. Towards his eyes; he did not wink. Her finger touched his eye; +it did not quiver--and out it came, and was in her hand! Her heart +throbbed with fearful ecstasy, as with averted head she put the +terrible morsel in her mouth. It was delicious. She chewed it and +swallowed it with infinite relish, and, when it was gone, thirsted for +its fellow. She looked timidly at the old man. There was a queer +expression in his fig face, which the loss of one of his eyes had +doubtless imparted to it. 'It doesn't seem to hurt him,' thought +Tottie. Her eager fingers were soon close to the remaining eye, and +out that came, and was disposed of in like manner. Tottie certainly +never knew how good Ben Sparrow was until the present time. She had +always loved him, but never so much as now. The eyeless face had a +mournful expression upon it, and seemed to say sadly, 'Hadn't you +better take me next?' Tottie clutched it desperately. It wagged at +her, and from its mace lips a murmur seemed to issue, 'O, Tottie! +Tottie! To serve me like so this!' But Tottie was ravenous. No fear of +consequences could stop her now that she had tasted him, and found how +sweet he was. She shut her eyes nevertheless, as, in the execution of +her murderous purpose, she tugged at his head, which, when she had +torn from his body, she ate bit by bit with a rare and fearful +enjoyment. When she looked again at the headless figure of the old +man, one of the legs moved briskly and held itself out to her with an +air of 'Me next!' in the action. But Tottie, hungering for the +lemon-peel stomach, disregarded the invitation. It was difficult to +get the stomach off, it was so tightly fixed to its legs. When she +succeeded, the arms came with it, and she broke them off short at the +shoulder blade, and thought she heard a groan as she performed the +cruel operation. But her heart was hardened, and she continued her +feast without remorse. How delicious it was! She was a long time +disposing of it, for it was very large, but at length it was all +eaten, and not a piece of candied sugar was left. As she sucked her +fingers with the delight of a savage, a sense of the wickedness of +what she had done came upon her. Her grandfather, who had always been +so kind to her! She began to tremble and to cry. But the arms and legs +remained. They _must_ be eaten. Something dreadful would be done to +her if they were discovered in her bed; so with feverish haste she +devoured the limbs. And now, not a trace of the old man remained. +She had devoured him from head to foot She would never see him +again--never, never! How dreadful the table looked, with him _not_ on +it! How Tottie wished she hadn't done it! She was appalled at the +contemplation of her guilt, and by the thought of how she would be +punished if she were found out. In the midst of these fears the light +in the room vanished, and oblivion fell upon Tottie in the darkness +that followed. + + + + I CAN SEE YOU NOW, KISSING HER LITTLE TOES. + + +The next day, being George's last day at home, was a day of sorrow to +all the humble persons interested in his career. He, was to start for +Liverpool by an early train on the following morning, and was to pass +his last evening at Ben Sparrow's, with the old man and Bessie and +Tottie and his mother and father. He had decided to bid Bessie +good-bye in her grandfather's house. Bessie was for sitting up all +night, but he said gently, + +'I think, Bessie, that mother would like to have me all to herself the +last hour or two. You know what mothers are! By and by, heart's +treasure! you will have the first claim on me; but now mother looks +upon me as all her own, and it will comfort her heart, dear soul! to +let it be as I say.' + +There were tears in George's eyes as he looked down upon the face of +his darling, and his heart almost fainted within him at the thought of +parting from her. And, 'Do you love me, Bess?' he asked, for the +thousandth time. + +'With all my heart and soul,' replied Bessie, pressing him in her +arms. And so, with his head bowed down to hers, they remained in +silent communion for many minutes. They were sitting in Ben Sparrow's +parlour, and the old man had left the young people by themselves, +finding occupation in his shop, in the contemplation of his effigy, +and in weighing up quarters of a pound of sugar. There was a woful +look in Ben Sparrow's face as he stood behind his counter; times were +hard with him, and his till was empty. + +'Bess, darling,' said George, waking up from his dream. She raised her +tearful eyes to his. He kissed them. 'As I kiss away your tears now, +my dear, so I will try to take sorrow and trouble from you when we +commence our new life.' + +'I know it, George; I know it,' she said, and cried the more. + +'But that is not what I was going to say. I was going to say this. +Listen to me, dearest: If it were not for you, I shouldn't go; if it +were not for you, I should stay at home, and be content. For I love +home, I love the dear old land, I love mother and father, and the old +black cat, and the little house I was born in. And it's because of you +that I am tearing myself from these dear things. I am going to earn +money enough to make a home for you and me; to make you more quickly +all my own, all my own! How my heart will yearn for you, dear, when I +am over the seas! But it will not be for long; I will work and save, +and come back soon, and then, my darling, then!----' The tenderness of +his tone, and the tenderness there was in the silence that followed, +were a fitter and more expressive conclusion to the sentence than +words could have made. 'I shall say when I am in the ship, I am +here for Bessie's sake. When I am among strangers, I shall think of +you, and think, if I endure any hardship, that I endure it for my +darling--and that will soften it, and make it sweet; it will, my dear! +I shall not be able to sleep very much, Bess, and that will give me +all the more hours to work--for you, my darling, for you! See here, +heart's treasure; here is the purse you worked for me, round my neck. +It shall never leave me--it rests upon my heart. The pretty little +beads! How I love them! I shall kiss every piece of gold I put in it, +and shall think I am kissing you, as I do now, dear, dearest, best! I +shall live in the future. The time will soon pass, and as the ship +comes back, with me in it, and with my Bessie's purse filled with +chairs and tables and pots and pans, I shall see my little girl +waiting for me, thinking of me, longing to have me in her arms as I +long to have her in mine. And then, when I _do_ come, and you start +up from your chair as I open the door!----Think of that moment, +Bess--think of it!' + +'O, George, George, you make me happy!' + +And in such tender words they passed the next hour together, until +George tore himself away to look after some tools, which he was to +take with him to coin chairs and tables and pots and pans with. But if +he did not wish his tools to rust, it behoved him not to bring them +too close to his eyes, for his eyelashes were dewy with tears. + +Now, late as it was in the day for such common folk as ours, Tottie +had not yet made her appearance downstairs. The first in the morning +to get up in the house was old Ben Sparrow, and while he was taking +down his shutters, and sweeping his shop and setting it in order, +Bessie rose and dressed, and prepared the breakfast. Then, when +breakfast was nearly ready, Bessie would go upstairs to dress and wash +Tottie; but on this particular morning, on going to the little girl's +bedside, Tottie cried and sobbed and shammed headache, and as Tottie +was not usually a lie-abed, Bessie thought it would do the child good +to let her rest. And besides being as cunning as the rest of her sex, +Bessie was the more inclined to humour Tottie's whim, because she knew +that George would be sure to drop in early; and if Tottie were out of +the way, she and her lover could have the parlour all to themselves. +George being gone, however, there was no longer any reason for Tottie +keeping her bed; so Bessie washed and dressed the child, and was +surprised, when taking her hand to lead her downstairs, to see Tottie +shrink back and sob and cry that she didn't want to go. + +'Come, be a good child, Tottie,' said Bessuel 'grandfather's +downstairs, and he wants to play with you.' + +At this Tottie sobbed and sobbed, and shook her head vehemently. She +knew very well that it was impossible for Ben Sparrow to be +downstairs, for had she not eaten him in the night, every bone of him? +She was morally convinced that there was not a bit of him left. +Grandfather play with her! He would never play with her any more; she +had done for him! Her fears were so great that she fancied she could +feel him stirring inside of her. But although she was rebellious, she +was weak, and so, shutting her eyes tight, she went into the parlour +with Bessie. Then she ran tremblingly into a corner, and stood with +her face to the wall, and her pinafore over her head; and there +Bessie, having more pressing cares upon her just then, left her. When +Tottie, therefore, heard the old man's voice calling to her, she +sobbed, 'No, I never! No, I never!' and was ready to sink through the +floor in her fright; and when the old man lifted her in his arms to +kiss her, it was a long time before she could muster sufficient +courage to open her eyes and feel his face and his arms and his legs, +to satisfy herself that he was really real. And even after that, as if +she could not believe the evidence of her senses, she crept towards +him at intervals, and touched him and pinched his legs, to make +assurance doubly sure. + +Ben Sparrow found it hard work to be playful to-day, and Tottie had +most of her time to herself. If the anxiety depicted on his face were +any criterion, his special cares and sorrows must have been of an +overwhelming nature. In the afternoon young Mr. Million came in, +spruce and dandified, and handsome as usual. The young gentleman was +not an unfrequent visitor at the little grocer's shop, and would often +pop in and chat for an hour with Ben Sparrow; he would sit down in the +back parlour in the most affable manner, and chat and laugh as if they +were equals. Bessie was not at home when he came this afternoon, and +he seemed a little disappointed; but he stopped and chatted for all +that, and when he went away, the old grocer brightened, and his face +looked as if a load were lifted from his heart. His brighter mood met +with no response from Bessie, when she came in shortly afterwards. +Some new trouble seemed to have come on her since the morning--some +new grief to which she hardly dared give expression. She had been +stabbed by a few presumably chance and careless words spoken by a +neighbour--need it be told that this neighbour was a woman? No weapon +can be keener than a woman's tongue, when she chooses to use it to +stab. The woman who had uttered the words was young--a year older than +Bessie--and it was known at one time that she was setting her cap at +Bessie's sweetheart. But she had met with no encouragement from +George, who, being wrapt heart and soul in Bessie, had no eyes for +other women. George often nodded a laughing assent to a favourite +saying of his mother's, that 'One woman was enough for any man; more +than enough, sometimes,' Mrs. Naldret would occasionally add. The stab +which Bessie received shall be given in the few words that conveyed +it. + +'So George goes away to-morrow morning,' was the woman's remark to +Bessie as she was hurrying home with heavy heart. + +'Yes,' sighed Bessie; 'to-morrow morning.' + +'Ah,' said the woman, 'he'll be nicely cut up at leaving. I daresay +he'd give a good deal, if he could take some one with him.' + +'I am sure he would,' said Bessie, thinking that by 'some one' herself +was meant. + +'O, I don't mean you,' said the woman, seeing the interpretation that +Bessie put upon her words. + +'Who do you mean, then?' asked Bessie, looking up quickly. + +The woman laughed and shrugged her shoulders. + +'Well!' she exclaimed. 'Some girls _are_ blind! Thank goodness, the +best man in the world couldn't blind me so!' + +'What do you mean?' demanded Bessie, in an agitated tone, all the +blood deserting her face. 'What have you to say against George?' + +The woman laughed again. + +'You've no cause to be jealous, Bessie,' she said, 'it's only a child. +But I _do_ think, if I was George's sweetheart'--Bessie's lip curled, +and this little expression made the woman's tone more venomous--'I +_do_ think,' she added with scornful emphasis, 'that if I was George's +sweetheart--O, you needn't curl your lip, Bessie!--I should ask +him--who--Tottie's--father--was! A woman isn't worth that'--with a +snap of her finger--'if she hasn't got a spirit.' + +And George's discarded left Bessie white and trembling, with this +wound in her heart. + +Bessie looked after the woman, dazed for a few moments by the +accusation conveyed in the words; then she became suddenly indignant, +and the blood rushed back to her face and neck; it dyed her bosom, and +she knew it and felt it, and felt the stab there also. Then she +hurried home. + +Ben Sparrow did not notice her agitation at first; he was too much +rejoiced at the lifting of a heavy weight from him. In the morning +ruin had stared him in the face; a small creditor had come down +upon him; had given him twenty-four hours to pay an account which, +trifling as it was, he was not possessed of. But young Mr. Million had +been to see him and had saved him. He would be able to pay this hard +creditor--I am ashamed to say for how trifling an amount--in the +morning, and he was exultant 'I am only too glad,' this young +gentleman had said, 'to have the opportunity of rendering a service to +Bessie's grandfather.' When he departed, old Ben Sparrow actually +danced in his parlour in thankfulness for the danger escaped. + +'Bessie,' cried Ben Sparrow as his granddaughter entered, 'young Mr. +Million has been here.' + +Bessie nodded, scarcely heeding the words. + +'He's a gentleman,' continued Ben Sparrow, 'every inch of him; to +forget the past, as he does.' + +'What past, grandfather?' asked Bessie. 'Forget what?' + +'O, nothing--nothing, my dear,' exclaimed Ben hurriedly, and coughing +as if something had come up or gone down the wrong way. 'What I say +is, he's a gentleman, every inch of him.' + +'You said that before, grandfather.' + +'Did I? yes, of course. But I'm an old man, Bessie, and you must make +allowances. We can't be all bright and fresh, and always happy as my +dear child is.' + +Bessie kissed Ben Sparrow's neck, and laid her head oh his shoulder. +'Always happy, grandfather! Am I always happy?' + +'Of course you are, dear child, and it's natural and right and proper. +Sorry and grieved, of course, because our sweetheart's going away--but +he'll be back soon, never fear. And we'll talk of him every day and +every night, my dear, and the time'll fly away'--he blew a light +breath--'like that! Ah, my dear! it's only the old that knows how +quickly time flies!' + +Bessie said nothing, but pressed closer to the old shield that had +sheltered her from babyhood to womanhood. + +'And now see,' said the old shield, 'what young Mr. Million brought +for you. And you're to wear them at once, he said, and I say so too, +and I promised him you would, for he's coming here tonight, and is +going to do me such a kindness as only the kindest heart in the world +could do.' + +Ben Sparrow took from his pocket a little box, and opened it, and +produced therefrom a piece of tissue-paper, and from the tissue-paper +a pair of pretty turquoise earrings set in gold. Bessie scarcely +looked at them, and allowed Ben to take from her ears the pair of old +ear-rings she had worn for ever so many years, and replace them with +Mr. Million's pretty present. + +'You look, Bessie,' said old Ben, falling back and contemplating her, +'you look like a Princess! and it's my opinion, my dear, that you are +every bit as good as one.' + +He held a piece of looking-glass before her, and desired her to look +at herself. To please him she said they _were_ very pretty, and then +said, suddenly coming to what was uppermost in her mind, 'Grandfather, +I want you to tell me about Tottie.' + +'About Tottie, my dear!' exclaimed Ben Sparrow wonderingly. + +'Yes,' replied Bessie, sitting down, 'about Tottie. All I know is that +you came and asked me once if I would mind if you brought a little +friendless girl home to live with us, and if I would take care of +her.' + +'And you said Yes, gladly, for it would be company for us, and would +make the place pleasant. And I'm sure neither you nor me have ever +repented it. If Tottie was our own flesh and blood we couldn't be +fonder of her. I shouldn't know what to do without her now I've got so +used to her. I'll tell you the story by and by, my dear, when George +has gone----' + +'No,' interrupted Bessie, so impetuously as to cause old Ben to jump; +'now! I want to know now. Ah, dear grandfather! you have always been +so good to me that I can't help being a tyrant.' + +'You a tyrant!' cried Ben, appealing with raised hands to the walls +and the furniture to join him in the repudiation of the astonishing +statement. 'That's a good one, that is. Well, my dear, as you want to +know at once, and as you're such a tyrant--ha, ha! I can't help +laughing, my dear--here goes. It's now three years gone, Bess--before +George and you began to keep company, my dear--that George comes and +tells me a story of a poor little thing that had been thrown helpless +upon the world. "Such a pretty little thing!" says George, "and not a +friend but me to look after her! I wish I knew some one," says George, +"who would take care of the dear; I'm sure I could never be grateful +enough to them." Then I asked how old the child was, and whether she +did not have relations. "Yes," said George, "she had two, but they had +no home and were altogether in too bad a position to take care of the +little one." Then I thought of you, my dear, and thought it would be +company for my Bessie and for me, and that if we grew to love the +child, there would be nothing to repent of. I told George this, and +George confessed that he had the same thing in his mind too, and that +was the reason why he spoke to me about it--hoping that I would say +what I had said. And so, to cut a long story short, one night a woman +came to the door with little Tottie in her arms, and kissed the child +a many times, and George brought Tottie in. I didn't see the woman's +face, but I fancied that she was crying. I have often wished since +that I had seen her face, the poor creature seemed in such distress. +You remember, Bessie, when you came home an hour afterwards, and found +me sitting before the fire with Tottie in my lap, warming her little +toes, how you fell in love with her directly, and how happy she made +us, and how this very parlour was, because Tottie was with us, really +made a great deal more cheerfuller than ever it had been before! You +remember the wonderful dimples that came into her face when she +looked at us, and broke out a-smiling, as much as to say, 'How d'you +do, old Ben and young Bess? I'm very glad to see you!' Why, it was as +good as a play! I can see you now kissing her little toes, and can see +her crowing and laughing when you kissed her neck--so fat, and so full +of creases! and I can see her clenching her little fist and +flourishing it in the air as much as to say, "In this fist I've got a +hundred-pound note, and all the world and his wife sha'n't take it +from me!" Dear, dear! the child _has_ been a comfort to us, and it was +a bright day when she came into the house, the poor little thing! Then +George says, "You're not to be expected to keep Tottie for nothing, +Mr. Sparrow; and here's three shillings a week, and when she gets a +big girl perhaps we'll be able to spare more." And he's paid the three +shillings a week regular, and has brought little things for her now +and then, such as a frock, you know, or a flannel petticoat, or a +little pair of shoes. And that's the whole of the story, Bess.' + +Bessie had listened very attentively to the narration of Tottie's +history, and now said, after a pause, with a strange hesitation in her +voice, + +'Grandfather, did George never tell you--who--Tottie's--father--was? + +'No, my dear. I remember once it coming up between us somehow, but +George turned it off, and said it didn't matter to Tottie, who seemed +as happy as the day was long--and so she was, and is, my dear.' + +At that moment 'Shop!' was called, and Ben Sparrow hurried in to +attend to his customer, and the subject dropped. + + + + ONE KISS FOR HOPE, ONE FOR FAITH, AND ONE FOR LOVE. + + +Tea was over and cleared away in the little back parlour, and Bessie +and old Ben Sparrow sat looking sadly into the fire. Tottie was also +present in her high chair, but there was nothing of sadness in her +thoughts. She was enjoying, in anticipation, what was spread upon the +table; for after the fashion of humble folk, preparations had been +made for 'a party' on this last evening which George was to spend with +them. There was a bottle of 'sherry wine' on the table, and another of +port, which old Ben had bought at a large grocer's shop over +Westminster-bridge, at a cost, for the two bottles, of two shillings +and fourpence; and that the wine was of an old and rich vintage, was +proved by the mildew and sawdust which clung to the bottles. There +were six wine-glasses of different shapes and patterns; and there was +a plate of almonds and raisins, and another of figs, and some small +seed-cakes, and four oranges cut in quarters; so that, altogether, the +table presented quite a festive appearance. There was nothing festive, +however, in the countenances of Bessie and her grandfather; their +faces were as sad as their thoughts. It was but natural. And yet they +would have been loth to have confessed to each other the exact tenor +of their contemplations. + + +[Illustration] + + +A bustle in the shop caused Ben Sparrow to jump from his chair. + +'That's Mr. and Mrs. Naldret,' he said, and opened the parlour-door +and gave them welcome. + +'Well, Bessie,' said Mrs. Naldret, and 'Well, my girl,' said Jim +Naldret, and they both kissed her, and shook hands with old Ben, who +bustled about doing nothing, while Bessie assisted Mrs. Naldret to +take off her bonnet and things. Mrs. Naldret had with one glance taken +in the preparations for the party, and approved of them. + +'What a pretty pair of earrings!' exclaimed Mrs. Naldret, admiring the +turquoise trifles in Bessie's pink ears, and, 'Well, George is a sly +one!' said Jim Naldret, pinching the pretty ears. + +'George didn't give them to her,' said Ben Sparrow, rubbing his hands; +'no, nor me either. I'm not rich enough; though if I could afford it, +Bessie should have had such a pair long ago, and a gold chain and a +watch as well.' + +'She's pretty enough to have them,' said Jim Naldret. + +'And good enough,' added Ben. 'Well, I _am_ glad to see you! But I +wish it was to welcome George back instead of wishing him good-bye. +Eh, Bess?' + +'Yes, grandfather,' replied Bessie, with a heavy sigh. + +Mrs. Naldret said nothing; she was thinking who had given Bessie the +turquoise ear-rings; she knew they could not have cost less than four +pounds at least. + +'There's George,' said Jim Naldret, as the shop-door opened. + +Bessie turned eagerly to the door, but Ben Sparrow stepped before her +and said in a hurried agitated tone, + +'I should like to have a few quiet words with George, my dear; I +sha'n't have another opportunity. Mrs. Naldret won't mind.' + +That worthy woman nodded, and Ben Sparrow, going into the shop, +stopped George's entrance into the parlour. + +'Don't go in for a minute,' said Ben; 'I want to speak to you.' + +'All right, grandfather; but I must have a kiss of Bessie first. +Bessie!' + +The girl ran into the shop at his call, and nestled in his arms for a +moment. + +'There! there!' exclaimed old Ben, taking Bessie's hand gently and +kindly. 'Go inside, Bess, my dear. That's all George wanted with you. +We'll be in presently.' + +Bessie went into the parlour, and George's heart was like a nest from +which the dearly-loved bird had flown. That little embrace, with +Bessie, warm and soft and tender in his arms, contained such exquisite +happiness as to be painful. + +'I'll not keep you two minutes,' said Ben Sparrow; 'come to the door, +so that we may not be heard.' + +They went to the shop-door, and into the street, which they paced +slowly as they conversed. + +'As I was sitting inside by the fire, just now, George,' resumed Ben, +'there came into my mind something which I think I ought to speak of +before you go away. It brought back old-time memories, too. You see, +my dear boy, I am an old man, and there's no telling what may happen. +It is a comfort to me that Bessie will have a good man for a +husband--for I believe you to be good, and--and a man, George!' + +'Indeed, Mr. Sparrow, I will do my best. It will be my happiness to +make her happy.' + +'I believe it will be, George, and that's why I'm glad she will be +yours. I have nothing to give her, George, nothing. I am so poor that +I don't know which way to turn sometimes to pay little pay little +bills.' + +'I want nothing with her, Mr. Sparrow. I want no better fortune than +Bessie herself.' He was overflowing with love for his dear girl. + +'She's good enough to be a Princess,' said Ben proudly, 'good enough +to be a Queen.' + +'She's my Princess and my Queen,' replied George; 'and she's a good +girl and will be a good wife, and that's better than all.' + +'That it is--that it is. But don't interrupt me, George. I thought +once I should be better off than I am, but something went wrong with +me, and I lost all my little savings. Since then, I have been going +down, till sometimes I think I can't go down any lower.' Old Ben +Sparrow paused here, and before he resumed closed his eyes, and put +his hand over them, as if with his inner sense of sight he were +looking into the past. 'George, I am going to speak of Bessie's +father--and my son; it is only right that I should, for you may meet +him.' + +'Meet him, Mr. Sparrow!' + +'Yes,' replied the old man in a quiet tone, 'I daresay you have heard +that he ran away, years ago, in disgrace. Bessie was quite a little +thing then, and I don't think any one has been so unkind as to speak +of it to her. To tell you the truth, George, she believed years ago +that her father was dead, and it is best that she should not be told +different. And he may be dead, George, for all I know. He was employed +as one of old Mr. Million's collectors, and he used money that didn't +belong to him. He used my money, too, and put my name to papers +without my knowing; so that when he ran away, to prevent something +worse happening, I had to pay, which brought me down, and kept me +down, George. This is a solemn secret between us, George, and must +never again be spoken of.' + +'I understand, sir.' + +'But I thought it right that you should know before you go away. It +don't alter your opinion of Bessie, does it, George? does it, my boy?' + +'Alter my opinion of Bessie!' exclaimed George warmly. 'It gives her a +greater claim on me. I love her more for it, dear girl, knowing how +unhappy it would cause her to know this. Of course, it must be kept +from her!' + +'Dear boy, God bless you! God bless you, dear boy!' cried old Ben +Sparrow, with the tears running down his face. 'And, George--when you +make a little money, and come home with it to make Bessie happy, be +contented. Don't go striving after riches, as my son did, and forgot +the meaning of honesty and the happiness there is in contentment. From +the time he ran away, I have never had a line from him. But I heard +that he was seen in Australia, and if he is alive, you may meet him, +for there are not many people there. Strange things _do_ happen, +George! You may meet him, and know him. I daresay he has grown +something like me, but taller and more gentlemanly. Ah, that was his +ruin, wanting to be a gentleman! Well, if you do meet him, George,' +and the old man took George's hand and pressed it hard, and twined his +fingers with George's nervously; 'if you do, give him--my--my love, +George--my dear love--and tell him to write to me, and that his old +father forgives him, George--that he forgives him! And tell him about +you and Bessie, and how beautiful Bessie has grown, and how she's fit +to be a Princess'----Old Ben broke down here, and George put his arm +round the old man's neck, and patted him on the back, and said, 'Yes, +yes, Mr. Sparrow, I understand, I understand. I'll do all that you +wish and in the way that you wish. And now that I know, I'll look out +for him. What part of Australia do you think he's in?' + +'I don't know, George; but Australia can't be very large. I've done +right to tell you, George, haven't I?' + +'Yes, quite right.' + +With that, they went into the house, and joined the party in the +parlour. It was not a very merry one, and the conversation chiefly +consisted of tender reminiscences and hopeful anticipation. George +tried to be gay, but broke down, and if it had not been for old Ben +Sparrow chirruping out a line of 'Cheer, boys, cheer, there's wealth +for honest labour,' now and then, it would have been difficult to keep +matters going. But a diversion was occasioned in the course of the +evening by the arrival of young Mr. Million, who came in to shake +hands with George, he said, and to wish him good-bye. George was +sitting in the corner, with Tottie on his knee; the child was in a +state of repletion, having feasted her full on the pleasures of the +table, and was curled up in George's arms, feeling very sleepy. +Bessie, sitting next to George (he had a spare arm for her waist, +Tottie notwithstanding), cast strangely disturbed glances at her lover +and the child, and her heart was bleeding from the wound inflicted +upon it by what she had heard that afternoon. Every time George +stooped and kissed Tottie, Bessie's wound opened, and she was almost +distracted with doubt and grief and love. Young Mr. Million was very +sunny and bright--a sunbeam lighting up the sad clouds. He gave just a +glance at the earrings in Bessie's ears, and Bessie blushed as she +rose to allow George to shake hands with him. No one saw the glance +but Mrs. Naldret, and she looked gravely at Bessie. Young Mr. Million +was profuse in his good wishes for George; he wished the young man all +sorts of luck, and hoped he would soon be back. Every one was +gratified at the heartiness with which young Mr. Million expressed his +good wishes--every one but Mrs. Naldret; but then nothing seemed to +please her to-night. + +'I must drink your health, George,' said the young brewer. + +Ben Sparrow asked him with a grand air whether he would take sherry +wine or port, and he chose sherry, and said that Miss Sparrow should +fill his glass for him. Bessie filled his glass and handed it to him +with a bright flame in her cheeks; her hand shook, too, and a few +drops of the wine were spilt upon the table, which young Mr. Million +said gaily was a good omen. + +'And here's good luck to you, George, and a prosperous voyage,' he +said, and shook hands with George and wished him good-bye, and shook +hands also with all in the room. Old Ben Sparrow looked at him very +anxiously, and when the young prince with a quietly significant glance +at the old man, proposed that Miss Sparrow should open the shop-door +for him, Ben said, 'Yes, yes, certainly, sir,' and almost pushed +Bessie into the shop. Now what made Mrs. Naldret open the +parlour-door, and seat herself so that she could see the shop-door? It +may have been done unconsciously, but certain it is that, seeing +something pass between young Mr. Million and Bessie as they shook +hands at the shop-door, she gave a sudden cry, as if overtaken by a +spasm. Bessie ran in at the cry, and then Mrs. Naldret saw in one +quick flash, what no one else saw (for Bessie slipped it into her +pocket), a letter in Bessie's hand! The matron said it was nothing, +merely a stitch in her side; and turned from the maid to her son, +around whose neck she threw her arms, and kissed him again and again. + +'Why, mother!' exclaimed George, for Mrs. Naldret was beginning to sob +convulsively. 'Come, bear up, there's a dear soul! or we shall all be +as bad as you!' + +Mrs. Naldret repressed her sobs, and pressed him closer to her +faithful breast, and whispered, + +'Ah, George, there are a many women in the world for you, but there's +only one mother!' + +He whispered back to her, 'There's only one woman in the world for me, +and that's my darling Bessie; and there is only one other who is as +good as she is, and that's the mother I hold in my arms.' + +And all she could reply to this was, 'O, George, George! O, my dear, +dear boy!' with a world of love and pity in her voice. + +And so the sad evening passed away, until George said, Hadn't father +and mother better go home? He would soon be with them. They knew that +he wanted to say good-bye to Bessie, who sat pale and tearful, with +her hand in his; and they rose to go, saying he would find them up +when he came home. + +'I know that, dear mother and father,' he said, and went with them to +the door, and kissed them, and came back with the tears running down +his face. + +'I'll tell you what, George,' whispered old Ben Sparrow in George's +ear. 'You shall say good-bye to Tottie and me, and we'll go to bed; +and then you'll have Bessie all to yourself. But don't keep too long, +my dear boy, don't keep too long.' + +Tottie had been fast asleep for more than an hour, and George took her +in his arms without waking her. + +'Good-bye, Tottie,' he said; 'good-bye, little one!' He kissed her +many times, and the child, stirred by his caresses, raised her pretty +little hand to his face. He kissed her fingers, and then resigned her +to old Ben, who, with his burden in his arms, grasped George's hand +tight, and bade him good-bye and God speed. + +'And don't forget, George,' he said, with a secret look towards +Bessie. + +'No, Mr. Sparrow,' George replied, 'I'll bear in mind what you told +me.' + +'God bless you, then, and speed you back!' + +With this the old man ascended the stairs, with Tottie in his arms, +turning over his shoulder to give George a parting look, and humming +'Cheer, boys, cheer!' softly, to keep up the spirit of the lovers. + +They had listened with a kind of strained attention to the old man's +voice, and when it was hushed, and silence fell upon them, George +turned to Bessie, and in an instant she was in his arms, lying on his +breast. A long silence followed. George heard Bessie's heart beat +plainer than the tick of the old-fashioned clock, which stood like a +ghost in a corner of the room. Not another sound could be heard but +the ticking of the old clock and the beating of their hearts. As +Bessie lay in her lover's arms, she thought whether it would be +generous in her to question him about Tottie. The very asking of the +question would imply a doubt. A voice whispered to her, 'Trust him; +perfect love means perfect confidence.' But the woman's words were +present to her also; and George was paying for the child. She would +not admit the thought of anything dishonourable in George; but the +sting of the doubt was in her. Would it not be better for her to ask a +simple question, which George could easily answer, than to be +tormented with doubt during the long months he would be away from her? +Would it not be simple justice to Tottie? for if she were not +satisfied, she might grow to hate the child. And Bessie really loved +the pretty little forsaken one. The maternal instinct was in her, like +the seedling of a flower in the ground, waiting for the summer-time to +ripen it into the perfect beauty of motherly love. She loved children. + +And here, a word. Whether out of place or not, it must be written. +Trust not that woman who has no love for little ones. She is unworthy +of love. + +How long the lovers remained silent they did not know. But the time +flew all too swiftly, for the solemn tongue of Westminster proclaimed +the hour. Each clang was like a knell. It was midnight. + +Midnight! What solemn reflections arise at such a moment, if the mind +be attuned to them! If the world were spread before us like a map, +what varied emotion and feeling, what unworthy striving, what +unmerited suffering, what new lives born to pain, what old lives dying +out in it, what thoughts dark and bright, what flowers of tender love, +what weeds of ruthless circumstance, what souls born in the mire and +kept there, what hope, what remorse, what sounds of woe and pleasant +fountain-voices with sparkles in them, what angel-lights and divine +touches of compassion, would, in the brief space occupied by the +striking of the hour, there be displayed! And so that bell may toll, +night after night, for generation after generation, until a time shall +come--say in a hundred years--when every human pulse that at this +moment beats throughout the world, when every heart that thrills and +thirsts, when every vainful mortal that struts and boasts and makes +grand schemes for self's exaltment, shall lie dead in earth and sea! +Such thoughts should make us humble. + +The bell awoke the lovers from their dream, and they spoke in low +tones of the future and the hopes that lay in it for them. + +'When I come back with a little bit of money, my darling,' said +George, 'I shall be content to settle down to my trade, and we shall +jog along as happy as can be. We couldn't settle down without pots and +pans, and these I am going away to earn. I can see our little home, +with you sitting by the fireside, or waiting at the door for me to +give me a kiss when my day's work is done. Then I shall come round to +mother's old way, with her bread-and-cheese and kisses. That will be +good enough for me, my darling, with you to give me the kisses.' + +And he gave and took an earnest of them there and then. + +So they talked of one thing and another until One o'clock was tolled +by the Westminster bell, and during all that time Bessie had not found +courage to speak of what was in her mind. George had noticed the +ear-rings in Bessie's ears, but had not spoken of them, thinking that +Bessie would have drawn his attention to them. But Bessie's wound was +too fresh; the pain and bewilderment of it were all engrossing. She +had no thought for anything else. + +'And now I must go, my darling,' said George, as they stood by the +shop-door; 'for mother and father are waiting for me.' He took her +face between his hands and kissed her lips. 'One kiss for hope; one +for faith; and one for love.' + +Bessie raised her face again to his, and whispered as she kissed, + +'And one for confidence.' + +'And one for confidence,' he repeated, as heartily as his sadness +would allow. + +'There should be no secrets between us, George dear.' + +'Certainly there should not be, darling,' he replied, 'though you've +been keeping one from me all the night, you puss!' + +'I, George!' + +'Yes, you, dearest. You have never told me who gave you those pretty +ear-rings.' + +Upon such slight threads often do our dearest hopes hang! Bessie, +yielding to the weak impulse, to play off confidence for confidence, +said, + +'Never mind those, George. I want to ask you something first.' + +At this moment the sound of music came to them, and the waits +commenced to play the dear old air of 'Home, sweet home.' + +'That's Saul's doing,' thought George. 'Good fellow! What will become +of him during the time I am away?' As he and Bessie stood linked in a +close embrace, the soft strains floated through the air into their +hearts. + +'There shall be no secrets between us, George, in our own home, sweet +home!' + +'None, darling.' + +'And you'll not be angry with me for saying something?' + +'What can my dear girl say to make me angry? and at such a time!' + +'Then tell me, George--about Tottie.' + +'The dear little thing! What about her, dearest?' + +'George, is she an orphan?' + +How long seemed the interval before he replied! Tick--tick--tick--went +the clock, so slowly! O, so slowly, now! + +'No, Bessie.' + +How strangely his voice sounded! But he held her closer to him, and +she had no power to free herself from his embrace. Indeed, she would +have fallen had he loosed her. + +'Do not be angry with me, George,' she whispered, slowly and +painfully. 'She has a father living?' + +Another long, long pause, and then, 'Yes,' from George, in the same +strange tone. + +'Tell me his name, George.' + +He held her from him suddenly, and with his hands upon her shoulders, +looked her steadily in the face. But her eyes drooped in the light of +his earnest gaze. + +'I cannot, Bessie,' he said; 'I must not. When we are married I will +tell you all. There shall be no secrets between us in our home, sweet +home. Till then, be satisfied.' + +Softer came the dear old air to Bessie's ears. But the tenderer +meaning in it was gone for her. She turned from her lover petulantly. + +'I did not think you would refuse me this, George.' + +Wiser, stronger, than she, he said, + +'Do not let this trivial matter come between us, my dear;' and would +have taken her to his heart again, but she did not meet him as before. +'This trivial matter!' Was he so lost to honour and to love for her? +Something of her mind he saw in her face, and it made his blood hot. +'Good God,' he thought, 'is it possible she suspects me?' Then he +strove to soothe her, but she would not be soothed. She said but +little now; but her face was white with misery; doubt tore at the +wound in her heart. She knew the pain she was inflicting upon him by +the pain she felt herself. But she could not yield; she could not say, +'I know you are true to me. I will be satisfied, and will wait.' So +his efforts were vain, and two o'clock struck, and their agony was not +over. The tolling of the bell, however, brought to him the picture of +his father and mother waiting up at home for him. 'I _must_ go,' he +said hurriedly. 'Good-bye, dear Bessie, and God bless you! Trust to +me, and believe that no girl ever had more faithful lover.' + +In spite of her coldness, he pressed her close to his breast, and +whispered assurances of his love and faithfulness. Then tore himself +away, and left her almost fainting in the shop, love and doubt +fighting a sickening battle in her heart. + + + + YOU ALONE, AND MY MOTHER, ARE TRUE; ALL THE REST OF THE + WORLD IS FALSE. + + +The night was very cold, and George felt the keen wind a relief. He +took off his hat, and looked around. The street was still and quiet; +the last strains of 'Home, sweet home,' had been played, and the +players had departed. All but one, and he waited at the end of the +street for George to come up to him. + +'What, Saul!' + +'George!' + + +[Illustration] + + +They clasped hands. + +'I am glad you are here, Saul. I should not have liked to go without +wishing you good-bye.' + +'I waited for you, George. I knew you were in there. Mother and father +sitting up for you, I suppose?' + +'Yes. In a few hours I shall go from here; then I shall be alone!' + +'As I am, George.' + +'Nay, Saul, you have Jane.' + +'She has left me, dear woman. I may never see her face again. It is +for my good, George, that she has done this. You do not know how low +we have sunk. George,' and here his voice fell to a whisper, 'at times +we have been almost starving! It could not go on like this, and she +has left me, and taken service somewhere in the country. She has done +right. As I suffer, as I stretch out my arms in vain for her, as I +look round the walls of my garret and am desolate in the light of my +misery, I feel and confess she has done right. Here is her letter. +Come to the lamp; there is light enough to read it by.' + +George read the letter, and returned it to Saul, saying, 'Yes, she is +right. What do you intend to do?' + +'God knows. To try if I can see any way. But all is dark before me +now, George.' + +'I wish I could help you, Saul.' + +'I know, I know. You are my only friend. If it ever be in my power to +repay you for what you have done----' He dashed the tears from his +eyes, and stood silent for a few moments, holding George's hand in +his. 'George,' he said, in unsteady tones, 'in times gone by you and I +have had many good conversations; we passed happy hours together. +Words that have passed between us are in my mind now.' + +'In mine too, Saul.' + +'We had once,' continued Saul in the same strange unsteady tones, 'a +conversation on friendship. I remember it well, and the night on which +it took place. We walked up and down Westminster-bridge, and stopped +now and then, gazing at the lights on the water. There is something +grand and solemn in that sight, George; I do not know why, but it +always brings to my mind a dim idea of death and immortality. The +lights stretch out and out, smaller and smaller, until not a glimmer +can be seen; darkness succeeds them as death does life. But the lights +are there, George, although our vision is too limited to see them. You +remember that conversation, George?' + +'As if it had taken place this night, Saul. I can see the lights, and +the darkness that follows them.' + +'We agreed then upon the quality of friendship, but gave utterance to +many generalities.' Saul paused awhile, and then said slowly, 'I am +considering, George, whether I rightly understand the duties that lie +in friendship.' + +'Faithfulness, trustfulness.' + +'Yes, those; and other things as well. Say that you had a friend, and +had learnt something, had seen something, of which he is ignorant, and +which he should know; say it is something that you would keep from +your friend if you were false instead of true to him----' + +'I should be a traitor to friendship,' interrupted George warmly, 'if +I kept it from him. If I were truly his friend, I should seek him out +and say what I had learnt, what I had seen.' + +'Even if it contained pain, George; even if it would hurt him to +know?' + +'Even if it contained pain; even if it would hurt him to know. There +is often pain in friendship; there is often pain in love. You have +felt this, Saul, yourself. I have too, dear friend! Often into life's +sweetness and tenderness pain creeps, and we do not know how it got +there.' + +George uttered this in a gentle tone; he was thinking of Bessie. +'Come, friend,' he said, seeing that Saul hesitated to speak, 'you +have something to tell your friend. If you are true to him, tell it.' + +Thus urged, Saul said: 'First answer me this. When did you first think +of emigrating?' + +'I did not think of it at all, before it was put in my head.' + +'By whom?' + +'By young Mr. Million. One night, not very long ago now, he met me, +and got into conversation with me. Trade had been a little slack, and +I had had a few idle days. This made me fret, for I saw that if things +went on in the same way it might be years before I could save enough +to buy furniture to make a home for Bessie. I let this out in +conversation with young Mr. Million, and he sympathised with me, and +said it was a shame, but that if he were in my place he would put +himself in a position to marry his sweetheart in less than a year. +How? I asked. By emigrating, he said. It staggered me, as you may +guess, Saul. The idea of going away had never entered my head. He went +on to say that his father took a great interest in working men, and +was very interested also in emigration; that only that morning his +father had mentioned my name and had said that he had a passage ticket +for the very ship that is going out of the Mersey to-morrow, Saul--and +that if I had a mind to better myself, he would give the ticket to me. +I thanked him, and told him I would think of it. Well, I _did_ think +of it, and I read about wages over the water, and saw that I could do +what he said. He gave me the ticket, and that's how it came about.' + +'George,' said Saul pityingly, for things that were at present dark to +George seemed clear to him, 'Mr. Million never heard your name until +this morning.' + +'Stop!' exclaimed George, passing his hand over his eyes with a +bewildered air. 'Speak slowly. I don't know that I understand you. Say +that again.' + +Saul repeated: 'Mr. Million never heard your name until this morning. +I went to his house, thinking that as he had helped you, he might help +me; and he scoffed at me, and taunted me bitterly. He had no more to +do with getting your ticket than I had. Every word young Mr. Million +told you about the passage and about his father was false.' + +'Good God!' cried George. 'What could be his motive, then, in telling +me these things, and in obtaining this passage ticket for me?' + +'Think, George,' said Saul; 'there is such a thing as false kindness. +He _may_ have a motive in wishing you away. I could say more, but I +cannot bring my tongue to utter it.' + +'You must, Saul, you must!' cried George, in a voice that rang through +the street. They had walked as they conversed, and they were now +standing outside his mother's house. 'You must! By the friendship I +have borne for you! By the memory of what I have done for you!' The +door of his house was opened as he spoke. His mother had heard his +voice, and the agony in it, and came to the door. George saw her +standing there, looking anxiously towards him, and he said in a voice +thick with pain, 'Stay here until I come out. By the love you bear to +Jane, stop until I come. My mother will know--she is far-seeing, and I +may have been blind.' + +He hurried to his mother, and went into the house with her. For full +half an hour Saul waited in suspense, and at the end of that time +George came out of the house, staggering like a drunken man. Saul +caught him, and held him up. His face was as the face of death; a +strong agony dwelt in it. + +'I have heard something,' he said, in a tone that trembled with +passion and pain and weakness. 'My mother has doubted for a long time +past. She took a letter from him secretly to-night! Those earrings she +wore he gave her. O, my God! Tell me, you, what more you know! By the +memory of all you hold dear, tell me!' + +'George, my dear,' said Saul, in a broken voice, 'a few moments after +I quitted Mr. Million's house, I saw her enter it.' + +A long, long silence followed. The stars and the moon shone brightly, +but there was no light in the heavens for George. A sob broke from +him, and another, and another. + +'For God's sake,' exclaimed Saul, 'for your mother's sake, who suffers +now a grief as keen as yours, bear up! Dear friend, if I could lay +down my life for you, I would!' + +'I know it. You alone, and my mother, are true; all the rest of the +world is false! He wished to get rid of me, did he, and this was a +trap! The false lying dog! But when I meet him!---- See here! Here is +the ticket he gave me. If I had him before me now, I would do to him +as I do to this----' + +He crumpled the paper in his hand, and tore it fiercely in twain. Saul +caught his arm, and stayed its destruction. + +'No, no, George!' he cried, but his cry was like a whisper. 'Don't +destroy it! Give it, O, give it to me! Remember the letter that Jane +wrote to me. Think of the future that is open to me, to her, unless I +can see a way. The way is here! Here is my salvation! Let me go +instead of you!' He fell upon his knee's and raised his hands +tremblingly, as if the Death-Angel were before him, and he was not +prepared. 'If I live, I will repay you, so help me, the Great God!' + +George muttered, 'Take it. For me it is useless. May it bring you the +happiness that I have lost!' + +Saul kissed his friend's hand, which fell from his grasp. When he +looked up, his friend was gone. And the light in the heavens that +George could not see, shone on the face of the kneeling man. + + + + + PART II. + + + + THEY SAW, UPON ONE OF THE NEAREST PEAKS, A MAN STANDING, WITH + SUNSET COLOURS ALL AROUND HIM. + + +We are in the land of a thousand hills. Height is piled upon height, +range upon range. The white crests of the mountains cut sharp lines in +the clear cold air, and the few trees that are dotted about stand like +sentinels on the watch. On one of the far heights, some trees, +standing in a line, look like soldiers that have halted for rest; and +the clumps of bush that lie in the valleys and on the sides of the +hills are like wearied regiments sleeping. + +In dear old England the roses are blooming, and the sun is shining; +but here it is night, and snow-shadows rest on the mountains and +gullies. Among the seemingly interminable ranges, ice-peaks glitter +like diamond eyes. Round about us where we stand there is but little +wood growth; but in the far distance, beyond the eye's reach, are +forests of trees, from the branches of which garlands of icicles hang +fantastically; and down in the depths the beautiful fern-leaves are +rimmed with frosted snow. We are in the new world. + +Creation might have been but yesterday. Even these white canvas tents, +lying in the lap of Night, in the centre of the forest of peaks, do +not dispel the illusion. They are clustered in the saddle of a gully +almost hidden from sight by jealous upland. But look within, and you +will see that the old world is marching on to the new. Sturdy men, +asleep upon canvas beds, are resting from their toil. Some are from +old Devon, England's garden land; some from the Cornwall mines; some +from the motherland's fevered cities. Rest, tired workers! Sleep for a +little while, strong, brown-bearded men! Over your spirits, as you +dream and sometimes smile, it may be that the eternal light of a new +childhood is slowly breaking! + +Hark! What cry is this that reaches the ear? Come nearer. A baby's +voice! And now we can hear the soft voice of the mother, singing her +child to sleep with an old familiar nursery rhyme. Dear words! Dear +memories! Sweet thread of life! When it snaps, the world is dark, and +its tenderness and beauty have departed from our souls. The mother's +soft voice is like a rill dancing down a hill in the sun's eye. How +sweet it sounds! + +What brings these men, women, and children here among the wilds? For +answer, take--briefly told--what is not a legend, but veritable +new-world history. + +Two men, adventurers from the old world, attracted thence by the news +of gold discoveries, travelled into new country in search of an +eldorado which they could keep to themselves until their fortunes were +made. They travelled over mountain and plain, and searched here and +searched there, for weeks and months without success, until, almost +starving and penniless, they found themselves on the banks of a +swiftly-flowing river. This river, here wide, here narrow, here +confined between rocky precipices, here widening on the plains, +presented strange contrasts during the year. In the winter, the +mountain snows which fed it came tumbling furiously over the rocks; +then its waters rushed madly through the defiles and overflowed the +plains. In the summer, peace came to it; the warm sun made it drowsy, +and it fell asleep. It curled itself up in its bed, as it were, and +left its banks bare and dry. The snow-torrents from the mountains +brought with them something rarer than snow--gold. The precious metal +grew in the mountain rocks, and when the furious water tore it from +its home, and carried it to the river, it sank into the river's bed +and banks, and enriched every fissure and crevice in its stony bottom. +When the two adventurers camped by the river's side it was summer, and +the banks were dry. They tried for gold, and found it. In a few hours +they unearthed twenty ounces, and they looked at each other with wild +eyes. Not a soul was within many miles of them; only the birds and the +insects knew their secret. But they could not work without food. Some +twenty miles from the scene of their discovery was a sheep-farming +station. Thither they walked in the night, so that they might not be +observed, and slept during the day. Pleading poverty, they bought at +the station a little meat and flour, and walked in the daylight away +from the river. But when night fell, they warily retraced their steps, +and crept through the dark like thieves, until they came to the +precious banks. For weeks and months they worked in secret, and lived +like misers, never daring to light a fire, for fear the smoke might be +seen; the very wind was their enemy. Their flesh wasted, their faces +became haggard, their hair grew tangled and matted, they became +hollow-eyed; and when, after many months of suffering, they had +amassed as much pure gold as they could carry, they walked painfully +and wearily through bush and plain for a hundred and sixty miles, +until they came to a city with a few thousand inhabitants, where, +skeletons among men, they told their story, and for the first time +showed their treasure. Delirium seized the city; men became almost +frantic with excitement; and the next day half the inhabitants were +making preparations to journey to Tom Tiddler's ground. Surely enough +the river's banks proved a veritable gold-mine; and after a time fresh +discoveries were made. Came there one day a man, almost dead, from the +snow mountains, with lumps of gold in his pockets; but the perils of +those regions were great, and men thought twice before they ventured. +Life, after all, is more precious than gold. Some adventurers went +forth: and never returned to tell their story. Then it was said they +were killed by starvation, not by the perils of the weather; or +because they had no guns, and tents, and blankets with them. Said +some, 'Let us take food sufficient for months, and whatever else is +necessary.' They took more; they took wives, those who had them. +Believe me, woman was worth more than her weight in gold. So in the +summer they went into Campbell's Ranges, and pitched their tents +there. And those they left behind them, wrapt in their eager hunt for +gold, forgot them for a time. The town nearest to the Ranges was many +miles away; it was composed of a couple of score of tents and huts, +and perhaps two hundred persons lived there. Wandered into it, looking +about him strangely, wistfully--for old-world's ways were upon him, +and old-world thoughts were stirring in his mind--a man, tall, +blue-eyed, strong; No man is long a stranger in the new world, and +this wayfarer talked to one and another, and heard from a butcher the +story of the two adventurers working on the river's banks until they +were worn to skin and bone. + +'But they got gold!' exclaimed the new-comer. + +'Almost more than they could carry,' was the answer. + +The man looked about him restlessly; the eager longing of his soul was +for gold, but in him it was no base craving. + +'If one could get into the mountains now,' he said, 'where the gold +comes from!' + +Said the butcher: 'Some went, and didn't come back.' + +'They lie over there?' said the man, looking towards the hills. + +'Ay,' replied the butcher, 'them's Campbell's Ranges, There's a party +prospecting there now, I've heard. They'll get gold, sure; but it +requires courage.' + +'Courage!' exclaimed the man, not scornfully and arrogantly, but +sweetly and gently. 'Who dares not, deserves not. And when a great +thing is at stake!---- Thank you, mate. Good-day!' + +And then he walked in the direction of Campbell's Ranges, stopping to +buy a little flour on his way. He could not afford much; his means +were very small. + + +The rough diggers often spoke among themselves of the manner of his +first coming to them. They were working in the gullies, which were +rich with gold; some were burrowing at the bottom of their mines, some +were standing by the windlasses, hauling up the precious dirt. They +had been working so from sunrise, and their hearts were light; for the +future was as glowing as the bright colours of the sun were when they +turned out to work--as glowing as the beautiful colours in the sky +were now. It was sunset. The gold-diggers standing in the sun's light, +with strong chests partly bared, with strong arms wholly so, were +working with a will. Now and then snatches of song burst from their +lips, now and then jests and good-humoured words were flung from one +to the other. The women were busy outside their tents, lighting fires +to prepare for supper; three or four children were playing with a goat +and a dog; a cat--yes, a cat!--stepped cautiously out of a tent, and +gazed solemnly about. And all around them and above them were the +grand hills and mountains, stretching for miles on every side. It was +a wonderful life amidst wonderful scenes. Close contact with the +grandeur of nature and with its sublime influences humanised many of +the rough men, and melted them to awe and tenderness. The hills were +full of echoes; when the thunder came the titanic hollows sent the +news forth and brought it back again: it was like God's voice speaking +with eternal majesty. As the diggers looked up from their work, they +saw, upon one of the nearest peaks, a man standing, with sunset +colours all around him. + + + + MORE PRECIOUS THAN GOLD, PURER THAN DIAMONDS, ARE THESE SWEET + AND DELICATE WAYS. + + +Their first thought was, 'Is he alone? Are there more behind him?' for +they were jealous of being overwhelmed by numbers. He looked down upon +the busy workers, and with slow and painful steps came across the +hills, and down the valley towards them. Pale, patient-looking, +footsore, ragged, and with deep lines on his face, he stood in the +midst of them, a stranger among the hills. + +'Are these Campbell's Ranges?' he asked humbly. + +'Yes, mate.' + +The man who answered him had just emptied a bucket of fresh-dug earth +on to a little hillock by the side of his mine. The stranger saw +specks of gold among it. There was no envy in the look that came into +his eyes. It was like a prayer. + +'Where do you come from?' asked the gold-digger. + +The stranger mentioned the name of the town. + +'Did you come in search of us?' + +'I heard that there was a party of men working in Campbell's Ranges, +and that there was plenty of gold here; so I came.' + +'By yourself?' + +'By myself. I know no one. I have been but a short time in the +colony.' + +'You have no tent?' + +'I had no money to buy one.' He murmured these words in so soft a tone +that the gold-digger did not hear them. + +'No blankets?' + +'For the same reason.' + +Again he murmured the reply, so that the questioner did not know his +destitute condition. + +'No pick or shovel?' + +The stranger shook his head sadly, and was turning away, when the +gold-digger said: + +'Well, mate, the place is open to all; but we want to keep ourselves +as quiet as possible.' + +'I shall tell no one.' + + +[Illustration] + + +He turned from the worker, and sat himself upon the ground at a short +distance from the human hive, out of hearing. The gold-diggers spoke +to one another, and looked at him, but made no advance towards him. +The women also raised their heads and cast many a curious glance at +the stranger, who sat apart from them. He, on his part, sent many a +wistful glance in their direction, and watched the fires and the +children playing. Behind the hills sank the sun, and night drained the +fiery peaks of every drop of blood. Before the hills grew white, the +gold-diggers left off work, and contrary to their usual custom, took +their buckets and tools to their tents, and took the ropes from their +windlasses. There was a stranger near them. + +'He seems decent,' said the women. + +'You can never tell,' replied the men, shaking their heads in doubt. + +Now and then they came from their tents to see if the stranger were +still there. He had not moved. It was from no want of humanity that +they did not call to him, and offer him food and a shelter. How did +they know that he did not belong to a party of bushrangers, whose +object was plunder? They let off their firearms and reloaded them. +But if they had known this man's heart and mind; if they had known +that he was penniless, friendless, that his feet were sore, and that +he had not tasted food since yesternight; if they had known the +trouble of his soul, and the dim hope which kept up his heart and his +strength--they would have played the part of good Samaritans without a +moment's hesitation. The darker shadows came down upon the valleys, +and wrapt the man and his misery from their gaze and comprehension. +They could see the faint outline of his form: nothing more. What were +his thoughts during this time? 'They suspect me; it is natural. If I +can keep my strength, I may find gold tomorrow, and then they will +sell me food perhaps. If not----there are women among them. I may be +able to touch their hearts.' He gazed around and above him--at the +solemn hills, at the solemn sky, and thought, 'For myself I should be +content to die here, and now. But for her--for her! Give me strength, +great God--sustain me!' He knelt, and buried his face in his hands; +and when the moon rose, as it did soon after, it shone upon his form. +A woman, standing at the door of her tent, was the first to see him in +his attitude of supplication. She hurried in to her husband, who was +nursing a little daughter on his knee. + +'David,' she said, 'that man is praying. There can be no harm in him, +and he has no shelter. He may be in want of food.' + +'Poor man!' said the little daughter. + +The father lifted her gently from his knee, and went out without a +word. The touch of a hand upon his shoulder roused the stranger, and +he looked into David's face. + +'What are you doing?' asked David. + +'Praying.' + +'For what?' + +'For strength, for comfort I need both. Turn your face from me! I am +breaking down!' + +A great sob came from the stranger's heart. David, with averted face, +stood steady and silent for full five minutes. Then placed his hand +upon the stranger's shoulder, and spoke: + +'Come with me. I can give you a shelter to-night. My wife sent me to +you.' + +'God bless her!' + +'Amen. Come, mate.' + +The stranger rose, and they walked together to the tent, where the +woman and child awaited them. The stranger took off his cap--it was in +tatters--and looked at the woman and her child, and stooped and kissed +the little girl, who put her hand on his face, and said pityingly: + +'Poor man! Are you hungry?' + +'Yes, my child.' + +That the man and the woman should turn their backs suddenly upon him +and make a perfectly unnecessary clatter, and become unnecessarily +busy, touched the stranger's sensitive heart, and the unspoken words +were in his mind, 'God be thanked! There is much good in the world.' + +More precious than gold, purer than diamonds, are these sweet and +delicate ways. + +'Now, David,' cried the woman briskly, 'supper's ready.' + +And David and his wife, notwithstanding that they had made their meal +an hour ago, sat down with the stranger, and ate and drank with him. +When supper was over, David said: + +'We'll not talk to-night; you must be tired. You slept out last night, +I suppose?' + +'Yes.' + +'And without a blanket, I'll bet!' + +'Yes.' + +'A good night's rest will do you good.' + +Upon this hint his wife brought some blankets, and gave them to the +stranger. She and her husband and child slept in the back part of the +small tent, the wall of division being strips of green baize. Before +turning in, David said: + +'You had best have a look round you in the morning; I can lend you a +pick and shovel. My name's David.' + +'Mine is Saul Fielding.' + + + * * * * * + + +By his patience and gentleness he soon made his way to the hearts of +the residents in this small colony. First, the children loved him; the +liking of the mothers followed naturally; and within a month every man +there was his friend. Love is not hard to win. Try, you who doubt. +Try, with gentleness and kindness, and with charitable heart. + + + * * * * * + + +It is full three months after Saul' Fielding's introduction to the +small settlement in Campbell's Ranges. Of human beings there are fifty +souls, all told. Four women--wives--seven children, and thirty-nine +men. Of other living creatures there are at least a dozen dogs--(what +is your gold-field without its dogs?)--three goats, wise, as all goats +are, in their generation, a large number of poultry (some of them in +the shell), and a cat. The shade of Whittington would rejoice if it +knew that this cat cost an ounce of gold--and a pinch over. + +It is June and winter, and the snow-season is in its meridian. The +workers are snow-bound; the heights all around them are more than +man-deep in snow. But they have no fear. They have made wise +preparations for the coming of the enemy, and up to the present time +they have escaped hurt. They have wood and provisions to last them for +full six months. That they are cut off from the world for a time +daunts them not. Their courage is of the Spartan kind. They have been +successful far beyond their expectations, and nearly every man there +is worth his hundred ounces of gold. Some have more, a few less. Saul +has eighty ounces, and he keeps it next to his heart, sewn in his blue +serge shirt David's wife reproved him once for carrying the weight +about. + +'It is nearly seven pounds weight, Saul Fielding,' she said; 'it must +weigh you down.' + +'Weigh me down, David's wife! he replied, with a sweet look in his +eyes. 'It is a feather's weight. It bears me up! It is not mine; it +belongs to the dearest woman in the world. The little bag that +contains it contains my salvation!' + +David and Saul were mates; they dug and shared, and he lived with the +father, mother, and child. The man he called David, the woman David's +wife, the child David's daughter. He said to David's wife one day: + +'When I go home and join my dear woman, she and I every night of our +lives will call down a blessing for David and David's wife, and +David's daughter.' + +He often said things to David's wife that brought tears to her eyes. + +'We shall go home, too,' said David's wife, 'and we shall see her.' + +'Please God,' returned Saul, and whispered, 'Come, happy time!' + +How tender his heart grew during this time! How he blessed God for His +goodness! What beauty he saw in every evidence of the great Creator! +He made the rough men better, and often in the evening they would +gather round him while he read to them, and talked with them. The +Sabbath-day, from the time he came among them, was never passed +without prayer. And so they had gone on during the summer and the +autumn, digging and getting gold, singing songs to the hills while +they dug and delved; the men had built stronger huts for the women and +children, in anticipation of the winter, and they all lived happily +together. Then the snow began to fall. It came light at first, and +dropped softly to the ground round about the huts of the small +community, as if it were bringing to them a message of love from the +clear bright sky. They laughed when they saw it, for it warmed their +hearts with visions of the dear old land over the seas. It brought +back to them memories of their schoolboy days. 'After the snow,' they +said, 'the primroses;' and in their fancy they saw the old country's +sweet flower: The children played with it, and pelted each other with +snow-balls, and the men joined in the sport. The goats scampered up +the hills in mad delight, and sent snow-sprays in the air with their +hoofs. The women looked on lovingly, and the little gully was filled +with pleasant mirth; and the echoes laughed after them. At night they +clustered round their fires, and raised up pictures for the future. +They talked of their gold, not greedily, but gratefully; they blessed +the land which gave them its treasures willingly; and in their dreams +they dreamed of dear old England and of the dear faces at home--the +dear old faces which would smile upon them again by and by, please +God! And while they dreamt, and while their hearts were light, and +while within them reigned the peace which came from pleasant thought, +the soft snow fell and fell. Day after day passed, week after week, +and still it fell. After many weeks had thus passed, Saul woke in +terror one night. He did not know what, had occasioned the fear that +was upon him. Was it caused by a dream? He could remember none. He +felt as if a spirit's voice had spoken to him. He rose and listened. +He heard nothing. Everything around was wrapt in peace and silence. +Softly he dressed himself, so as not to disturb the sleepers, and went +out of the tent. The snow was falling fast. How white and pure were +the hills! In the far distance they and the sky seemed one. He took a +pole, and feeling his way carefully, walked across the near hills, +ankle deep, knee deep, waist deep, breast deep. And yet he had not +walked far, not five hundred yards. The terror that was upon him now +assumed a tangible shape. He was in a snow prison! Nature held him +fast; had built up barriers between him and Jane. Was it destined that +he should never get away from these snow-bound hills? Suppose the snow +continued to fall for weeks and months! 'Jane!' he cried. And the +echoes cried 'Jane! Jane!' dying away mournfully. The sound frightened +him, and he called no more. Then his reason came back to him. They +could keep the snow away from their tents; all they had to do was to +shovel it down; all they had to do was to be vigilant. He comforted +himself with this thought, and slowly, painfully, retraced his steps +to his tent, and crept among his blankets again. As he lay, he heard a +moan. How every little sound frightened him! It was but the wind. +But the moan grew louder, grew into a shriek, and rushed past the +tent, and over the hills, like an angry spirit. And it brought the +Snow-Drift with it! But he did not think of that, as he lay shivering. +He did not know the new danger that threatened him. 'God shield you, +dear woman!' he murmured, as he fell into a doze. 'God bring me to +you!' + +All night long the wind shrieked and whistled through the tents; the +men, tired out with their exertions, did not wake. But the women did, +and lay and trembled. David's wife awoke. + +'David!' she whispered, but he did not hear her. + +'What's the matter, mother?' murmured her daughter. + +'Nothing, child, nothing. It's only the wind. Hush! we mustn't wake +father. Go to sleep, darling!' + +The sun rose late the next morning, and a dim blood-veil was in the +sky, which made some of them think that it was night still. The miners +found the snow round their huts to be three feet deep. They looked +anxious at this. + +'We can master the snow,' they whispered to one another, 'but the +snow-drift will master us.' + +Even as they spoke, the wind, which had lulled, began to moan again, +and before they had been working an hour shovelling away the snow, the +wind-storm, bringing the snow with it from the heights over which it +rushed, blinded them, and drove them into their tents for shelter. +They could not hold their feet. 'Let us hope it'll not last long,' +they said; and they took advantage of every lull to work against their +enemy, not like men, but like heroes. + +'What makes you so downcast, Saul?' asked David; he had not begun to +lose heart. + +Saul looked in silence at David's wife and David's daughter; they were +at the far end of the hut. + +'You are not frightened, Saul, surely?' said David. + +'Not for my self, David,' whispered Saul. 'But tell me. What kind of +love do you bear for your wife and child?' David's look was sufficient +answer. 'I have a perfect love for a woman also, David. If she were +here, as your wife is with you, I could bear it, and so could she. +David, we are beset by a terrible danger. Listen to the wind. I am +afraid we may never get out of this.' + +David's lips quivered, but he shook away the fear. + +'We mustn't lose heart, Saul, and we must keep this danger from the +wife and little one. There's men's work before us, and we must do +it--like men!' + +'Trust me, David,' said Saul; 'my heart beats to the pulse of a +willing hand;' and said no more. + +The wind-storm continued all the day with such violence, that it was +impossible for the men to work. As the day advanced, the blood-veil in +the sky died away, and when the night came, the moon's light shone +clear and cruel, bright and pitiless. + +Worn out with hard toil and anxiety, Saul Fielding lay down that +night, and tried to sleep. 'I must have strength for to-morrow,' he +thought. The fierce wind had grown faint, and it moaned now among the +hills like a weak child. Saul smiled gladly, and accepted it as a good +omen. He hugged his gold close, and vowed that he would not risk +another season of such danger. 'If I do not get an ounce more,' he +thought, 'I will be content. What I have will be sufficient for the +home and for Jane. Jane, dear Jane!' Her name always came to him like +a prayer, and with 'Jane' on his lips, and 'Jane' in his thoughts, he +fell asleep and dreamt of her. He dreamt that he and the others had +escaped from their snow-prison, and that he was on his way home. Blue +waters were beneath him, bright clouds were above him, a fresh breeze +was behind him, and the ship dipped into the sea and rose from it, +like a light-hearted god. The sailors were singing, and he sang with +them as he lent a hand with the ropes. He looked across the sea and +saw Jane standing on a far-off shore, with glad face turned towards +him. 'I am coming, Jane! he cried, and she smiled, and held out her +arms to him. Nearer and nearer he approached to the haven of his +hopes; nearer and nearer, until, although they were divided by many +miles of water, he could speak to her, and hear her speak. 'See!' he +cried, and held out his bag of gold. As she raised her eyes with +thankfulness to the heavens, David's wife and David's daughter +appeared suddenly by his side. 'Here are the friends who saved me, +Jane,' he cried. 'David is below, asleep, and his wife is here, +knowing your story and mine. She insists upon saying that you are her +sister; she is a good woman. The shame of the past is gone.' As he +said these words, a sudden and terrible wind sprang up; and the dark +clouds, rushing down from the heavens, shut Jane from his sight. In a +moment everything was changed. The ship seemed as if it were being +torn to pieces; the waters rose; and the cries of the sailors were +indistinguishable amidst the roaring of the wind. 'My God!' he heard +David's wife cry, and at that moment he awoke, and rising swiftly to +his feet, saw a candle alight in the tent, and David's wife standing +in her nightdress on his side of the green baize which divided the +tent. Her face was white with terror. 'My God!' she cried again; 'we +are lost!' The storm that had arisen in his dream was no fancy. It was +raging now among the hills furiously. + +'Go into your room,' said Saul hurriedly. 'I will be dressed in a +minute.' + +In less than that space of time he was up and dressed, and then David +tore the green baize aside. + +'Saul,' he said, 'this is terrible!' And stepping to Saul's side, +whispered, 'If this continues long, our grave is here.' + +Saul went to the door of the tent, and tried to open it; he could not. +The wind had brought with it thousands and thousands of tons of snow +from the heights, and they were, walled up. Saul felt all round the +sides of the tent. The snow was man-high. Only the frail drill of +which the tent was made kept it from falling in, and burying them. In +an instant Saul comprehended their dread peril. + +'The tree!' he cried, as if an inspiration had fallen upon him. 'The +tree!' + +Just outside the tent, between it and the tent next to it, stood a +great pine-tree, the only tree among the tents. Many a time had it +been suggested to cut down this tree for firewood, but David had +prevented it. 'Wait,' he had said, 'until we want it; when firewood +runs short, and we can't get it elsewhere, it will be time enough.' So +the tree had been saved from the axe, and stood there like a giant, +defying the storm, Saul piled up the rough seats and the tables which +comprised the furniture of the tent, and climbing to the top of them, +cut a great hole in the roof of the tent. It was daylight above, and +the snow was falling fast Saul saw the noble tree standing fast and +firm in the midst of the storm. With a desperate leap he caught a +branch, and raised himself above the tent. And when he looked upon the +awful scene, upon the cruel white snow in which the tents all around +him were embedded, and nearly buried, his heart throbbed despairingly. + +But this was no time for despair. It was the time for action. When he +had secured his position in the tree, he stooped over the tent. + +'David!' he cried. David's voice answered him. + +'This is our only chance,' he said loudly; he spoke slowly and +distinctly, so that those within the tent might hear him. 'Here we +maybe able to find safety until the storm abates and the snow +subsides. Listen to me, and do exactly as I say. Get some provisions +together and some water; and the little brandy that is left. Make them +up in a bundle. Tie rope and cord round it, and let me have it. +Quickly!' + +Before he finished speaking, David's wife was busy attending to his +instructions. + +'Answer me, Saul,' cried David. 'What do you see of our mates?' + +Saul groaned, 'Do not ask me, David! Let us thank God that this tree +was left standing.' + +David climbed on to the table in a few minutes, with the bundle of +provisions in his hands. He was lifting it for Saul to take hold when +the pile upon which he was standing gave way, and he fell heavily to +the ground. + +At this moment, a movement in the tent nearest to the tree arrested +Saul's attention. One of the men inside had thought also of the tree, +and had adopted Saul's expedient of cutting through the roof of the +tent. His head now appeared above the rent. He saw Saul, but he was +too far away to reach the tree. + +'Give me a hand, mate!' he cried. 'Give me a hand, for God's sake!' + +'One moment,' replied Saul, deeply anxious for the fate of David, for +he heard the generous-hearted digger groan, and heard David's wife +sobbing. 'Keep your hold and stand firm for a little while. You are +safe there for a time. There is something here in my own tent I must +see to at once.' Then he called, 'David! David! Are you hurt?' + +The voice of David's wife answered him with sobs and cries. 'He can't +move, Saul! He can't move! O, my poor dear David! He has broken his +leg, he says, and his back is hurt. What shall I do? O, what shall I +do?' + +But although she asked this question, she--true wife and woman as she +was--was attending to the sufferer, not thinking of herself. + +'God pity us!' groaned Saul, and raised his hand to the storm. 'Pity +us! pity us! he cried. + +But the pitiless snow fell, and the soft flakes danced in the air. + +Then Saul cried, 'David's wife! The child! the child!' + +'Let me be, wife,' said David; 'I am easier now. Pile up those seats +again; make them firm. Don't hurry. I can wait I am in no pain. Lift +our little daughter to Saul, and the provisions afterwards.' + +She obeyed him; she piled the seats one above another. Then brought +the child to David. He took her in his arms, and kissed her again and +again.' + +'My pet! my darling!' he moaned. 'Kiss father, little one!' + +And the rough man pressed this link of love to his heart, and kissed +her face, her hands, her neck, her lips. + +'Now, wife,' he said, and resigned their child to her. David's wife +stood silent for a few moments with the child in her arms, and +murmured a prayer over her, and blessed her, and then, keeping down +her awful grief bravely like a brave woman, climbed to the height, and +raised her arms to Saul with the child in them. Only her bare arms +could be seen above the tent's roof. + +'Come, little one,' said Saul, and stooping down, at the risk of his +life, clutched the child from the mother's arms, and heard the +mother's heart-broken sobs. + +'Is she safe, Saul?' + +'She is safe, dear woman.' + +Other heads rose from other tents and turned despairingly about. But +no help for them was near. They were in their grave. + +David's wife raised the provisions to Saul, and went down to her +husband. + +'Wife,' said David, 'leave me, and see if you can reach Saul. It will +be difficult, but you may be able to manage it.' + + +[Illustration] + + +She looked at him tenderly. + +'My place is here, David,' she said; 'I shall stay with you, and trust +to God. Our child is safe, in the care of a good man.' + +He tried to persuade her, but she shook her head sweetly and sadly, +and simply said, 'I know my duty.' He could say no more, for the next +moment he swooned, his pain was so great. Then his wife knelt by him, +and raised his head upon her lap. + +Meanwhile, the man in the next tent who had called to Saul to give him +a hand had not been idle. He found a plank and was raising it to the +roof, with the purpose of resting it upon a branch of the tree. As +with more than a man's strength he lifted the plank forward, Saul +heard a thud beneath him, and looking down saw that the walls of the +tent in which David and his wife were had given way, and that the snow +was toppling over. He turned his head; he was powerless to help them. +The tears ran down his face and beard, and he waited, awe-struck by +the terror of the time. He thought he heard the voice of David's wife +cry, + +'Good-bye, my child! God preserve you!' + +In a choking voice, he said solemnly to David's little daughter, + +'Say, God bless you, mother and father!' + +'The child repeated the words in a whisper, and nestled closer to +Saul, and said, + +'I'm so cold! Where's mother and father? Why don't they come up? + +Saul, with a shiver, looked down. Nothing of David or of David's wife +did he see. The tent was not in sight. The snow had covered it. And +still it fell, and still it drifted. + +The digger who occupied the next tent had fined his plank; not a +moment was to be lost; his tent was cracking. Creeping along the +plank, with the nervous strength of desperation, clinging to it like a +cat, he reached the tree and was saved for a time. As he reached it, +the plank slipped into the snow. And still it fell, and rose higher +and higher. Men signalled to each other from tent to tent, and bade +God bless each other, for they felt that, unless the snowdrift and +snowfall should instantly cease, there was no hope for them. But still +it fell; fell softly into the holes in the canvas roofs and sides, +into the chambers below; crept up to them inch by inch; wrapt yellow +gold and mortal flesh in soft shrouds of white, and hid the +adventurers from the light of day. + + +Only three remained. Soul, and David's little daughter, in the +uppermost branches of the tree. The digger from the nearest tent +clinging to a lower branch. + + +This man was known by the name of Edward Beaver; a silent man at best, +and one who could not win confidence readily. His face was covered +with hair fast turning gray. Between him and Saul but little +intercourse had taken place. Saul had not been attracted by Beaver's +manner, although often when he looked at the man, a strange impression +came upon him that he knew the face. Saul spoke to Beaver once, and +asked him where he cane from; but Beaver answered him roughly, and +Saul spoke to him no more. In this dread time, however, Beaver's +tongue was loosened. + +'This is awful,' he said, looking up at Saul. + +Saul looked down upon the white face which was upturned to his, and +the same strange impression of its being familiar to him stole upon +him like a subtle vapour. An agonising fear was expressed in Beaver's +countenance; he was frightened of death. He was weak, too, having just +come out of a low fever, and it needed all his strength to keep his +footing on the tree. + +'Do you think we shall die here?' he asked. + +'I see no hope,' replied Saul, pressing David's little daughter to his +breast. The child had fallen to sleep. Saul's soul was too much +troubled for converse, and the morning passed almost in silence. Saul +lowered some food and drink to Beaver. 'I have very little brandy,' he +said; 'but you shall share and share.' And when Beaver begged for +more, he said, 'No, not yet; I must husband it. Remember, I have +another life here in my arms to care for.' + +The day advanced, and the storm continued; not a trace of the tents or +of those who lay buried in them could be seen. The cruel white snow +had made a churchyard of the golden gully! + +Night fell, and brought darkness with it; and in the darkness Saul +shuddered, with a new and sudden fear, for he felt something creeping +up to him. It was Beaver's voice creeping up the tree, like an awful +shadow. + +'Saul Fielding,' it said, 'my time has come. The branches are giving +way, and I am too weak to hold on.' + +'God help you, Edward Beaver,' said Saul pityingly. + +And David's little daughter murmured in her sleep, 'What's that, +mother?' Saul hushed her by singing in a soft tender voice a nursery +rhyme, and the child smiled in the dark, and her arms tightened round +Saul's neck. It was a good thing for them that they were together; the +warmth of their bodies was a comfort, and in some measure a safeguard +to them. + +When Saul's soft singing was over, he heard Beaver sobbing, beneath +him. 'I used to sing that once,' the man sobbed in weak tones, 'to my +little daughter.' + +'Where is she now?' asked Saul, thinking of those he loved at home. + +'Bessie! Bessie!' cried Beaver faintly. 'Where are you? O my God! if I +could live my life over again!' + +Saul thought of George's Bessie as he asked, 'Where do you come from? +What part do you belong to?' + +It was a long time before he received an answer, and then the words +crept up to him, faint and low, through the darkness, as though the +speaker's strength were waning fast. + +'From London--from Westminster.' + +'From Westminster!' echoed Saul, and Beaver's face appeared to his +imagination. + +'I must tell you,' gasped the dying man; 'I must tell you before I +die. You may be saved, and you will take my message home.' + +'I will, if I am spared,' replied Saul, in a voice which had no hope +in it. + +'I have been a bad son and a bad father. My name is not Beaver--it is +Sparrow, and my father, if he is alive, lives in Westminster.' + +'Old Ben Sparrow, the grocer!' cried Saul, in amazement 'I know him! I +saw him a few weeks before last Christmas. You are Bessie Sparrow's +father; I thought your face was familiar to me.' + +'Bad son! bad father!' muttered the man. 'O my God! the tree is +sinking! the branch is giving way! Tell me, quickly, for mercy's sake. +My daughter--Bessie--she is alive, then? Tell me of her.' + +'She was well when I saw her,' replied Saul, with a groan, thinking of +George and his lost hopes. 'She has grown into a beautiful woman.' + +'Thank God! If you ever see her again, tell her of me--ask my father +to forgive me. Take the love of a dying man to them. I have gold about +me--it is theirs. Say that I intended to come home, and ask +forgiveness, but it has been denied me. God has punished me! I am +sinking!----' + +A cry of agony followed, and the wind took it up, and carried it over +the hills. Then all was hushed, and the erring son and father spoke no +more. + +Saul offered up a prayer for Bessie's father, and waited sadly for +_his_ time to come. + +As the night waned, the fierce wind grew softer, and sighed and +moaned, repentant of the desolation it had caused. What a long, long +night it was! But at length the morning's light appeared, and then +Saul, looking down, saw that he and David's little daughter were the +only ones left. Stronger grew the light, until day had fairly dawned. +As Saul looked over the white expanse, he felt that there was no hope +for him, and his mind began to wander. Long-forgotten incidents of his +childhood came to him; he saw his father and mother, long since dead; +he saw a brother who had died when he himself was a child; he saw Jane +as she was when he first met her, as she was on that sad night when +she told him of the duty that lay before him; he saw George and the +lights on Westminster-bridge. All these visions rose for him out of +the snow. And fields and flowers came, and he wandered among them hand +in hand with Jane, as they had done on one happy holiday. It did not +seem strange to him that there was no colour in any of these things; +it caused no wonder in his mind that all these loved ones and the +fields and flowers, perfect in form and shape, were colourless, were +white and pure as the snow which stretched around him on every side. +They were dear memories all of them; emblems of purity. And in that +dread time he grew old; every hour was a year. But in the midst of all +the terror of the time he pressed David's little daughter closer and +closer to his breast, and committed their souls to God. So that day +passed, and the night; and the sun rose in splendour. The white hills +blushed, like maidens surprised. With wild eyes and fainting soul, +Saul looked around; suddenly a flush of joy spread over his face. Upon +a distant mount, stood Jane. 'Come!' he cried. And as Jane walked over +the snow hills towards him, he waited and waited until she was close +to him; then sinking in her arms, he fell asleep. + + + + + PART III. + + + + I HAVE COME TO RETURN YOU SOMETHING. + + +On the afternoon of the day on which the Queen of the South (with +George Naldret in it, as was supposed) sailed out of the Mersey for +the southern seas, young Mr. Million, with a small bouquet of choice +flowers in his hand, made his appearance in the old grocer's shop. Ben +Sparrow, who was sitting behind his counter, jumped up when the young +brewer entered, and rubbed his hands and smirked, and comported +himself in every way as if a superior being had honoured him with his +presence. Young Mr. Million smiled pleasantly, and without the +slightest condescension. The cordiality of his manner was perfect. + +'Quite a gentleman,' thought old Ben; 'every inch a gentleman!' + +Said young Mr. Million: 'As I was passing your way, I thought I would +drop in to see how you and your granddaughter are.' + +'It's very kind and thoughtful of you, sir,' replied old Ben +Sparrow. 'Of course, we're a bit upset at George's going. Everything +is at sixes and sevens, and will be, I daresay, for a few days. +Bessie's inside'--with a jerk of his head in the direction of the +parlour--'she's very sad and low, poor dear.' + +'We mustn't let her mope, Mr. Sparrow,' remarked young Mr. Million, +striking up a partnership at once with the old grocer. + +'No, sir,' assented Ben; 'we mustn't let her mope; it ain't good for +the young--nor for the old, either. But it's natural she should grieve +a bit. You see, sir,' he said confidentially, 'George is the only +sweetheart Bessie's ever had. She ain't like some girls, chopping and +changing, as if there's no meaning in what they do.' + +'We must brighten her up, Mr. Sparrow. It wouldn't be a bad thing, if +you were to take her for a drive in the country, one fine day. The +fresh air would do her good.' + +'It would do her good, sir. But I couldn't leave the shop. Business is +dreadfully dull, and I can't afford to lose a chance of taking a few +shillings--though, with the way things are cut down, there's very +little profit got nowadays. Some things almost go for what they cost. +Sugar, for instance. I don't believe I get a ha'penny a-pound out of +it.' + +Young Mr. Million expressed his sympathy, and said it ought to be +looked to. He would speak to his father, who was a 'friend of the +working-man, you know.' + +'I don't know how to thank you, sir,' said Ben gratefully. 'Indeed, I +haven't thanked you yet for the kindness you----' + +'I don't want to be thanked,' interrupted young Mr. Million +vivaciously. 'I hate to be thanked! The fact is, Mr. Sparrow, I am an +idle young dog, and it will always give me pleasure to do you any +little service in my power. I will go in, and say How do you do? to +Miss Sparrow, if you will allow me.' + +'Allow you, sir!' exclaimed Ben. 'You're always welcome here.' + +'I brought this little bunch of flowers for her. Flowers are scarce +now, and the sight of them freshens one up. Although, Mr. Sparrow, +your granddaughter is a brighter flower than any in this bunch!' + +'That she is, sir; that she is,' cried Ben, in delight; adding to +himself, under his breath, 'Every inch a gentleman! His kindness to +George and me is a-maz-ing--A-MAZ-ING!' + +The idle young dog, entering the parlour, found Bessie very pale and +very unhappy. She was unhappy because of the manner of her parting +from George last night; unhappy and utterly miserable because of the +poisoned dagger which had been planted in her heart. + +'I was passing through Covent garden,' said the idle young dog, in +gentle tones, thinking how pretty Bessie looked even in her sorrow, +'and seeing these flowers, I thought you would do me the pleasure to +accept them.' + +Bessie thanked him, and took them listlessly from his hand. Tottie, +who was playing at 'shop' in a corner of the room, weighing sand in +paper scales, and disposing of it to imaginary customers as the best +fourpenny-ha'penny moist (is this ever done in reality, I wonder!), +came forward to see and smell the flowers. The idle young dog seized +upon Tottie as a pretext for taking a seat, and, lifting the child on +his knee, allowed her to play with his watch-chain, and opened his +watch for her, and put it to her ear, so that she might hear it +tick--a performance of which she would never have tired. His manner +towards Bessie was very considerate and gentle, and she had every +reason to be grateful to him, for he had been a good friend to her +grandfather and her lover. Certainly he was one of the pleasantest +gentlemen in the world, and he won Tottie's heart by giving her a +shilling--the newest he could find in his pocket. Tottie immediately +slipped off his knee, and went to her corner to brighten the coin with +sand; after the fashion of old Ben Sparrow, who often polished up a +farthing with sand until he could see his face in it, and gave it to +Tottie as a golden sovereign. Tottie valued it quite as much as she +would have done if it had been the purest gold. + +The idle young dog did not stay very long; he was no bungler at this +sort of idling, and he knew the value of leaving a good impression +behind him. So, after a quarter of an hour's pleasant chat, he shook +hands with Bessie, and as he stood smiling at her, wishing her +good-day, with her hand in his, the door suddenly opened, and George +Naldret appeared. + +His face was white and haggard, and there was a wild grief in his +eyes. The agony through which he had passed on the previous night +seemed to have made him old in a few hours. He stood there silent, +looking at Bessie and young Mr. Million, and at their clasped hands. +It was but for a moment, for Bessie, with a startled cry--a cry that +had in it pain and horror at the misery in his face--had taken her +hand from young Mr. Million's palm; it was but for a moment, but the +new expression that overspread George's face like an evil cloud was +the expression of a man who had utterly lost all faith and belief in +purity and goodness: and had thus lost sight of Heaven. + +Bessie divined its meaning, and gave a gasp of agony, but did not +speak. Not so, young Mr. Million. + +'Good Heavens!' he cried, with a guilty look which he could not hide +from George's keen gaze. 'George, what has happened?' + +George looked at young Mr. Million's outstretched hand, and rejected +it disdainfully and with absolute contempt. Then looked at the flowers +on the table--hothouse flowers he knew they were--then into Bessie's +face, which seemed as if it were carved out of gray-white stone, so +fixed did it grow in his gaze--then at the earrings in her ears: and a +bitter, bitter smile came to his lips--a smile it was pity to see +there. + +'These are pretty flowers,' he said, raising them from the table; in +the intensity of his passion his fingers closed upon the blooming +things, and in a moment more he would have crushed them--but he +restrained himself in time, and let them drop from his strongly-veined +hand. 'I beg pardon,' he said, 'they are not mine. Even if they belong +to you--which they do, of course--I can have no claim on them now.' + +He addressed himself to Bessie, but she did not answer him. She had +never seen in his face what she saw now, and she knew that it was the +doom of her love and his. + +'I have come to return you something,' he said, and took from his +breast a pretty silk purse. It was hung round his neck by a piece of +black silk cord, and he did not disengage it readily. It almost seemed +as if it wished not to be taken from its resting-place. + +As he held it in his hand, he knew that his life's happiness was in +it, and that he was about to relinquish it. And as he held it, there +came to Bessie's mind the words he had spoken only the night before: +'See here, heart's-treasure,' he had said, 'here is the purse you +worked for me, round my neck. It shall never leave me--it rests upon +my heart. The pretty little beads! How I love them! I shall kiss every +piece of gold I put in it, and shall think I am kissing you, as I do +now, dear, dearest, best!' + +'Take it,' George said now. + +She held out her hand mechanically, and as George touched her cold +fingers he shivered. Both knew what this giving and taking meant. It +meant that all was over between them. + +Old Ben Sparrow had come into the room, and had witnessed the scene in +quiet amazement; he did not see his way to the remotest understanding +of what had passed. But he saw Bessie's suffering, and he moved to her +side. When the purse was in her hand he touched her, but she repulsed +him gently. Some sense of what was due to herself in the presence of +young Mr. Million came to her, and her womanly pride at George's +rejection of her in the presence of another man came to her also, and +gave her strength for a while. + +George's hand was on the door, when young Mr. Million, who was deeply +mortified at George's manner towards himself, and who at the same time +thought it would be a gallant move to champion Bessie's cause, laid +his hand on George's sleeve, and said: + +'Stay; you owe me an explanation.' + +'Hands off!' cried George, in a dangerous tone, and a fierce gleam in +his eyes. 'Hands off, you sneaking dog! I owe you an explanation, do +I? I will give it to you when we are alone. Think what kind of +explanation it will be when I tell you beforehand that you are a +false, lying hound! Take care of yourself when next we meet.' + +Every nerve in George's body quivered with passion and pain. + +'You can't frighten me with bluster,' said young Mr. Million, who was +no coward, 'although you may try to frighten ladies with it. As my +presence here is likely to cause farther pain to a lady whom I +esteem'--with a respectful look towards Bessie, which caused George to +press his nails into his palms--'I will take my leave, unless Mr. +Sparrow wishes me to stay as a protection to him and his +granddaughter.' + +'No, sir; I thank you,' replied Ben Sparrow sorrowfully. 'George +Naldret can do my child no more harm than he has done already.' + +'Then I will go;' and he moved towards the door, 'first saying, +however, that I tried to be this man's friend--'indicating George with +a contemptuous motion of his hand, and repeating, 'that I tried to be +his friend----' + +'You lie!' cried George. + +'--Thinking,' continued young Mr. Million, with quiet disdain, 'that +he was better than others of his class. But I was mistaken. Mr. +Sparrow, you exonerate me from all blame in what has taken place?' + +'Entirely, sir,' said Ben Sparrow, in a sad and troubled voice. + +'I wish you and your grandchild good-day, then, and leave my hearty +sympathy behind me.' + +With these words, and with a triumphant look at George, the idle young +dog took his departure. Then, after a brief pause, George said: + +'I have nothing more to stop for now.' + +And, with a look of misery, was about to depart, when Tottie ran to +his side, and plucking him by the coat, looked up into his face. + +'Don't go,' said Tottie; 'stop and play.' + +'I can't, my dear,' said George, raising the child in his arms and +kissing her. 'I _must_ go. Goodbye, little one.'--He set the child +down; tears were coming to his eyes, but he kept them back. + +'One moment, George Naldret,' said old Ben Sparrow, trying to be +dignified, but breaking down. 'George--my dear George--what is the +meaning of this?' + +'I have no explanation to give, Mr. Sparrow,' replied George sadly. + +'George, my dear boy, think for a moment! Are you right in what you +are doing? Look at my darling, George; look----' + +'Grandfather!' + + +[Illustration] + + +The word came from Bessie's white lips; but the voice, struggling +through her agony, sounded strange in their ears. The word, however, +was sufficient; it carried its meaning in it; it told her grandfather +not to beg for her of any man. + +'You are right, my darling,' he sobbed; 'you are right. But neither +of you will speak, and I am almost distracted. You are not going +abroad then, George?' + +'No, Mr. Sparrow; I have no need to go now.' + +Bessie's strength was giving way. Pride, humiliation, wounded love, +suspicion of her lover's faith, were conquering her. She held out her +trembling hand to her grandfather. He took it, and cried: + +'George! George! you are breaking her heart!' + +'She has broken mine!' replied George, and turned without another +word, and left the room, almost blinded by grief and despair. The +moment he was gone, a sigh that was almost a groan broke from Bessie's +wounded heart, and she sank into old Ben Sparrow's arms, and fainted +there. + + + + WELL, MOTHER, DO YOU WANT ANY WASHING DONE? + + +When George Naldret was seen in the streets of Westminster, it +occasioned, as may be imagined, no little surprise. His neighbours +supposed him to be on his way to the other end of the world, and they +rather resented his appearance among them, for he had in a certain +measure deceived them. He had promised to write to some, to tell them +how affairs were over the water; and two or three courageous ones had +already made up their minds that if George sent home a good account of +things they would sell every stick they had, and make for a land where +a brighter future awaited them than they could look forward to here. +They would have been satisfied if George had given them an +explanation; but this he absolutely refused to do. 'I have altered my +mind,' was all they could get from him. 'I may do that if I like, I +suppose, and if it don't hurt you.' But some decided that it _did_ +hurt them; and when they continued to press him for farther +particulars, he desired them to mind their own business; and as this +was the most difficult task he could set them, it made matters worse. +George was too delicate-minded and too honourable to introduce +Bessie's name; and when the inquisitive ones mentioned it he turned +upon them savagely. It caused quite a commotion in the neighbourhood. + +On the first day Mrs. Naldret had tried to persuade George to keep +indoors and not show himself. But he said, 'No, mother; it will be +better for me to show my face at once, and not shirk the thing.' And +his father backed him up in his resolution. When he resolved upon +this, he went to his bedroom and locked himself in, and, after much +sad communing, decided that the first thing it was incumbent on him to +do was to go to Bessie and release her from her promise. Thus it was +that he met young Mr. Million in the parlour of the old grocer's shop, +where he had spent so many happy hours. He had decided in his mind +what to say. He would be gentle and firm with Bessie. And as he walked +to old Ben Sparrow's shop, disregarding the looks of astonishment +which his first appearance in the streets occasioned, he rehearsed in +his mind the exact words he would speak to her. But when he arrived +there, and saw Mr. Million smilingly holding her hand, and saw the +bunch of rare flowers on the table, he received such a shock that his +plans were instantly swept away, and he spoke out of the bitterness of +his heart. + +How the news got about was a mystery, and how it grew into exaggerated +and monstrous forms was a greater mystery still. Who has ever traced +to its source the torrent of exciting rumour which, like a rush of +waters, flows and swells, unlocking vivid imagination in its course, +until reason and fact are lost in the whirl? All sorts of things were +said. George was frightened of the water; he was in debt; he had done +something wrong at the shop he had been working for, and was not +allowed to leave without clearing it up; these, and a hundred other +things, were said and commented upon. The peculiarity of this kind of +rumour is, that directly a new theory is started it is accepted as a +fact, and is taken to pieces and discussed in all its bearings. George +was a fruitful theme with the neighbours on that Saturday night and on +the following day; they served him up hot (like a new and appetising +dish), and so seasoned him and spiced him and garnished him, that it +would have made his blood tingle to have known. But he did not know, +and did not even suspect. To be sure, when Jim Naldret went to the +baker's on the Sunday for his baked shoulder of mutton and potatoes, +he heard some remarks which did not please him; but he did not say a +word to George, and the mother, father, and son spent a sad and quiet +evening together, and went to bed earlier than usual. + +On the Monday, the startling intelligence was bandied from one to +another that George Naldret and Bessie Sparrow had broken with each +other. Bessie had turned him off, it was said; they had had a dreadful +quarrel the night before he was to start for Liverpool. But it is not +necessary here to set down all the reasons that were given for the +breaking of the engagement. Some of them were bad, and all were false. +But in the course of the day a little rill was started, which grew and +grew, and swelled and swelled, until it swallowed up all the other +waters. A rod was thrown down, which becoming instantly quick with +life, turned into a serpent, and swallowed all the other serpents. It +was said that Bessie had discovered that George had another +sweetheart--who she was, where she lived, and how it had been kept +secret during all this time, were matters of no importance; but it was +first whispered, then spoken aloud and commented on, that this +sweetheart should have been something more than a sweetheart to +George--she should have been his wife. The reason why she should have +been his wife was that George was a father. But where was the child? +Rumour decided this instantaneously. The child was no other than our +poor little Tottie; and George had basely deceived old Ben Sparrow and +Bessie into taking care of the little one by a clever and wicked story +that Tottie was an orphan, without a friend in the world. Here was +food for the gossippers! How this hot dish was served up, and spiced +and seasoned! + +It reached George's ears, and he wrote to Ben Sparrow. He said that he +had heard some rumours affecting his character; he did not mention +what these rumours were, but he said they were wicked lies--wicked, +wicked lies, he repeated in his letter. The rumours he referred to may +have reached Mr. Sparrow, and might affect the happiness of a poor +innocent child--a child innocent as he was himself. If so, he was +ready to take the little one from Mr. Sparrow's charge. He said no +more, concluding here, almost abruptly. A reply soon came. Ben Sparrow +had heard the rumours, and was shocked at them; he believed what +George said in his letter. But the child, said old Ben, was a comfort +to them: by 'them' he meant himself and Bessie, but he did not mention +Bessie's name: it formed the principal part of their happiness now in +their little home, and to part with her would cause 'them' great grief +and pain. His letter, also, was short and to the point. And so our +little Tottie remained with old Ben Sparrow and Bessie, and was even +more tenderly cared for than she had been before. Somehow or other, +these letters were a great consolation to George and Bessie. + +But the gossippers and rumourmongers would not let them alone. They +said that George's other sweetheart had declared if he went away she +would go with him, and would follow him all over the world. Bessie +then was brought in. She had another lover also, a lover she liked +better than George. Who should it be but young Mr. Million? He gave +her those pretty ear-rings, of course, and he was seen to go into old +Ben's shop with beautiful flowers in his hands, and come away without +them. Ben Sparrow encouraged him, too. O, it was plain to see what was +going on! So both George and Bessie were condemned, and kind +gossippers did what they could to keep them from ever coming together +again. + +George and young Mr. Million met. Young Mr. Million was alone; George +had his father with him. The sight of the idle, well-dressed, smiling +young dog made George furious. He left his father, and walked swiftly +up to his enemy. A policeman was near. Young Mr. Million beckoned to +him, and the limb of the law touched his helmet, and came close. Jim +Naldret saw the position of affairs in a moment. 'Come along, George,' +he said, and linking his arm in that of his son, almost dragged him +away. When they reached home, Mrs. Naldret made George promise not to +molest young Mr. Million, not even to speak to him. 'No good can come +of it, my dear boy,' she said; 'let the scum be! Don't get yourself +into trouble for him; he's not worth it. He'll meet with his deserts +one day!' + +Time passed, and the world went on as usual. George got work at his +old shop, and worked hard through the ensuing spring and summer. At +that time, murmurs of discontent began to be heard among the builders +and carpenters--not only among them, but among the workers in nearly +every other trade as well. Labour was on the strike all over the +country, and one trade quickly followed the example of another. Jim +himself began to murmur; he wanted to know what he was to do when he +got old, and couldn't work--for he had found it impossible to put by +money for a rainy day. + +'Go to the workhouse, I suppose,' he said bitterly. + +But Mrs. Naldret said, 'Let be, Jim, let be; what's the use of looking +forward? We should be happy enough as it is if it wasn't for George's +misfortune. Poor lad! all the salt seems to have gone out of his +life.' + +In the summer the crisis occurred in the trade; and Jim Naldret came +home one day with his hands in his pockets, and said, + +'Well, mother, do you want any washing done? I'm on strike.' + +'Jim! Jim!' cried Mrs. Naldret 'What have you done? Remember Saul +Fielding.' + +'Saul Fielding wasn't so wrong, after all,' said Jim; 'I was a bit too +hard on him. I can't help myself, mother. I'm obliged to turn out with +the others.' + +It was well for them that during this time George had saved a little +money; but although he gave them every penny he had saved, and +although they pledged nearly everything of value they had in the +house, they were in debt when the strike was at an end. + +'It'll be spring before we're clear, mother,' said Jim; 'we've got to +pay this and that, you know.' + +Mrs. Naldret knew it well enough, and she began to pinch and save; +this little family fought the battle of life well. + +Old Ben Sparrow, of course, suffered with the rest. Trade grew duller +and duller, and he drifted steadily, got from bad to worse, and from +worse to worse than that. Autumn came, and passed, and winter began to +make the poor people shiver; for coals were at a wicked price. Down, +down, went old Ben Sparrow; sadder and sadder grew his face; and one +day, within a fortnight of Christmas--alas! it was just a year from +the time when George was nearly going away--Bessie heard a loud and +angry voice in the shop. She hurried in, and saw her grandfather +trembling behind the counter. The man who had uttered the angry words +was quitting the shop. Bessie asked for an explanation. + +'It's the landlord, my dear,' he sobbed upon her shoulder, 'it's the +landlord. I've been behindhand with the rent ever so long, and I've +promised him and promised him, hoping that trade would improve, until +he's quite furious, and swears that he'll put a man in possession +to-morrow morning.' + +'And you can't pay him, grandfather?' + +'Bessie, my darling,' sobbed old Ben; 'there isn't eighteenpence in +the house, and I owe other money as well. I'm a ruined man, Bessie, +I'm a ruined man! And you, my dear!--O, dear! O, dear! what is to +become of us?' + +And the poor old fellow pleaded to her, and asked her forgiveness a +hundred times, as if he were the cause of their misfortunes. No need +to say how Bessie consoled and tried to cheer him. She drew him into +the parlour, and coaxed and fondled him, and rumpled the little hair +he had on his head, and so forgot her own sorrow out of sympathy +for his, that he almost forgot it too. But once during the night, +while she was sitting on a stool at his feet, he said softly and +sadly, 'Ah, Bess! I wouldn't mind this trouble--I'd laugh at it +really--if--if----' + +'If what, dear?' + +'If you and George were together, my darling.' + +She did not reply, but rested her head on his knee, and looked sadly +into the scanty fire. She saw no happy pictures in it. + + + + THE MAN IN POSSESSION. + + +Old Ben Sparrow had genuine cause for his distress. Ruin not only +stared him in the face, but laid hold of him with a hard grip. The +landlord was as good (or as bad) as his word. He called the following +morning for his rent, and as it was not forthcoming, he took an +inventory, and put a man in possession. He brought this person in with +him. A strange-looking man, with a twelvemonth's growth of hair at +least on his face and head, and all of it as white as snow. The faces +of Ben Sparrow and Bessie were almost as white as they followed the +hard landlord from room to room, like mourners at a funeral. There was +first the shop, with very little stock in it, and that little in bad +condition. As the landlord said, How could a man expect to do +business, and be able to pay his way honestly, when everything he had +to sell was stale and mouldy? And old Ben answered humbly: + +'Yes, yes, sir; you're quite right, sir. I ought to have known better. +It's all my fault, Bessie, my darling; all my fault.' And felt as if, +instead of an immediate execution coming to him, he ought to be led +off to immediate execution. + +'What d'ye call these? asked the landlord contemptuously. 'Figs! Why, +they're as shrivelled as--as you are.' + +'Yes, yes, sir; quite right, sir. We are, sir, we are; we ought to be +put away! We're worth nothing now--nothing now!' + +After the shop came the parlour, with the furniture that old Ben had +bought for his wedding more than forty years ago; he sobbed as the +landlord called out, 'One old armchair, stuffed and rickety!' and said +to Bessie: 'Your grandmother's favourite chair, my darling!' + +The old fellow could have knelt and kissed the 'one old arm-chair, +stuffed and rickety,' he was so tender about it. Then they went into +the kitchen; then upstairs to Ben Sparrow's bedroom, and old Ben cried +again as 'One old wooden bedstead: wheezy!' went down in the +inventory; then into another bedroom, where Bessie and Tottie slept. +The man in possession stooped down by the child's bed. + +'What are you looking for?' demanded the landlord testily. + +'I was thinking the child might be there,' replied the man in +possession meekly; 'there _is_ a child, isn't there?' + +'What if there is!' exclaimed the landlord. 'Can't sell a child. +There's no market for them.' + +Old Ben explained: 'There is a child. Poor little Tottie! But we've +sent her out to a neighbour's, thinking you would come.' + +'And might frighten her, eh?' said the landlord. And shortly +afterwards took his departure, leaving the man in possession with +strict injunctions not to allow a thing to be taken out of the house. + +'You're accountable, mind you,' were his last words. + +Bessie and her grandfather felt as if the house had been suddenly +turned into a prison, and as if this man, with his strange face and +snow-white hair, had been appointed their gaoler. As he did not appear +to notice them, old Ben beckoned to Bessie, and they crept out of the +parlour into the shop for all the world as if they had been found +guilty of some desperate crime. In the shop they breathed more freely. + +'What are we to do with him, Bessie?' asked Ben. 'What do they +generally do with men in possession? They give 'em tobacco and beer, +I've heard. O, dear! O, dear! I don't mind for myself, my darling; I +don't mind for myself. It's time I was put away. But for you, +Bessie--O, my darling child! what have I done to deserve this? What +have I done? What have I done? + +'Grandfather,' said Bessie firmly, 'you mustn't go on like this. We +must have courage. Now, I've made up my mind what I'm going to do. I'm +going to take care of you, dear grandfather, as you have taken care of +me. You know how clever I am with my needle, and I intend to get work; +and you shall thread my needles for me, grandfather. We can live on +very little----' + +Her poor white lips began to tremble here, and she kissed the old man +again and again, and cried in his arms, to show how courageous she +was. + +'I beg your pardon,' said a gentle voice behind them. It was the man +in possession who spoke. 'I beg your pardon,' he repeated. 'May I beg +a word with you in the parlour?' + +They dared not for their lives refuse him, and they followed him +tremblingly. + +'I am aware,' he said then, as they stood before him like criminals, +'that I am here on an unpleasant duty, and that I must appear very +disagreeable in your eyes----' + +'No, no, sir,' remonstrated Ben, feeling that his fate and Bessie's +were in this man's hands; 'don't say that, sir! Quite the contrary, +indeed, sir; quite the contrary, eh, Bessie?' + +And the arch old hypocrite tried to smile, to show that he was +delighted with the man's company. + +'--But I assure you,' continued the man, 'that I have no desire to +annoy or distress you. I have gone through hardships myself--with a +motion of his hand towards his white hair--'as you may see.' + +'What is it you want us to do, sir? asked Ben Sparrow. 'I am sure +anything you want, such as tobacco or beer--or anything that there is +in the cupboard----' + +'I want you to feel as if I wasn't in the house. I know, for instance, +that this is your sitting-room; I don't want you to run away from it. +If you like, I will go and sit in the kitchen.' + +'No, no, sir!' implored Ben Sparrow. 'Not for worlds. We couldn't +allow such a thing, could we, Bessie? This is my granddaughter, +sir!--the dearest child that man ever had!----' + +Why, here was the man in possession, as old Ben broke down, actually +patting him on the shoulder, and looking into his face with such +genuine sympathy, that before Ben knew where he was, he had held out +his hand as to a friend! What would the next wonder be? + +'That's right,' said the man in possession; 'we may as well be +comfortable together, and I shall take it ill of you, if you and your +granddaughter do not use the parlour just as if I wasn't here. If you +don't, I shall go and sit in the kitchen.' + +They could do nothing else, after this, but look upon the parlour as +their own again. Bessie felt very grateful to the man for the sympathy +he had shown to her grandfather, and she took out her old workbox, and +sat down to mend a pair of Tottie's socks. 'The way that child makes +holes in her toes and heels is most astonishing,' Ben had often +remarked. + +The man in possession glanced at the little socks, and then at Bessie +so thoughtfully and kindly, that she gave him a wistful smile, which +he returned, and said: + +'Thank you, child!' in a very sweet and gentle tone. + +When dinner-time came, and before they could ask him to share their +humble meal, he went to the street-door and called a boy, who, in +obedience to his instructions, bought some cold meat and bread at a +neighbouring shop. All he asked Bessie to give him was a glass of cold +water, and with this and his bread-and-meat he made a good meal. To +the astonishment of Bessie and old Ben, they found they were growing +to like him. After dinner, he seemed to be drowsy, and sat with closed +eyes and thoughtful face in the corner of the room he had appropriated +to himself, which, it maybe remarked, was not the warmest corner. +Bessie and old Ben talked in whispers at first, so as not to disturb +him, but after a time his regular breathing convinced them that he was +sleeping; and Bessie laid down her plans to the old man. When they +were turned out of the shop they would take one room, Bessie said; +they would be very comfortable, she was sure, if they would only make +up their minds to be so, and she would work for all three, for +grandfather, Tottie, and herself. Indeed, the girl showed herself so +much of a true woman in her speech, that she was almost beginning to +persuade the old man that what had occurred was, after all, no great +misfortune. + +'How strange that his hair should be white!' remarked Ben, looking at +the sleeping man. 'He does not seem old enough for that. He isn't very +attentive to his duties, whatever they may be. Why, Bessie,' said the +old man in a whisper that was almost gleeful, 'we could actually run +away!' But his thoughts assumed their sadder tenor immediately +afterwards, and he sighed, 'Ah, Bessie! What will George think of all +this? They've had trouble at home too, Bessie dear, during the strike. +I often wished, during that time, that I could have gone and sat with +them, and comforted them; and you wished so too, Bess, I know.' + +'Yes, dear,' answered Bess in a quiet tone, 'I wished so too. But +George might have put a wrong construction upon it.' + +'Bess, darling, tell me----' + +'No, no!' cried Bessie, holding up her hands entreatingly, for she +anticipated what he was about to say. 'Don't ask me, grandfather! It +can never, never be! O my dear, I try to forget, but I can't!' She +paused, unable to proceed for her tears, but presently said, 'I +should be so much happier if he thought better of me--although I know +we can never be to each other what we were! I was angry and indignant +at first, but I am not so now. If he had only answered me about +Tottie--dear little Tottie----' + +The man murmured in his sleep, and they spoke in hushed voices. + +'It was wrong of me to doubt him,' continued the girl, 'very, very +wrong! I should have trusted him, as he told me to. He can never think +well of me again--never, never! But do you know, dear, that I have +loved Tottie more since that time than I did before--poor little +motherless thing! I shall never be happy again! Never again! O, my +poor heart!' + +It was Ben's turn now to be the consoler, and he soothed her, and +caressed her, and suddenly cried: + +'Bessie! young Mr. Million!' + +What made Bessie turn white at the name? What made her gasp and bite +her lips, as the young gentleman entered the room? + +'I am grieved to hear of what has happened, Mr. Sparrow,' he said, +taking off his hat; 'and I have come at once to ask if you will allow +me to assist you.' + +'Hush, if you please, sir,' returned Ben. 'Speak low. That--that man +in the corner has been put in by the landlord, and I shouldn't like to +wake him. We are in great distress--ruined, I may say, sir----' + +'Then let me help you,' interrupted young Mr. Million eagerly. 'It +will be a pleasure to me. Let me pay this man off. You and Miss +Sparrow will confer an obligation upon _me_--believe me!--if you will +allow me to do this.' + +'I thank you for your offer, sir,' replied Ben, with a helpless +look around the humble room in which he had spent many happy years, +'but'--something in Bessie's face imparted a decision to his +voice--'it can't be, sir, it can't be.' + +'Why?' + +'Well, sir, it might get talked about, and that wouldn't do Bessie any +good. You see, sir, you are so far above us that it's impossible +we--we can mix, sir. Yes, sir, that's it; it's impossible we can mix. +No, sir, it can't be.' + +Young Mr. Million was silent for a few moments, and tapped with his +fingers impatiently on the table. + +'For some time,' he then said, 'I have seen that you and Miss Sparrow +have rejected my advances, and have been different from what you were. +Why, may I ask again?' + +'Well, sir,' replied old Ben, emboldened by the expression on Bessie's +face, 'it will be best to speak plain. You see, sir, the neighbours +_will_ talk; and when they see a gentleman like you always a-visiting +poor people like us, they want to know the reason of it. And as we've +no reason to give, they make one for themselves. People will talk, you +see, sir; and I am afraid that my Bessie's name--my Bessie! the best +girl in the world, sir; good enough to be a Princess----' + +'That she is,' put in young Mr. Million. + +'--Well, sir, as I was saying, I am afraid that my Bessie's name has +got mixed up with yours by people's tongues in such a way as to cause +sorrow to her and to me. I have heard, sir, that she was seen one +day--nearly a year ago now--go into your house, and that has been set +against her, and flung into her teeth, as a body might say. Well, she +_did_ go into your house that once--and only that once, mind!--and +took a letter from me which you desired me to send by her last year +when I was in trouble. You helped us then, sir, and I am grateful to +you, though I can't pay you. And we've got it into our heads--Bessie +and me--that that, and the earrings you gave her--for _they've_ been +talked about too, and that's the reason we sent them back to you--was +the cause of a greater sorrow to my poor girl than she has ever +experienced in her life.' + +'O!' exclaimed young Mr. Million, with a slight sneer in his tone. +'You mean because the affair between Miss Sparrow, and that cub, +George Naldret, has been broken off.' + +From Bessie's eyes came such a flash that if the idle young dog could +have flown through the door, and have disappeared there and then +instantaneously, he would have gladly availed himself of the +opportunity. Old Ben Sparrow's blood; also, was up. + +'Be kind enough to go, sir,' he said, with more dignity of manner than +Bessie had ever seen in him; 'and wherever we are, either here or +elsewhere, leave us to ourselves and our troubles.' + +Their voices roused the man in possession; he yawned, and opened his +eyes. Young Mr. Million saw here an opportunity to assert himself as +the heir of a great brewery, and to indulge in a small piece of +malice, at one and the same time. + +'I must show my sense of your ingratitude,' he said, 'by somewhat +severe measures, and therefore you will arrange at once for the +repayment of the money I have advanced to you. I must remind you that +there is such a thing as imprisonment for debt. As for the money which +your son embezzled from our firm, I must leave my father to settle +that with you. In the mean time----' + +'In the mean time,' interrupted the man in possession, to the +astonishment of all, 'I'm the master of this house, being in +possession; and as you're not down in the inventory, I must request +you to leave.' + +And without allowing the idle young dog to utter another word, the man +in possession, with a wrist of iron, twisted him round, and thrust him +from the old grocer's shop. + +So young Mr. Million, for a fresh supply of wild oats, had to go to +another market. And doubtless succeeded in obtaining them: they are +plentiful enough. + +Ben Sparrow could not but thank the man in possession for his friendly +interference. + +'Don't mention it,' said the man in possession, adding, with an odd +smile, 'he's not down in the inventory, you know.' + +The interview had caused old Ben and Bessie great agitation, and left +them sadly distressed; but nothing could exceed the consideration of +the man in possession. He did not ask them for a word of explanation. +When, indeed, the old man stumblingly referred to it, he turned the +conversation, and asked for a sheet of paper and an envelope. These +being supplied to him, he wrote a note, and when, after putting it in +the envelope and addressing it, he looked up, his hitherto sad face +wore such a bright expression that Ben whispered to his granddaughter, + +'Really, Bessie, he is a good fellow; he puts heart into one;' and +said aloud, 'Can I post the letter for you, sir? + +'No, thank you,' was the reply; 'I can send it by a messenger. I +mustn't let you out of my sight, you know. The landlord said I was +accountable for you.' + +Old Ben began to feel as if he were in prison again. + +It was dark when Tottie was brought home; she ran into the parlour +calling for grandfather and Bessie, and jumped into their arms, and +kissed them, and pulled old Ben's hair; she seemed to bring light in +with her. 'Is that Tottie?' asked the man in possession in a tremulous +tone. + +'Yes, sir, yes,' replied old Ben. 'Go to the gentleman, my dear.' + +Something like a sob came from the man in possession as he lifted +Tottie, and kissed her; and when, a little while afterwards, the lamp +was lighted, and Tottie was seen curled up contentedly in the man's +arms, eating sweets which he was giving her: with such a sweet tooth +as Tottie had, it was no wonder she was easily bought over: old Ben +whispered to Bessie, + +'Depend upon it, my dear, he has got a little daughter at home, and +that makes him fond of Tottie.' + +Everything about this strange man was so gentle, that they actually +looked upon him as a friend instead of an enemy. + + + + SOFTLY, SWEETLY, PROCEEDS THE HYMN OF HOME. + + +'It is a story about two friends--' It is the man in possession who is +speaking. Tottie is lying in his arms as contentedly as if she has +known him all her life; he has told her the prettiest of stories, and +the child has crowed and laughed over them, until she is almost tired +with the pleasure and excitement. And now, although it is very nearly +eleven o'clock, and time to think of going to bed, Bessie and her +grandfather find themselves listening to a story which he says he +desires to tell them. Of course they dare not refuse to listen. + +'It is a story about two friends--mainly about those, although the +dearest hopes of others better and purer than they are mixed up in it +The story is a true one. What shall I call these friends, so as to +distinguish them? Shall I say George for one---- What is the matter, +my dear?' For Bessie has looked with a startled glance into the +stranger's face. 'George is a common name enough, and this man whom I +call George is a good man, in every sense of the word. Say, shall I +call him George?' + +'Yes, if you please,' replies Bessie faintly, turning her face from +him. + +'And the other--I will call him Saul.' + +'Bessie, my dear!' exclaims old Ben Sparrow. 'Do you hear? Saul and +George!' + +Bessie's hand steals into his, and the stranger continues. + +'Say, then, Saul and George. They lived and grew to manhood in just +such a neighbourhood as this. Saul was the elder of the two by six or +seven years; but notwithstanding the difference in their ages, they +became firm friends. They talked much together, and read together; for +Saul was a great reader, and took delight in studying, and (according +to his own thinking) setting wrong things right. I believe that, at +one time of his life, he really had a notion that it was his mission +to redress the wrongs of his class; at all events, it is certain that +he elected himself the champion of his fellow-workmen, and as he had +the fatal gift of being able to speak well and fluently, the men +listened to him, and accepted his high-flown words as the soundest of +logic. George admired his friend, although he did not agree with him; +and when he was a man he took an opportunity of vowing eternal +friendship to Saul. Such a vow meant something more than words with +George; for he was constant and true to the dictates of his heart +Where he professed friendship, there he would show it. Where he +professed love, there would he feel it. And it might be depended upon +that neither in his friendship nor his love would he ever change. He +was no idle talker. Saul, working himself into a state of false +enthusiasm respecting his mission, waited but for an opportunity to +raise his flag. The opportunity came. A dispute arose between master +and men in a certain workshop; Saul plunged himself into the dispute, +and by his fatal gift inflamed the men, and fanned the discontent +until it spread to other workshops. Neither men nor masters would +yield. A strike was the result. In this strike Saul was the principal +agitator; he was the speaker and the man upon whom all depended, in +whom all trusted. Hear, in a few words, what occurred then. After +making things as bitter as he could; after making the men believe that +the masters were their natural enemies; after making a speech one +night, filled with false conclusions, but which fired the men to a +more determined resistance; after doing all this, Saul suddenly +deserted his followers, and left them in the lurch. He told them that, +upon more serious consideration, he had been led to alter his mind, +and that he was afraid of the misery a longer fight would bring upon +them and their families. The men were justly furious with him; they +called him names which he deserved to be called; and the result was +that the men returned to work upon the old terms, and that all of +them--masters and men--turned their backs upon the man who had +betrayed them. Only one among them remained his friend. That one was +George. From that day Saul began to sink; he could get no work; and he +dragged down with him a woman who loved him, who had trusted in him, +and whom he had robbed of her good name. Stay, my dear,' said the man +in possession, placing a restraining hand upon Bessie's sleeve; the +girl had risen, uncertain whether to go or stay. 'You must hear what I +have to say; I will endeavour to be brief. This woman had a child, a +daughter, born away from the neighbourhood in which Saul was known. +Her love was great; her grief was greater. Saul showed himself during +this time to be not only a traitor, but a coward. He took to drink. +What, then, did this good woman--ah, my dear, how good she was only +Saul knows!--what did this good woman resolve to do, for her child's +sake? She resolved that she would not allow her child to grow up and +be pointed at as a child of shame; that she would endeavour to find +some place where it could be cared for, and where, if happier times +did not come to her, the child might grow up in the belief that her +parents were dead. Shame should not cast its indelible shadow over her +darling's life. Saul, in his better mood, agreed with her. "I have no +friends," said this woman to Saul; "have you? Have you a friend who, +out of his compassion for the child and friendship for you, would take +my darling from me, and care for it as his own?" Saul had no friend +but one. George! He went to George, and told his trouble, and this +dear noble friend, this Man! arranged with a neighbour to take the +child, and bring her up. He promised sacredly to keep Saul's secret, +and only to tell one person the story of the poor little forsaken one. +"I may marry one day, Saul," he said, "and then I must tell it to my +wife." In this way the mother obtained her desire; in this way came +about her love's sacrifice!' + +Tick--tick--tick--comes from the old-fashioned clock in the corner. +Bessie has sunk into her chair, and her head is bowed upon the table. +She hears the clear tick, and thinks of a year ago, when, standing at +the door with her lover, it sounded so painfully in her ears. What +pain, what pleasure, has this strange man brought to her! For she +knows that the story he is telling is true, and that Saul's friend, +George, is her George, whom she has loved truly and faithfully during +all this sad year. What pain! What pleasure! What pain to feel that +George is parted from her for ever! What pleasure to know that he is +without a stain, that he is even more noble than her love had painted +him! She raises her head; her eyes are almost blinded by her tears; +she stretches forth her arms for Tottie. + +'Let me nurse her!' she sobs. + +'No, my dear,' says the man in possession; but he places Tottie's lips +to hers, and then stoops and kisses Bessie's tears which have fallen +on the little one's face. 'There is more to tell. Shall I go on?' + +'Yes.' + +'A happy time comes to George. He falls in love with a tender-hearted, +pure-souled girl----' + +Bessie kneels at his feet, and looks in bewilderment at the man's +strange face, at his snow-white hair, and in gratitude raises his hand +to her lips. + +'There, there, child!' he says; 'sit down: you interrupt my story. +They are engaged to be married, and George is anxious to make a home +for his bird. But trade is slack, and he can save no money. Then comes +a false man, whom we will call Judas, into the story, who, under the +pretence of friendship for George, gives him a passage-ticket to the +colonies, where George can more quickly save money to buy the home to +which he yearns to bring his bird. But on the very night, within three +hours of the time when George is to look his last upon the little +house in which he was born, he learns from Saul that this pretended +friend has played him false, has told him lies, and has given him the +ticket only for the purpose of getting him out of the country, so that +Judas can pay court to the girl who reigns in George's heart. Other +doubts and misunderstandings unfortunately accumulate in these +critical moments; George learns that the girl was seen to go into the +house where Judas's father lives; learns that Judas has given her a +pair of earrings; learns that Judas was seen by George's mother to +place a letter in the girl's hands----' + +'It was for grandfather!' cries Bessie. 'It contained money for +grandfather to help him out of his trouble!' + +'Hush! my dear! What can you know of this story of mine? When George +learns all this he is in an agony of despair. He takes the ticket from +his pocket, and is about to destroy it, when Saul falls on his knees +at his friend's feet, and begs, entreats in _his_ agony for the +ticket, so that _he_ may go instead of George. For Saul's dear woman +has left him; has charged him, by his love for her and for their +child, to make an effort to lift them from shame; and he sees no way-- +no way but this which is suddenly opened to him. George gives his +friend the ticket, and the next day Saul bids good-bye to the land +which holds all that is dear to his heart.' + +The man in possession pauses here, and old Ben Sparrow gazes earnestly +at him. When he resumes, his voice grows more solemn. + +'Saul reaches his destination, and after much wandering finds a +shelter in the mountains with a little colony of gold-diggers. He +makes a friend there; David. Another; David's wife. God rest their +souls! Another; David's little daughter. Saul finds gold, and thanks +God for His goodness. He will come home and make atonement But the +snow season sets in, and he and his companions are imprisoned by +mountains of snow whose shallowest depth is sufficient for a man's +grave if he is buried upstanding. An awful night comes, when the +snow-drift walls up their tents. In the morning the tents are hemmed +in; the diggers cannot open their doors. Near to the tent in which +Saul and David and David's wife and David's little daughter live is a +tree. Saul climbs to the roof of the tent, breaks through it, climbs +on to the tree, and calls to his friends to follow him. David tries, +and fails; he falls back into the tent, and hurts himself to death. +Saul, in an agony, calls out for David's little daughter, and the +mother succeeds in raising the child through the roof of the tent; +Saul clutches the little girl and takes her to his heart. All this +time the storm is raging; the snow rises higher and higher. David +commands his wife to save herself; she refuses, and stays to nurse +him, and slowly, slowly, my dears! the snow falls; the walls of the +tent give way; and David's wife meets a noble death, and both find +their grave.' + +Awe-struck they listen to this strange man's story. A look of pity +steals into his face--and then he murmurs to himself, 'No; why should +I bring sadness upon them this night?' And says aloud: + +'The tree to which Saul clings for dear life with David's little +daughter, one other man manages to reach. His story you shall hear +to-morrow; sufficient here to say that it is a strange one, and it +comes strangely to Saul's ears. He bequeaths his gold to Saul for a +good purpose. But this man is weak; his strength fails him in the +night; and when the next morning's sun rises Saul and David's little +daughter are the only ones left. Can you picture Saul to yourself +clinging to the tree, holding in his arms the life of a dear little +one? Can you realise the agony of the time? Can you believe that his +grief and tribulation are so great during the two terrible days that +follow, that his hair turns snow-white----' + +'But he is saved?' cries Bessie and her grandfather at once. + +'He is saved.' + +'And David's little daughter?' + +'Is saved also, God be thanked!' + +They draw a long breath. + +'But little remains to be told. Saul comes home, bringing David's +little daughter with him--bringing gold with him. He seeks his dear +woman. He marries her. He hears that the old man and the dear girl who +have protected and reared his child are in trouble--that an execution +is to be put into the old man's shop for rent----' + +'And he becomes a man in possession!' cries old Ben, starting up in +indescribable excitement. 'O, dear! O, dear! He becomes a man in +possession!' + +The tolling of a bell is heard. + +'As you say. Is not that the Westminster clock beginning to chime the +hour? Listen for one minute more. When Judas comes in this afternoon, +do you think the man in possession is asleep? No; he is awake, and +hears every word that passes, and such a joy comes into his heart as +he cannot describe--for he thinks of George, that dear friend, that +noble friend, that Man! What does the man in possession do when Judas +has gone? He writes a letter, doesn't he? Hark! the last hour is +tolling! Twelve!' + +The door opens, and Bessie, with a wild cry, moves but a step, and +presses her hand to her heart. George stands before her, pale with the +excitement of the moment, but hopeful, and with love in his eyes. + +'George, my dear boy!' cries old Ben, grasping the young man's hands. + +'Can you forgive me, Bessie?' asks George. + +A grateful sob escapes from the girl's overcharged heart, and the +lovers are linked in a close embrace. + +As if this happy union has conjured them up, there enter on the +instant Jim Naldret and Mrs. Naldret, she nursing David's little +daughter. And behind them, with a wistful look, with hands that are +convulsed with excess of tenderness, with eyes and face and heart +filled with yearning love, stands the Mother hungering for her child! +Tenderly and solemnly Saul places Tottie in Jane's arms. The Mother +steals softly into the shop with her child; and Saul follows, and +kneels before her. Presently she takes him also to her breast. + +'Dear wife? he murmurs; and a prayer of infinite thankfulness for the +mercy and the goodness of God comes to his mind. + +Half-an-hour afterwards, he enters the room with Jane and their child. + +'Bessie,' he says, 'this is my wife, Jane.' + +And as Bessie kisses her and caresses her, the sorrow of the past +melts into gratitude for the present. + +They sit and talk. + +'George and I are going into business together,' says Saul. 'We shall +start a little shop of our own.' + +'And stop at home,' remarks Mrs. Naldret, 'and be contented.' + +'Yes,' replies George, 'on bread-and-cheese and kisses. I shall be +able to buy my pots and pans now.' + +Somehow or other George has come into possession of the little silk +purse again. + +'Bessie!' exclaims Mrs. Naldret 'My dream that I told you last year'll +come true!' + +The maid blushes. She is dreaming happily now. So are they all indeed. +Old Ben hopes that they will not wake up presently. + +Silence falls upon them. And in the midst of the silence, the sounds +of music steal to their ears, and they gaze at each other with earnest +grateful eyes. It is the waits playing 'Home, sweet Home.' + +'Do you remember, George?' says Bessie, with a tender clasp. + +Softly, sweetly, proceeds the hymn of Home. The air is filled with +harmony and prayer. + + + + THE END. + + + + * * * * * + LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Blade-O'-Grass. Golden Grain. and +Bread and Cheese and Kisses., by B. L. (Benjamin Leopold) Farjeon + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43190 *** |