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diff --git a/49125.txt b/49125.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9f8a613..0000000 --- a/49125.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9134 +0,0 @@ - STORIES FROM DICKENS - - - - -This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United -States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are -located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Stories from Dickens -Author: J. Walker McSpadden -Release Date: June 03, 2015 [EBook #49125] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES FROM DICKENS *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover art] - - - - -[Illustration: DAVID COPPERFIELD AND LITTLE EMILY.] - - - - - *Stories From Dickens* - - - BY - - *J. WALKER McSPADDEN* - - _Author of "Stories of Robin Hood," "Synopses - of Dickens's Novels," etc._ - - - - NEW YORK - THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY - PUBLISHERS - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1906 - BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY - - - - - *Preface* - - -The title of this book rings in the ear with a pleasant sound. "Stories -from Dickens"! "Stories" alone usually suggests such delightful rambles -in the land of dreams! And when it is coupled with the name of a king -of story-tellers by divine right, the charm is increased a hundredfold. - -These stories are--as the title indicates--taken directly from Dickens, -very largely in his own language, and always faithful to his spirit. -They are the stories of his most famous boys and girls, merely separated -from the big books and crowded scenes where they first appeared. In -stage talk, the "lime-light" has been turned upon them alone. Their -early joys and sorrows are shown, but always with more of the smiles -than the tears. There is sadness enough in real life without -emphasizing it in books for young people, and so only two of the -numerous deathbed scenes found in Dickens are given place here. - -The book is not intended as a substitute, however small, for the -complete texts; but is offered in the reverent hope that it will serve -as both introduction and incentive to the bulky volumes which so often -alarm young people by their very size. The compiler has in mind one -child of the "long ago" who looked with awe upon a stately row of fat -books kept for show, like mummies in a high glass case, and labelled -"Dickens." This child never suspected that the books were intended for -reading--at any rate, not by children; so he contented himself for the -time with trashy little books with highly colored pictures "intended for -children." What a world of delight would have been opened to him if -some one had placed in his hands the story of Oliver Twist; or the first -part of Nicholas Nickleby relating to Dotheboy's Hall; or the early -history of David Copperfield (he might have demanded _all_ of _that_ -story!); or some of the inimitable Christmas tales! Afterwards he would -have read on and on for himself. - -To other such children this book comes as a friendly guide to -Dickens-land. - -It is barely necessary to add that the book is in different vein from an -earlier handbook, "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," which is a quick guide -and index to all the plots and characters in full. - -J.W.M. - -NEW YORK CITY, - May, 1906. - - - - - *Contents* - -*THE STORY OF OLIVER TWIST:* - -I. Oliver Begins Life in a Hard Way -II. Oliver Falls from Bad to Worse -III. Oliver Makes his Way into Good Society -IV. The End of Evil Days - - -*THE STORY OF SMIKE AND HIS TEACHER:* - -I. How Nicholas Nickleby Came to Dotheboys Hall -II. How Smike Went Away from Dotheboys Hall - - -*THE STORY OF LITTLE NELL:* - -I. In the Old Curiosity Shop -II. Out in the Wide World -III. At the End of the Journey - - -*THE STORY OF PAUL AND FLORENCE DOMBEY:* - -I. The House of Dombey and Son -II. How Florence Came into her Own - - -*THE STORY OF PIP AS TOLD BY HIMSELF:* - -I. How Pip Helped the Convict -II. Pip and Estella -III. How Pip Fell Heir to Great Expectations - - -*THE STORY OF LITTLE DORRIT:* - -I. The Child of the Marshalsea -II. How the Prison Gates were Opened - - -*THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELD:* - -I. My Earliest Recollections -II. I Fall into Disgrace -III. School. Steerforth and Traddles -IV. I Begin Life on my Own Account - - - - - *THE STORY OF OLIVER TWIST* - - - - *I. OLIVER BEGINS LIFE IN A HARD WAY* - - -Some years ago when the poorhouses of England were in a bad state and -the poor people housed within them were often ill-treated, a little waif -began his life under the roof of one of the worst of them. His mother -had wandered there, weak, wretched and without friends, it seemed, for -she gave no clue to her identity; and after her little boy was born she -had only strength enough to kiss him once before she breathed her last. -As no one knew anything about her, the child became a charge upon the -parish. He was sent with other orphans and homeless little ones to be -cared for by an elderly woman named Mrs. Mann, who received from the -parish officers but a scant allowance for the needs of the children, to -whom she gave, in the shape of food and attention, a still shorter -return. - -And so the first years of this child's life were devoted mainly to the -struggle to keep body and soul together. He won the fight by the -narrowest of margins, and his ninth birthday found him a pale, thin lad, -somewhat short in stature and decidedly small in girth. But nature had -placed a good sturdy spirit in his breast. It had plenty of room to -expand, thanks to the spare diet, else he might not have had any ninth -birthday at all. - -On this momentous day he received a visitor, in the person of Mr. -Bumble, the fat and pompous beadle of the workhouse, who came to see -Mrs. Mann in all the glory of his cocked hat and brass buttons. - -"Good morning, ma'am," said the beadle, taking out a leathern -pocket-book. "The child that was half baptized Oliver Twist is nine -year old to-day." - -"Bless him!" interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the -corner of her apron. - -"And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which was afterwards -increased to twenty pound; notwithstanding the most superlative, and, I -may say, supernat'ral exertions on the part of this parish," said -Bumble, "we have never been able to discover who is his father, or what -was his mother's settlement, name, or con-dition." - -Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment's -reflection, "How comes he to have any name at all, then?" - -The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, "I inwented it." - -"You, Mr. Bumble!" - -"I, Mrs. Mann. We name our foundlings in alphabetical order. The last -was a S,--Swubble, I named him. This was a T,--Twist I named _him_. -The next one as comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got -names ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it -again, when we come to Z." - -"Why, you're quite a literary character, sir!" said Mrs. Mann. - -"Well, well," said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment; -"perhaps I may be. But the boy Oliver being now too old to remain here, -the Board have determined to have him back into the house. I have come -out myself to take him there. So let me see him at once." - -"I'll fetch him directly," said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for that -purpose. And so Oliver, having had as much of the outer coat of dirt -which encrusted his face and hands removed as could be scrubbed off in -one washing, was presently led into the room. - -"Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver," said Mrs. Mann. - -Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair and -the cocked hat on the table. - -"Will you go along with me, Oliver?" said Mr. Bumble, in a majestic -voice. - -Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with great -readiness, when, glancing upwards, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who had -got behind the beadle's chair, and was shaking her fist at him with a -furious countenance. He took the hint at once, for the fist had been -too often impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon his -memory. - -"Will _she_ go with me?" he inquired. - -"No, she can't," replied Mr. Bumble, "but she'll come and see you -sometimes." - -This was no very great consolation to the child. Young as he was, -however, he had sense enough to pretend great regret at going away. It -was no very difficult matter for the boy to call the tears into his -eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are great assistants if you want to -cry; and Oliver cried very naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a -thousand embraces, and, what Oliver wanted a great deal more, a piece of -bread and butter, lest he should seem too hungry when he got to the -workhouse. With the slice of bread in his hand, and the little -brown-cloth parish cap on his head, the boy was then led away by Mr. -Bumble from the wretched home where one kind word or look had never -lighted the gloom of his infant years. - -Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides, and little Oliver, firmly -grasping his gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him; inquiring at the end -of every quarter of a mile whether they were "nearly there." To these -interrogations Mr. Bumble returned very brief and snappish replies; for -was he not a beadle? But at last they were there, and the boy was -looking at his new home with interest not unmixed with dread. - -Oliver had not been within the walls of the workhouse a quarter of an -hour, and had scarcely completed the slice of bread, when Mr. Bumble, -who had handed him over to the care of an old woman, returned, and, -telling him it was a board night, took him before that august body -forthwith. - -"Bow to the Board," said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two or three tears -that were lingering in his eyes, and seeing no board but the table, -fortunately bowed to that. - -"What's your name, boy?" said a gentleman in a high chair. - -Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many fat, red-faced gentlemen, -and the beadle gave him another tap behind, which made him cry. These -two causes made him answer in a very low and hesitating voice; whereupon -a gentleman in a white waistcoat said he was a fool,--which was a -capital way of raising his spirits and putting him quite at his ease. - -"Boy," said the gentleman in the high chair, "listen to me. You know -you're an orphan, I suppose?" - -"What's that, sir?" inquired poor Oliver. - -"The boy _is_ a fool--I thought he was," said the gentleman in the white -waistcoat. - -"Hush!" said the gentleman who had spoken first. "You know you've got -no father or mother, and that you were brought up by the parish, don't -you?" - -"Yes, sir," replied Oliver, weeping bitterly. - -"What are you crying for?" inquired the gentleman in the white -waistcoat. And, to be sure, it was very extraordinary. What _could_ -the boy be crying for? - -"I hope you say your prayers every night," said another gentleman, in a -gruff voice, "and pray for the people who feed you, and take care of -you--like a Christian." - -"Yes, sir," stammered the boy. The gentleman who spoke last was -unconsciously right. It would have been _very_ like a Christian, and a -marvellously good Christian too, if Oliver had prayed for the people who -fed and took care of _him_. But he hadn't, because nobody had taught -him. - -"Well! You have come here to be educated, and taught a useful trade," -said the red-faced gentleman in the high chair. - -"So you'll begin to pick oakum to-morrow morning at six o'clock," added -the surly one in the white waistcoat. - -For the combination of both these blessings in the one simple process of -picking oakum, Oliver bowed low, by the direction of the beadle, and was -hurried away to a large ward, where, on a rough hard bed, he sobbed -himself to sleep. - -Poor Oliver! He little knew, as he fell asleep, that the Board had just -reached a sage decision in his and other cases. But they had, and this -was it. The members of this Board were very wise men, and when they -came to turn their attention to the work-house, they found out at once, -what ordinary folks would never have discovered--that the poor people -liked it! - -"Oho!" said the Board, "we'll stop all this high living in no time!" So -they brought the diet down to the edge of starvation. They contracted -with the waterworks to lay on an unlimited supply of water, and with a -mill to supply small quantities of oatmeal; and issued three meals of -thin gruel a day, and half a roll on Sundays. - -For the first six months after Oliver Twist was removed, the system was -in full operation. It was rather expensive at first, in consequence of -the increase in the undertaker's bill, and the necessity of taking in -the clothes of all the paupers, which fluttered loosely on their wasted, -shrunken forms, after a week or two's gruel. But the number of workhouse -inmates got thin as well as the paupers, and the Board were delighted. - -The room in which the boys were fed was a large stone hall, with a -copper kettle at one end, out of which the master, dressed in an apron -for the purpose, and assisted by one or two women, ladled the gruel at -meal times. Of this festive composition each boy had one porringer, and -no more--except on occasions of great public rejoicing, when he had two -ounces and a quarter of bread besides. The bowls never wanted washing. -The boys polished them with their spoons till they shone again; and when -they had performed this operation (which never took very long, the -spoons being nearly as large as the bowls), they would sit staring at -the kettle, with eager eyes, as if they could have devoured the very -bricks of which it was composed; employing themselves, meanwhile, in -sucking their fingers, with the view of catching up any stray splashes -of gruel that might have been cast thereon. - -[Illustration: OLIVER ASKS FOR MORE.] - -Boys have generally excellent appetites. Oliver Twist and his companions -suffered the tortures of slow starvation for three months, until at last -they got so voracious and wild with hunger that one boy, who was tall -for his age and hadn't been used to that sort of thing (for his father -had kept a small cook's shop), hinted darkly to his companions that -unless he had another basin of gruel, he was afraid he might eat the boy -who slept next him, who happened to be a weakly youth of tender age. He -had a wild hungry eye, and they implicitly believed him. A council was -held, and lots were cast to decide who should walk up to the master -after supper that evening and ask for more; and it fell to Oliver Twist. - -The evening arrived, and the boys took their places. The master, in his -cook's uniform, stationed himself at the kettle; his pauper assistants -ranged themselves behind him; the gruel was served out, and a long grace -was said over the short rations. The gruel disappeared; the boys -whispered to each other, and winked at Oliver, while his next neighbors -nudged him. Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger and reckless -with misery. He rose from the table and advancing to the master, basin -and spoon in hand, said, somewhat alarmed at his own temerity: - -"Please, sir, I want some more." - -The master was a fat, healthy man, but he turned very pale. He gazed in -stupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then -clung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralyzed with -wonder; the boys with fear. - -"What!" said the master at length, in a faint voice. - -"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more." - -The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle, pinioned him in -his arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle. - -The Board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble rushed into -the room in great excitement, and, addressing the gentleman in the high -chair, said: - -"Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has asked for more!" - -There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance. - -"For _more_!" said Mr. Limbkins. "Compose yourself, Bumble, and answer -me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had -eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?" - -"He did, sir," replied Bumble. - -"That boy will be hung," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. "I -know that boy will be hung." - -Nobody disputed this opinion. An animated discussion took place. -Oliver was ordered into instant confinement; and a bill was posted on -the outside of the gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who -would take Oliver Twist off the hands of the parish. In other words, -five pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who wanted -an apprentice to any trade, business, or calling. - -Oliver had a very narrow escape a few days later, as the result of this -bill, from a villanous-looking man who wanted a chimney-sweep. But -finally he became the apprentice of an undertaker named Sowerberry. His -life here was some improvement over the workhouse, but still hard -enough. Nevertheless he did get enough to eat, in the shape of broken -victuals, and he slept among the coffins in the shop. - -Unfortunately there was another apprentice, a great overgrown fellow -named Noah Claypole, who delighted to bully Oliver in every way -possible. Oliver stood it as long as he could, but Noah mistook his -attitude for cowardice and added insults to rough usage. But, one day, -Noah spoke ill of the boy's dead mother. - -"What did you say?" asked Oliver quickly. - -"A regular right-down bad 'un, she was, Work'us," repeated Noah coolly. - -Crimson with fury, Oliver started up, overthrew the chair and table, -seized Noah by the throat, shook him, in the violence of his rage, till -his teeth chattered in his head, and, collecting his whole force into -one heavy blow, felled him to the ground. - -A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet, mild, dejected creature that -harsh treatment had made him. But his spirit was roused at last; the -cruel insult had set his blood on fire. His breast heaved, and he -defied his tormentor with an energy he had never known before. - -"He'll murder me!" blubbered Noah. "Charlotte! missis! Here's the new -boy a-murdering of me! Help! help! Oliver's gone mad! Char-lotte!" - -His cries brought the fat maid-servant running to the scene. - -"Oh, you little wretch!" screamed Charlotte, seizing Oliver with her -utmost force, which was about equal to that of a strong man in good -training. "Oh, you little un-grate-ful, mur-der-ous, hor-rid villain!" -And between every syllable Charlotte gave Oliver a blow with all her -might, accompanying it with a scream, for the benefit of society. - -Charlotte's fist was by no means a light one; but, lest it should not be -effectual in calming Oliver's wrath, Mrs. Sowerberry plunged into the -kitchen, and assisted to hold him with one hand while she scratched his -face with the other. In this favorable position of affairs Noah rose -from the ground and pommelled him behind. - -This was rather too violent exercise to last long. When they were all -three wearied out and could tear and beat no longer, they dragged -Oliver, struggling and shouting but nothing daunted, into the -dust-cellar, and there locked him up. This being done, Mrs. Sowerberry -sank into a chair and burst into tears. - -"Oh, Charlotte!" she cried; "what a mercy we have not all been murdered -in our beds, with such a little villain in the house!" - -And when Mr. Sowerberry presently came home, he gave Oliver a whipping -on his own account for good measure. - -It was not until he was left alone in the silence and stillness of the -cellar that Oliver gave way to the feelings which the day's treatment -had awakened. He had listened to their taunts with a look of contempt; -he had borne the lash without a cry, for he felt that pride swelling in -his heart which would have kept down a shriek to the last, though they -had roasted him alive. But now, when there was none to see or hear him, -he fell upon his knees on the floor, and, hiding his face in his hands, -wept bitter tears. - -For a long time Oliver remained motionless in this attitude. The candle -was burning low in the socket when he rose to his feet. Having gazed -cautiously round him and listened intently, he gently undid the -fastenings of the door and looked abroad. - -It was a cold, dark night. The stars seemed, to the boy's eyes, farther -from the earth than he had ever seen them before. There was no wind, -and the sombre shadows thrown by the trees upon the ground looked -sepulchral and death-like, from being so still. He softly re-closed the -door. He resolved to run away in the early morning--to go to that great -city of London. - -With the first ray of light that struggled through the crevices in the -shutters, Oliver arose, and again unbarred the door. One timid look -around,--one moment's pause of hesitation,--he had closed it behind him, -and was in the open street. - -He looked to the right and to the left, uncertain whither to fly. He -remembered to have seen the wagons, as they went out, toiling up the -hill. He took the same route, and arriving at a footpath across the -fields, which he knew led out again into the road, struck into it and -walked quickly on. - -He was then only ten years old. - - - - - *II. OLIVER FALLS FROM BAD TO WORSE* - - -It was seventy miles to London, and the poor boy made his way thither -only with great difficulty. Begging was not allowed in many of the -villages, and nearly everybody viewed him with doubt, or else shut the -door in his face. - -Early on the seventh morning of his flight Oliver limped slowly into the -little town of Barnet, near the outskirts of London. The -window-shutters were closed, the street was empty, and the boy sank down -with bleeding feet and covered with dust upon a door-step. - -By degrees the shutters were opened, the window-blinds were drawn up, -and people began passing to and fro. Some few stopped to gaze at Oliver -for a moment or two, or turned round to stare at him as they hurried by; -but none relieved him, or troubled themselves to inquire how he came -there. He had no heart to beg, and there he sat. - -He had been crouching on the step for some time when he was roused by -observing that a boy, who had passed him carelessly some minutes before, -had returned, and was now surveying him most earnestly from the opposite -side of the way. He took little heed of this at first; but the boy -remained in the same attitude of close observation so long that Oliver -raised his head and returned his steady look. Upon this the boy crossed -over, and, walking close up to Oliver, said: - -"Hullo! my covey, what's the row?" - -The boy who addressed this inquiry was about his own age, but one of the -queerest-looking fellows Oliver had ever seen. He was a snub-nosed, -flat-browed, common-faced boy enough, and as dirty as one would wish to -see; but he had about him all the airs and manners of a man. He was -short of his age, with rather bow legs, and little, sharp, ugly eyes. -He wore a man's coat, which reached nearly to his heels. He had turned -the cuffs back, half-way up his arm, to get his hands out of the -sleeves, apparently with the ultimate view of thrusting them into the -pockets of his corduroy trousers, for there he kept them. He was -altogether as swaggering a young gentleman as ever stood four feet six, -or something less, in his shoes. - -"Hullo! my covey, what's the row?" said this strange young gentleman to -Oliver. - -"I am very hungry and tired," replied Oliver, the tears standing in his -eyes as he spoke. "I have walked a long way. I have been walking these -seven days." - -The boy looked at him narrowly, and asked him some questions. He took -Oliver for a vagrant or worse, but led him into a small tavern, and gave -him a feast of ham and bread; and Oliver, falling to at his new friend's -bidding, made a long and hearty meal, during the progress of which the -strange boy eyed him from time to time with great attention. - -"Going to London?" said the strange boy, when Oliver had at length -concluded. - -"Yes." - -"Got any lodgings?" - -"No." - -"Money?" - -"No." - -The strange boy whistled, and put his arms into his pockets as far as -the big coat-sleeves would let them go. - -"Do you live in London?" asked Oliver. - -"Yes, I do when I'm at home," replied the strange boy. "Want to go -along with me? I know an old gen'elman as lives there wot'll give you -lodgings for nothink." - -The unexpected offer was too tempting to be resisted, especially when -Oliver was told that the old gentleman would doubtless get him a good -place without loss of time. This led to a more friendly and -confidential chat, in which Oliver learned that his new friend's name -was Jack Dawkins, commonly called "The Artful Dodger." - -As Dawkins objected to entering London before nightfall, it was nearly -eleven o'clock before he piloted Oliver down some of the worst streets -of the city's worst section. Finally they entered a tumbledown -building, and groped their way up a rickety stairway. Then Dawkins -threw open the door of a back room and drew Oliver in after him. - -The walls and ceiling of the room were perfectly black with age and -dirt. There was a deal table before the fire, upon which were a candle -stuck in a bottle, some pewter pots, bread and butter. Several rough -beds were huddled side by side upon the floor. Seated around the table -were four or five boys, none older than the Dodger, smoking long clay -pipes and drinking spirits with the air of middle-aged men. But the -chief figure was an old shrivelled Jew, whose villanous face was offset -by a mass of matted red hair. He was dressed in a greasy flannel gown, -and was busily at work frying sausages over a fire. - -The boys crowded around Dawkins as he whispered a few words in the ear -of the Jew. Then they all turned, as did the Jew, and grinned at Oliver. - -"This is him, Fagin," said Jack Dawkins; "my friend Oliver Twist." - -The Jew made a low bow to Oliver, took him by the hand, and hoped he -should have the honor of his intimate acquaintance. Upon this, the -young gentlemen with the pipes came round him, and shook both his hands -very hard--especially the one in which he held his little bundle. One -young gentleman was very anxious to hang up his cap for him; and another -was so obliging as to put his hands in Oliver's pockets, in order that, -as he was very tired, he might not have the trouble of emptying them -himself when he went to bed. - -"We are very glad to see you, Oliver--very," said the Jew. "Dodger, -take off the sausages, and draw a tub near the fire for Oliver." - -Oliver ate his share, and the Jew then mixed him a glass of hot gin and -water, telling him he must drink it off directly, because another -gentleman wanted the tumbler. Oliver did as he was desired. -Immediately afterwards, he felt himself gently lifted on to one of the -sacks, and then he sank into a deep sleep. - -The next morning, Oliver watched the Jew, Dawkins, and Charley Bates, -another of the boys, play a curious game. The old man would place a -purse and other valuables in his pockets, whereupon the boys would try -to slip them out without his knowledge. - -Oliver didn't understand in the least what it was all about, even when -Fagin gave him some lessons in the same game. But he was to learn with -a shock, a few days later, when Bates and Dawkins took him with them for -a walk about town. - -They were just emerging from a narrow court not far from the open square -in Clerkenwell, when the Dodger made a sudden stop, and, laying his -finger on his lip, drew his companions back again with the greatest -caution. - -"What's the matter?" demanded Oliver. - -"Hush!" replied the Dodger. "Do you see that old cove at the -book-stall?" - -"The gentleman over the way?" said Oliver. "Yes, I see him." - -"He'll do," said the Dodger. - -"A prime plant," observed Master Charley Bates. - -Oliver looked from one to the other with surprise, but he was not -permitted to make any inquiries; for the two boys walked stealthily -across the road, and slunk close behind the old gentleman. Oliver -walked a few paces after them, and, not knowing whether to advance or -retire, stood looking on in silent amazement. - -The gentleman was a very respectable-looking person who had taken up a -book from the stall and was reading away as hard as if he were in his -own study. - -What was Oliver's horror and alarm as he stood a few paces off, looking -on with his eyelids as wide open as they would possibly go, to see the -Dodger plunge his hand into the gentleman's pocket, and draw from thence -a handkerchief; to see him hand the same to Charley Bates; and finally -to behold them both running away round the corner at full speed! - -Oliver saw in a flash that they were pickpockets, and that he would be -classed among them! He turned to run--the worst possible thing to -do--for just then the gentleman missed his handkerchief and glanced -around in time to see Oliver scudding away for dear life; and shouting -"Stop thief!" made off after him, book in hand. - -He was not alone in the cry, for Bates and Dawkins, willing to divert -attention from themselves, also shouted "Stop thief!" and joined in the -pursuit like good citizens. - -"Stop thief! Stop thief!" There is a magic in the sound. The -tradesman leaves his counter, and the carman his wagon; the butcher -throws down his tray; the baker his basket; the milkman his pail; the -errand-boy his parcels; the school-boy his marbles. Away they run, -pell-mell, helter-skelter, slap-dash, tearing, yelling, screaming and -knocking down the passengers as they turn the corners. - -"Stop thief! Stop thief!" The cry is taken up by a hundred voices, and -the crowd accumulates at every turning. Away they fly, splashing -through the mud and rattling along the pavements. Up go the windows, -out run the people, and lend fresh vigor to the cry, "Stop thief! Stop -thief!" - -Stopped at last! A well-aimed blow laid Oliver upon the pavement. Then -a policeman seized him by the collar and he was hustled off for trial -before a magistrate. - -The magistrate was a surly boor who was in the habit of committing -prisoners to jail with the merest pretence of a trial. It did not take -him long to decide that Oliver was a hardened criminal, in spite of the -protests of the kindly old gentleman whose pocket had been picked; and -the boy was, in fact, being carried away in a fainting condition, when -the bookseller whose shop had been the scene of action and who had -witnessed the whole thing, rushed in and declared Oliver's innocence. - -The poor child was thereupon released; and the old gentleman--Mr. -Brownlow by name--was so sorry for him, and so taken by his frank face, -that he took him to his own home and nursed him through a severe -illness, the result of all his early privations and recent trouble. Mr. -Brownlow even thought of adopting him, and, as soon as he was well -enough, let him have books to read out of his own well-stocked library, -greatly to the eager Oliver's delight. - -[Illustration: SIKES HAD HIM BY THE COLLAR.] - -It did indeed seem as though the sky had cleared for the boy, but -instead still darker days were threatening. Fagin the Jew heard of -Oliver's escape with fear and anger. He knew that it would never do for -the boy to tell what he knew about the thieves' den. Their one chance -of safety lay in seizing him again and making him a thief like -themselves, so that his mouth would be closed. - -So Fagin called to his aid a burglar, a big, brutal fellow named Bill -Sikes, who always went around with a knotted stick and a surly dog. -Nancy, a poor girl of the streets, was also put upon the search, and -soon their united efforts were successful. - -One day after Oliver had begun to grow strong, he was sent by Mr. -Brownlow on an errand to a bookshop. He was well dressed in a new suit, -and had some books and a five-pound note of Mr. Brownlow's. It was not -far, but he accidentally turned down a by-street that was not exactly in -his way. He started to turn back, when he heard a girl's voice -screaming, "Oh, my dear brother!" And he had hardly looked up to see -what the matter was, when he was stopped by having a pair of arms thrown -tight around his neck. - -"Don't!" cried Oliver, struggling. "Let go of me! Who is it? What are -you stopping me for?" - -The only reply to this was a great number of loud lamentations from the -young woman who had embraced him, and who had a little basket and a -large key in her hand. - -"Oh, my gracious!" said the young woman, "I've found him! Oh, Oliver! -Oliver! Oh, you naughty boy, to make me suffer sich distress on your -account! Come home, dear, come! Oh, I've found him! Thank gracious -goodness heavins, I've found him!" With these exclamations the young -woman burst into another fit of crying. - -"What's the matter, ma'am?" inquired a woman. - -"Oh, ma'am," replied the girl, "he ran away, near a month ago, from his -parents, who are hard-working and respectable people, and went and -joined a set of thieves and bad characters, and almost broke his -mother's heart." - -"Young wretch!" said the woman. - -"I'm not," replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. "I don't know her. I -haven't any sister, or father and mother either. I'm an orphan; I live -at Pentonville." - -"Oh, only hear him, how he braves it out!" cried the young woman. - -"Why, it's Nancy!" exclaimed Oliver, who had known her at the Jew's, and -now saw her face for the first time. - -"You see he knows me!" cried Nancy, appealing to the bystanders. "He -can't help himself. Make him come home, there's good people, or he'll -kill his dear mother and father, and break my heart!" - -"What the devil's this?" said a man, bursting out of a beer-shop, with a -white dog at his heels; "young Oliver! Come home to your poor mother, -you young dog! Come home, directly." - -"I don't belong to them. I don't know them. Help! help!" cried Oliver, -struggling in the man's powerful grasp. - -"Help!" repeated the man. "Yes; I'll help you, you young rascal! What -books are these? You've been a stealing 'em, have you? Give 'em here." -With these words, the man tore the volumes from his grasp and struck him -on the head. - -"That's right!" cried a looker-on from a garret window. "That's the -only way of bringing him to his senses!" - -"To be sure!" cried a sleepy-faced carpenter, casting an approving look -at the garret window. - -"It'll do him good!" said the woman. - -"And he shall have it, too!" rejoined the man, administering another -blow, and seizing Oliver by the collar. "Come on, you young villain! -Here, Bull's-eye, mind him, boy! Mind him!" - -Weak from his recent illness and with no one in the idle crowd to -befriend him, poor Oliver could only suffer himself to be led away -sobbing. Bill Sikes saw his advantage, and pushed him rapidly down the -street. Then, turning to Oliver, he commanded him to take hold of -Nancy's hand. - -"Do you hear?" growled Sikes, as Oliver hesitated, and looked round. - -They were in a dark corner, quite out of the track of passengers. -Oliver saw, but too plainly, that resistance would be of no avail. He -held out his hand, which Nancy clasped tight in hers. - -"Give me the other," said Sikes. "Here, Bull's-eye!" - -The dog looked up and growled. - -"See here, boy!" said Sikes, putting his other hand to Oliver's throat; -"if he speaks ever so soft a word, hold him! D'ye mind?" - -The dog growled again, and, licking his lips, eyed Oliver as if he were -anxious to attach himself to his windpipe without delay. - -And in this fashion Oliver saw with unspeakable horror that he was being -taken back to the Jew. What would the trusting Mr. Brownlow think of -him? What, indeed! The hot tears blinded Oliver's eyes at the bare -thought. - -Presently they arrived before the house but found it perfectly dark. - -"Let's have a glim," said Sikes, "or we shall go breaking our necks, or -treading on the dog. Look after your legs if you do! That's all." - -"Stand still a moment, and I'll get you one," replied a voice. The -footsteps of the speaker were heard, and in another minute the form of -Mr. John Dawkins, otherwise the Artful Dodger, appeared. He bore in his -right hand a tallow candle stuck in the end of a cleft stick. - -The young gentleman did not stop to bestow any other mark of recognition -upon Oliver than a humorous grin; but, turning away, beckoned the -visitors to follow him. As they entered the low, dingy room, they were -received with a shout of laughter. - -"Oh, my wig, my wig!" cried Charley Bates; "here he is! oh, cry, here he -is! Oh, Fagin, look at him; Fagin, do look at him! I can't bear it; it -is such a jolly game, I can't bear it! Hold me, somebody, while I laugh -it out." - -With this, Master Bates laid himself flat on the floor, and kicked -convulsively for five minutes, in an ecstasy of joy. Then jumping to -his feet, he snatched the cleft stick from the Dodger, and, advancing to -Oliver, viewed him round and round, while the Jew, taking off his -nightcap, made a great number of low bows to the bewildered boy. The -Artful, meantime, who seldom gave way to merriment when it interfered -with business, rifled Oliver's pockets thoroughly. - -"Look at his togs, Fagin!" said Charley, putting the light so close to -his new jacket as nearly to set him on fire. "Look at his -togs,--superfine cloth, and the heavy-swell cut! Oh, my eye, what a -game! And his books, too; nothing but a gentleman, Fagin!" - -"Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear," said the Jew, bowing -with mock humility. "The Artful shall give you another suit, my dear, -for fear you should spoil that Sunday one. Why didn't you write, my -dear, and say you were coming? We'd have got something warm for -supper." - -At this Master Bates roared again so loud that Fagin himself relaxed, -and even the Dodger smiled; but as the Artful drew forth the five-pound -note at that instant, it is doubtful whether the sally or the discovery -awakened his merriment. - -"Hallo! what's that?" inquired Sikes, stepping forward as the Jew seized -the note. "That's mine, Fagin." - -"No, no, my dear," said the Jew. "Mine, Bill, mine. You shall have the -books." - -"They belong to Mr. Brownlow!" cried Oliver, wringing his hands. "Oh, -pray send them back! He'll think I stole them!" - -"The boy's right," replied Fagin, with a sly wink. "He _will_ think -you've stole them!" - -Oliver saw by his look that all chance of rescue was gone, and shrieking -wildly he made a dash for the door. But the dog arrested him with a -fierce growl, while a blow laid him upon the floor. - -For several days Fagin kept him hid close, for fear of searching -parties. Then, resolving to get the boy deeply into crime as soon as -possible, he forced him to accompany Bill Sikes upon a house-breaking -expedition. - -Accordingly, one raw evening they set forth--Oliver, Sikes, and another -burglar, Toby Crackit--the ruffians threatening to shoot the boy if he -so much as uttered one word. On account of his small size he was chosen -to creep through a little window of the house which was to be robbed. -The opening was about five feet from the ground, and so small that the -inmates did not think it worth while to defend it securely. But it was -large enough to admit a boy of Oliver's size, nevertheless. - -"Now listen, you young limb," whispered Sikes, drawing a dark-lantern -from his pocket and throwing the glare full in Oliver's face: "I'm going -to put you through there. Take this light and go softly up the steps -straight afore you, and along the little hall to the street door. -Unfasten it and let us in." - -So saying, the burglar boosted Oliver up on his back, and put him -through the window. - -"You see the stairs, don't you?" - -Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out "Yes." Sikes pointed the -pistol at him, and advised him to take notice that he was within shot -all the way. Nevertheless, the boy had firmly resolved that, whether he -died in the attempt or not, he would make one effort to dart upstairs -from the hall and alarm the family. Filled with this idea, he advanced -at once, but stealthily. - -"Come back!" suddenly cried Sikes aloud. "Back! back!" - -Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead stillness of the place, and by -a loud cry which followed it, Oliver let his lantern fall, and knew not -whether to advance or fly. - -The cry was repeated--a light appeared--a vision of two terrified -half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes--a -flash--a loud noise--a smoke--a crash somewhere, but where he knew -not,--and he staggered back. - -Sikes had disappeared for an instant; but he was up again and had him by -the collar before the smoke had cleared away. - -He fired his own pistol after the men, who were already retreating, and -dragged the boy up. - -"Clasp your arm tighter," said Sikes, as he drew him through the window. -"Give me a shawl here. They've hit him. Quick! How the boy bleeds!" - -Then came the loud ringing of a bell, mingled with the noise of -firearms, and the shouts of men, and the sensation of being carried over -uneven ground at a rapid pace. And then, the noises grew confused in -the distance. A cold deadly feeling crept over the boy's heart, and he -saw or heard no more. - - - - - *III. OLIVER MAKES HIS WAY INTO GOOD SOCIETY* - - -Bill Sikes and Toby Crackit were so hard pressed that they were soon -forced to leave Oliver lying in a ditch. The hue and cry passed him to -one side, leaving him alone and unconscious through the long cold night. -Morning drew on apace. The rain came down thick and fast, but Oliver -felt it not as it beat against him. - -At length a low cry of pain broke the stillness; and uttering it, the -boy awoke. His left arm, rudely bandaged in a shawl, hung heavy and -useless at his side; and the bandage was saturated with blood. He was -so weak that he could scarcely raise himself into a sitting posture. -When he had at last done so, he looked feebly round for help, and -groaned with agony. Trembling in every joint from cold and exhaustion, -he made an effort to stand upright; but, shuddering from head to foot, -fell prostrate on the ground. - -After a short return of the stupor in which he had been so long plunged, -Oliver got upon his feet, and essayed to walk. His head was dizzy, and -he staggered to and fro like a drunken man. But he kept up, -nevertheless, and, with his head drooping languidly on his breast, went -stumbling onward, he knew not whither. - -The rain was falling heavily now, but the cold drops roused him like -whiplashes. He pressed forward with the last ounce of his strength, -feeling that if he stopped he must surely die, and by chance reached the -same house of the attempted burglary. He knew the place at once, but -his strength was at an end, and he sank exhausted on the little portico -by the door. - -The servants who presently opened the door were immensely surprised to -find the wounded boy; and two of them were certain he was the same who -had broken into the house. But in his pitiful condition they put him to -bed and sent for a surgeon. - -A very kind-hearted lady, Mrs. Maylie, and her adopted niece Rose, lived -here. They cared for Oliver tenderly; for, like his lost friend, Mr. -Brownlow, they were greatly taken by his open face, and believed in him -despite the strange story which he presently found strength to tell. -With the aid of their friend the surgeon, they convinced the servants -that a mistake had been made, and so Oliver was not taken to jail. -Instead, he was received into this kindly home, and it really seemed -that now his dark days were over at last. - -Oliver resumed the study of his beloved books, which he had begun with -Mr. Brownlow. But he also spent much time in the open fields, and soon -grew sturdy and strong, with the brown look of health in his face. -Between him and Rose Maylie a tender affection sprang up. He was, in -fact, her devoted knight. - -One beautiful evening, when the first shades of twilight were beginning -to settle upon the earth, Oliver sat at his window, intent upon his -books. He had been poring over them for some time; and, as the day had -been uncommonly sultry, and he had exerted himself a great deal, by slow -degrees he fell asleep. - -There is a kind of sleep that steals upon us sometimes, which, while it -holds the body prisoner, does not free the mind from a sense of things -about it, or enable it to ramble at its pleasure. - -Oliver knew, perfectly well, that he was in his own little room; that -his books were lying on the table before him; that the sweet air was -stirring among the creeping plants outside. And yet he was asleep. -Suddenly, the scene changed; the air became close and confined; and he -thought, with a glow of terror, that he was in the Jew's house again. -There sat the hideous old man, in his accustomed corner, pointing at -him, and whispering to another man, with his face averted, who sat -beside him. - -"Hush, my dear!" he thought he heard the Jew say; "it is he, sure -enough. Come away." - -"He!" the other man seemed to answer; "could I mistake him, think you? -If a crowd of ghosts were to put themselves into his exact shape, and he -stood among them, there is something that would tell me how to point him -out!" - -The man seemed to say this with such dreadful hatred, that Oliver awoke -with the fear and started up. - -Good Heaven! what was that which sent the blood tingling to his heart, -and deprived him of his voice and of power to move! There--there--at the -window--close before him--so close that he could have almost touched him -before he started back--with his eyes peering into the room, and meeting -his--there stood the Jew! And beside him were the scowling features of -a dark man whom Oliver had seen only once, but had instinctively learned -to fear. - -It was but an instant, a glance, a flash, before his eyes, and they were -gone. But they had recognized him, and he them. He knew they were once -again lying in wait to seize him, and that his days of peace and -happiness were numbered. - -Voice and motion came back to him with the fear; and leaping from the -window he called loudly for help. - -Nevertheless, no trace of Fagin or the stranger could be found, though -the search was pursued with haste; and Oliver's friends were forced to -believe that it had been only a feverish dream. - -But Oliver had not been mistaken. The two figures at the window were -really Fagin and a man named Monks, who for some mysterious reason had -been the boy's most vindictive enemy. It was he who had found Oliver -again and reported the fact to Fagin; and together they laid cunning -plans to get him once more into their clutches. - -At this critical moment in Oliver's welfare, an unexpected friend to him -appeared in the person of Nancy, the street-girl. She had bitterly -repented her share in kidnapping him from Mr. Brownlow, and now longed -for a chance to do him some service. The chance offered, when she -happened to overhear the interview between Monks and the Jew. She could -not understand all she heard, but she realized that the boy was in great -danger unless she acted at once. - -Hastening to the home of Rose Maylie, Nancy contrived to see her alone -and repeated word for word the conversation she had overheard. From the -dark threats of this man Monks, it seemed that Oliver's very life was in -danger, because of some secret connected with his birth. Nancy knew -that it meant her own death also if her visit to Miss Maylie became -known, but she could not remain silent. - -Miss Maylie listened to her story with horror and amazement. She -realized that something must be done quickly, but did not know to whom -to turn. In her perplexity Oliver made a discovery of great value to -both of them. On the very day of Nancy's hurried visit and no less -hurried departure he came running in, his eyes all aglow with -excitement. - -"I have seen him!" he exclaimed excitedly; "I knew that if I kept on -looking, I should find him again, one day! I mean the gentleman who was -so good to me--Mr. Brownlow!" - -"Where?" asked Rose. - -"Getting out of a coach," replied Oliver. "I didn't have the chance to -speak to him, but I took the number of the house he went into. Here it -is." And he flourished a scrap of paper delightedly. "Oh, let us go -there at once!" - -Rose read the address eagerly, and decided to put the discovery to -account. Not alone would Oliver be gratified, but Mr. Brownlow might be -the very friend they needed at this momentous time. - -"Quick!" she said; "tell them to fetch a hackney-coach, and be ready to -go with me. I will take you there directly, without a minute's loss of -time. I will only tell my aunt that we are going out for an hour, and -be ready as soon as you are." - -Oliver needed no prompting to hasten, and in little more than five -minutes they were on their way. When they arrived at the address noted, -Rose left Oliver in the coach, under pretence of preparing his friend to -receive him; and sending up her card by the servant, requested to see -Mr. Brownlow on very pressing business. The servant soon returned, to -beg that she would walk upstairs; and following him into an upper room, -Miss Maylie was presented to an elderly gentleman of benevolent -appearance, in a bottle-green coat. - -"Dear me," said the gentleman, hastily rising, with great politeness, "I -beg your pardon, young lady---I imagined it was some importunate person -who--I beg you will excuse me. Be seated, pray." - -"Mr. Brownlow, I believe, sir?" said Rose. - -"That is my name." - -"I shall surprise you very much, I have no doubt," said Rose, naturally -embarrassed; "but you once showed great kindness to a very dear young -friend of mine, and I am sure you will take an interest in hearing of -him again." - -"Indeed!" said Mr. Brownlow. - -"Oliver Twist, as you knew him," said Rose. - -Mr. Brownlow was naturally surprised, but said nothing for a few -moments. Then looking straight into her eyes, he remarked quietly but -earnestly, "Believe me, my dear young lady, if you can tell me good news -of that child, or lift the shadow which rests upon his name, you will be -doing me the greatest service." - -Rose at once related in a few words all that had befallen Oliver since -leaving Mr. Brownlow's house; how he had searched for him but had only -seen him that very day; and finally of the new danger which threatened -the boy. - -You may believe that Mr. Brownlow sat very straight, upon the extreme -edge of his chair, during the latter part of this recital. - -"The poor lad!" he exclaimed; "but why have you not brought him with -you?" - -"I wished to talk with you alone about this plot. He does not know of -it. But"--smilingly--"I believe he is now waiting in the coach at the -door." - -"At this door?" cried Mr. Brownlow. And without another word he rushed -from the room. - -In less than a minute he was back again, lugging Oliver in bodily and -both laughing--yes, and shedding tears--at the same time. - -Then after the jolliest of visits, Rose and Oliver took their leave for -the present; but not before Mr. Brownlow had told Rose privately that he -would turn his whole attention to the new conspiracy. - -Nancy had promised to meet Rose on London Bridge, a few nights later, -and Mr. Brownlow determined to be there also. In the meantime he made -other plans for capturing the rogues. - - - - - *IV. THE END OF EVIL DAYS* - - -Now, unbeknown to Nancy, Fagin the Jew had become suspicious of her, and -had set a spy upon her heels. This spy was none other than Noah -Claypole, the undertaker's apprentice, whom Oliver had so soundly -thrashed. Noah had lately come to London to try his fortune in any -underhand way that might arise. The Jew was always on the lookout for -just such fellows as he. So they soon struck a bargain. - -On the night when Nancy set forth to keep her appointment on the Bridge, -Noah was kept busy darting from pillar to post, but all the time keeping -her in sight. When she met Rose and Mr. Brownlow, the spy quickly slunk -behind an abutment where he could hear every word of what she said. And -you may be sure he lost no time in taking his story back to the Jew. - -Bill Sikes had just returned, in the early morning, from a -house-breaking jaunt, and was as usual in an ugly mood. A word from the -Jew about Nancy's defection set his brain on fire with hatred against -the girl. He hastened to her room, and, disregarding all her appeals -for mercy, struck her lifeless to the floor. - -This murder proved the beginning of the end for all the gang. Mr. -Brownlow had already set the police to work, and now offered a large -personal reward for Sikes's arrest. The murderer was tracked in and -about the city for several days, until he finally hung himself in -endeavoring to escape from the roof of a house. - -Fagin the Jew was captured at last, and for his share in this crime, and -his other wickednesses was condemned to death. A great popular clamor -had been aroused against him, and he was to be hung without delay. - -In the hope that the Jew would throw some light upon Monks and some -secret papers which Mr. Brownlow had traced, that gentleman took Oliver -with him to the prison to see Fagin on his last night upon earth. - -"Is the young gentleman to come, too, sir?" said the man whose duty it -was to conduct them. "It's not a sight for children, sir." - -"It is not indeed, my friend,", rejoined Mr. Brownlow; "but my business -with this man is intimately connected with him; and as this child has -seen him in the full career of his success and villany, I think it -well--even at the cost of some pain and fear--that he should see him -now." - -These few words had been said apart, so as to be inaudible to Oliver. -The man touched his hat; and glancing at Oliver with some curiosity, -opened another gate, opposite to that by which they had entered, and led -them on, through dark and winding ways, to the cell. - -The condemned criminal was seated on his bed, rocking himself from side -to side, with a countenance more like that of a snared beast than the -face of a man. His mind was evidently wandering to his old life, for he -continued to mutter, without appearing conscious of their presence -otherwise than as a part of his vision. - -"Good boy, Charley--well done!"--he mumbled. "Oliver too, ha! ha! ha! -Oliver too--quite the gentleman now--quite the--take that boy away to -bed!" - -The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver, and, whispering to him -not to be alarmed, looked on without speaking. - -"Take him away to bed!" cried the Jew. "Do you hear me, some of you? He -has been the--the--somehow the cause of all this!" - -"Fagin," said the jailer. - -"That's me!" cried the Jew, falling, instantly, into the attitude of -listening he had assumed upon his trial. "An old man, my Lord; a very -old, old man!" - -"Here," said the turnkey, laying his hand upon his breast to keep him -down. "Here's somebody wants to see you, to ask you some questions, I -suppose. Fagin, Fagin! Are you a man?" - -"I sha'n't be one long," replied the Jew, looking up with a face -retaining no human expression but rage and terror. "Strike them all -dead! What right have they to butcher me?" - -As he spoke he caught sight of Oliver and Mr. Brownlow. Shrinking to -the farthest corner of the seat, he demanded to know what they wanted -there. - -"Steady," said the turnkey, still holding him down. "Now, sir, tell him -what you want--quick if you please, for he grows worse as the time gets -on." - -"You have some papers," said Mr. Brownlow, advancing, "which were placed -in your hands, for better security, by a man called Monks." - -"It's all a lie together," replied the Jew. "I haven't one--not one." - -"For the love of God," said Mr. Brownlow, solemnly, "do not tell a lie -now, upon the very verge of death; but tell me where they are. You know -that Sikes is dead; and that there is no hope of any farther gain. -Where are those papers?" - -"Oliver," cried the Jew, beckoning to him. "Here, here! Let me whisper -to you." - -"I am not afraid," said Oliver, in a firm voice, as he relinquished Mr. -Brownlow's hand. - -"The papers," said the Jew, drawing him towards him, "are in a canvas -bag, in a hole a little way up the chimney in the top front room. I want -to talk to you, my dear. I want to talk to you." - -"Yes, yes," returned Oliver. "Let me say a prayer. Do! Let me say one -prayer. Say only one, upon your knees, with me, and we will talk till -morning." - -"Outside, outside," replied the Jew, pushing the boy before him towards -the door, and looking vacantly over his head. "Say I've gone to -sleep--they'll believe _you_. You can get me out, if you take me so. -Now then, now then!" - -"Oh! God forgive this wretched man!" cried the boy, with a burst of -tears. - -"That's right, that's right," said the Jew. "That'll help us on. This -door first. If I shake and tremble, as we pass the gallows, don't you -mind, but hurry on. Now, now, now!" - -"Have you nothing else to ask him, sir?" inquired the turnkey. - -"No other question," replied Mr. Brownlow. "If I hoped we could recall -him to a sense of his position--" - -"Nothing will do that, sir," replied the man, shaking his head. "You -had better leave him." - -The door of the cell opened and the attendants returned. - -"Press on, press on," cried the Jew. "Softly, but not so slow. Faster, -faster!" - -The men laid hands upon him, and disengaging Oliver from his grasp, held -him back. He struggled with the power of desperation for an instant, -and then sent up cry upon cry that penetrated even those massive walls -and rang in their ears until they reached the open yard. - -And this--thought Oliver shudderingly--was the last of the Jew--the man -from whose clutches he had so narrowly escaped! - -Noah Claypole turned state's evidence at this time, and thus escaped the -law. Dawkins, the Artful Dodger, had been caught picking pockets and -was transported from the country. Charley Bates was so unnerved by the -fate of Nancy, and the swift punishment of his companions, that he -reformed and became an honest, hard-working young man. - -And, finally, what of Monks? He was shadowed and seized by Mr. -Brownlow's agents, and proved to be none other than the half-brother of -Oliver Twist! Their father was dead, but he had left a will providing -for the boy also. And it was on this account that Monks had wished to -get him out of the way and had employed Fagin in trying to ruin the lad. - -The papers were found, as the Jew had indicated, and they not only -cleared up Oliver's past history, but proved his right to a share in a -considerable family estate. Mr. Brownlow had known Monks's father in -their early days, and now used this knowledge to wring a full confession -from the villain. - -Another strange secret came to light also, at this time. Rose Maylie -was found to be a younger sister of Oliver's dead mother, and therefore -the boy's own aunt. - -"Not aunt!" cried Oliver, when he heard this amazing but delightful -news; "I'll never call her aunt! Sister, my own dear sister, that -something taught my heart to love so dearly from the first! Rose, dear -darling Rose!" - -And the two orphans, no longer alone but united and surrounded by loving -friends, were clasped in each other's arms. - - - - - *THE STORY OF SMIKE AND HIS TEACHER* - - - - *I. HOW NICHOLAS NICKLEBY CAME TO DOTHEBOYS HALL* - - -"Education.--At Mr. Wackford Squeers's Academy, Dotheboys Hall, at the -delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, Youth -are boarded, clothed, booked, furnished with pocket-money, provided with -all necessaries, instructed in all languages living and dead, -mathematics, orthography, geometry, astronomy, trigonometry, the use of -the globes, algebra, single stick (if required), writing, arithmetic, -fortification, and every other branch of classical literature. Terms, -twenty guineas per annum. No extras, no vacations, and diet -unparalleled. Mr. Squeers is in town, and attends daily, from one till -four, at the Saracen's Head, Snow Hill. N.B. An able assistant wanted. -Annual salary L5. A Master of Arts would be preferred." - -To Nicholas Nickleby, a young man of nineteen, who had come to London -seeking his fortune, this advertisement in a daily paper seemed a -godsend--that is, provided he could secure the position referred to in -the last two lines. It is true the salary was not large; but he -reflected that his board and living would be included, and that a young -man of his education and ability would be bound to rise. He even -fancied himself, in a rosy-colored future, at the head of this model -school, Dotheboys Hall, in the delightful village of Dotheboys, near -Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire. - -But it would not do to sit dreaming. Some one else might snap up this -golden opportunity. Nicholas brushed his clothes carefully and lost no -time in calling upon Mr. Squeers, at the tavern called the Saracen's -Head. - -Mr. Squeers's appearance was not prepossessing. He had but one eye -which, while it was unquestionably useful, was decidedly not ornamental, -being of a greenish gray and in shape resembling the fan-light of a -street-door. The blank side of his face was much wrinkled and puckered -up, which gave him a very sinister appearance, especially when he -smiled, at which times his expression bordered closely on the villanous. -He was about two or three and fifty, and a trifle below the middle size; -and he wore a white neckerchief with long ends, and a suit of scholastic -black. - -Mr. Squeers was standing in a box by one of the coffee-room fireplaces, -fitted with one such table as is usually seen in coffee-rooms. In a -corner of the seat was a very small deal trunk, tied round with a scanty -piece of cord; and on the trunk was perched--his lace-up half-boots and -corduroy trousers dangling in the air--a diminutive boy, with his -shoulders drawn up to his ears, and his hands planted on his knees, who -glanced timidly at the schoolmaster, from time to time, with evident -dread. Presently the boy chanced to give a violent sneeze. - -"Hallo, sir!" growled the schoolmaster, turning round. "What's that, -sir?" - -"Nothing, please, sir," replied the little boy. - -"Nothing, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Squeers. - -"Please, sir, I sneezed," rejoined the boy, trembling till the little -trunk shook under him. - -"Oh! sneezed, did you?" retorted Mr. Squeers. "Then what did you say -'nothing' for, sir?" - -In default of a better answer to this question, the little boy screwed a -couple of knuckles into each of his eyes and began to cry; wherefore Mr. -Squeers knocked him off the trunk with a blow on one side of his face, -and knocked him on again with a blow on the other. - -"Wait till I get you down to Yorkshire, my young gentleman," said Mr. -Squeers, "and then I'll give you the rest. Will you hold that noise, -sir?" - -"Ye-ye-yes," sobbed the little boy, rubbing his face very hard. - -"Then do so at once, sir," said Squeers. "Do you hear?" - -The little boy rubbed his face harder, as if to keep the tears back; -and, beyond alternately sniffing and choking, gave no farther vent to -his emotions. - -"Mr. Squeers," said the waiter, looking in at this juncture, "here's a -gentleman asking for you at the bar." - -"Show the gentleman in, Richard," replied Mr. Squeers, in a soft voice. -"Put your handkerchief in your pocket, you little scoundrel!" - -The schoolmaster had scarcely uttered these words in a fierce whisper, -when the stranger entered. Affecting not to see him, Mr. Squeers -feigned to be intent upon mending a pen, and offering benevolent advice -to his youthful pupil. - -"My dear child," said Mr. Squeers, "all people have their trials. This -early trial of yours that is fit to make your little heart burst and -your very eyes come out of your head with crying, what is it? Nothing; -less than nothing. You are leaving your friends, but you will have a -father in me, my dear, and a mother in Mrs. Squeers. At the delightful -village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, where youth are -boarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with pocket-money, provided -with all necessaries--" - -"Mr. Squeers, I believe," said Nicholas Nickleby, as that worthy man -stopped to cough. - -"The same, sir. What can I do for you?" - -"I came in answer to an advertisement in this morning's paper," said -Nicholas. "I believe you desire an assistant." - -"I do, sir," rejoined Mr. Squeers, coolly; "but if you are applying for -the place, don't you think you're too young?" - -"I hope not, sir, and I have a fair education. I could--" - -"Could what?" interrupted the schoolmaster. "Could you lick the boys if -they needed it?" - -"I do not usually believe in that sort of punishment--" hesitated -Nicholas. - -"Could you do it?" urged Mr. Squeers. - -"I think--if they needed it--I could lick anybody in your school," -smiled Nicholas. - -"Well, why didn't you say so? I guess I had better take you. I've got -to leave town at eight o'clock to-morrow morning, and haven't time to -look around. So be on hand sharp!" - -Nicholas thanked him and promised to be on hand. - -The next day he was as good as his word, and reached the tavern a little -in advance of the appointed hour. - -He found Mr. Squeers sitting at breakfast, with the little boy before -noticed, and four others who had turned up by some lucky chance since -the interview of the previous day, ranged in a row on the opposite seat. -Mr. Squeers had before him a small measure of coffee, a plate of hot -toast, and a cold round of beef; but he was at that moment intent on -preparing breakfast for the little boys. - -"This is twopenn'orth of milk, is it, waiter?" said he, looking down -into a large blue mug, and slanting it gently, so as to get an accurate -view of the quantity of liquid contained in it. - -"That's twopenn'orth, sir," replied the waiter. - -"What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in London!" said Mr. Squeers, -with a sigh. "Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water, William, will -you?" - -"To the wery top, sir?" inquired the waiter. "Why, the milk will be -drownded." - -"Never you mind that," replied Mr. Squeers. "Serve it right for being so -dear! You ordered that thick bread and butter for three, did you?" - -"Coming directly, sir." - -"You needn't hurry yourself," said Squeers; "there's plenty of time. -Conquer your passions, boys, and don't be eager after vittles." As he -uttered this moral precept, Mr. Squeers took a large bite out of the -cold beef, and recognized Nicholas. - -"Sit down, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers. "Here we are, a breakfasting, -you see!" - -Nicholas did not see that anybody was breakfasting except Mr. Squeers; -but he bowed with all becoming reverence, and looked as cheerful as he -could. - -"Oh! that's the milk and water, is it, William?" said Squeers. "Very -good; don't forget the bread and butter presently." - -At this fresh mention of the bread and butter the five little boys -looked very eager, and followed the waiter out with their eyes; -meanwhile Mr. Squeers tasted the milk and water. - -"Ah!" said that gentleman, smacking his lips, "here's richness! Think -of the many beggars and orphans in the streets that would be glad of -this, little boys. A shocking thing hunger is, isn't it, Mr. Nickleby?" - -"Very shocking, sir," said Nicholas. - -"When I say number one," pursued Mr. Squeers, putting the mug before the -children, "the boy on the left hand nearest the window may take a drink; -and when I say number two, the boy next him will go in, and so till we -come to number five, which is the last boy. Are you ready?" - -"Yes, sir," cried all the little boys with great eagerness. - -"That's right," said Squeers, calmly getting on with his breakfast; -"keep ready till I tell you to begin. Subdue your appetites, my dears, -and you've conquered human natur. This is the way we inculcate strength -of mind, Mr. Nickleby," said the schoolmaster, turning to Nicholas, and -speaking with his mouth very full of beef and toast. - -Nicholas murmured something--he knew not what--in reply; and the little -boys, dividing their gaze between the mug, the bread and butter (which -had by this time arrived), and every morsel which Mr. Squeers took into -his mouth, remained with strained eyes in torments of expectation. - -"Thank God for a good breakfast," said Squeers when he had finished. -"Number one may take a drink." - -Number one seized the mug ravenously, and had just drunk enough to make -him wish for more, when Mr. Squeers gave the signal for number two, who -gave up at the same interesting moment to number three; and the process -was repeated until the milk and water terminated with number five. - -"And now," said the schoolmaster, dividing the bread and butter for -three into as many portions as there were children, "you had better look -sharp with your breakfast, for the horn will blow in a minute or two, -and then every boy leaves off." - -Permission being thus given to fall to, the boys began to eat -voraciously and in desperate haste; while the schoolmaster (who was in -high good-humor after his meal) picked his teeth with a fork, and looked -smilingly on. In a very short time the horn was heard. - -"I thought it wouldn't be long," said Squeers, jumping up and producing -a little basket from under the seat; "put what you haven't had time to -eat in here, boys! You'll want it on the road!" - -Nicholas was considerably startled by these very economical -arrangements; but he had no time to reflect upon them, for the little -boys had to be got up to the top of the coach, and this task was in his -department. But soon they were all stowed away, and the coach started -off with a flourish. - -The journey proved long and hard, however. They were detained several -times by the bad roads and inclement weather, so that it was not until -nightfall of the second day that they reached their destination. - -"Jump out," said Squeers. "Hallo there! come and put this horse up. Be -quick, will you!" - -While the schoolmaster was uttering these and other impatient cries, -Nicholas had time to observe that the school was a long, cold-looking -house, one story high, with a few straggling outbuildings behind, and a -barn and stable adjoining. After the lapse of a minute or two, the -noise of somebody unlocking the yard-gate was heard, and presently a -tall, lean boy, with a lantern in his hand, issued forth. - -"Is that you, Smike?" cried Squeers. - -"Yes, sir," replied the boy. - -"Then why the devil didn't you come before?" - -"Please, sir, I fell asleep over the fire," answered Smike, with -humility. - -"Fire! what fire? Where's there a fire?" demanded the schoolmaster, -sharply. - -"Only in the kitchen, sir," replied the boy. "Missus said, as I was -sitting up, I might go in there for a warm." - -"Your Missus is a fool," retorted Squeers. "You'd have been a deuced -deal more wakeful in the cold, I'll engage." - -By this time Mr. Squeers had dismounted; and after ordering the boy to -see to the pony, and to take care that he hadn't any more corn that -night, he told Nicholas to wait at the front door a minute while he went -round and let him in. - -A host of unpleasant misgivings, which had been crowding upon Nicholas -during the whole journey, thronged into his mind with redoubled force -when he was left alone. And as he looked up at the dreary house and -dark windows, and upon the wild country round, covered with snow, he -felt a depression of heart and spirit which he had never experienced -before. - -Presently he was ushered into a cheerless-looking parlor where stood a -large, angular woman about half a head taller than Mr. Squeers. - -"This is the new young man, my dear," said that gentleman. - -"Oh," replied Mrs. Squeers, nodding her head at Nicholas, and eyeing him -coldly from top to toe. - -"He'll take a meal with us to-night," said Squeers, "and go among the -boys to-morrow morning. You can give him a shakedown here, to-night, -can't you?" - -"We must manage it somehow," replied the lady. "You don't much mind how -you sleep, I suppose, sir?" - -"No, indeed," replied Nicholas, "I am not particular." - -"That's lucky," said Mrs. Squeers. And as the lady's humor was -considered to lie chiefly in retort, Mr. Squeers laughed heartily, and -seemed to expect that Nicholas should do the same. - -After some conversation between the master and mistress relative to the -success of Mr. Squeers's trip, and the people who had paid, and the -people who had made default in payment, a young servant girl brought in -a Yorkshire pie and some cold beef, which being set upon the table, the -boy Smike appeared with a jug of ale. - -Mr. Squeers was emptying his great-coat pockets of letters to different -boys, and other small documents, which he had brought down in them. The -boy glanced, with an anxious and timid expression, at the papers, as if -with a sickly hope that one among them might relate to him. The look -was a very painful one, and went to Nicholas's heart at once, for it -told a long and very sad history. - -It induced him to consider the boy more attentively, and he was -surprised to observe the extraordinary mixture of garments which formed -his dress. Although he could not have been less than eighteen or -nineteen years old, and was tall for that age, he wore a skeleton suit, -such as is usually put upon very little boys, and which, though most -absurdly short in the arms and legs, was quite wide enough for his thin -body. In order that the lower part of his legs might be in perfect -keeping with this singular dress, he had a very large pair of boots, -originally made for tops, which might have been once worn by some stout -farmer, but were now too patched and tattered for a beggar. He was lame; -and as he feigned to be busy in arranging the table, he glanced at the -letters with a look so keen, and yet so dispirited and hopeless, that -Nicholas could hardly bear to watch him. - -"What are you bothering about there, Smike?" cried Mrs. Squeers; "let -the things alone, can't you?" - -"Eh!" said Squeers, looking up. "Oh! it's you, is it?" - -"Yes, sir," replied the youth, pressing his hands together, as though to -control, by force, the nervous wandering of his fingers; "Is there--" - -"Well!" said Squeers. - -"Have you--did anybody--has nothing been heard--about me?" - -"Devil a bit," replied Squeers, testily. - -The lad withdrew his eyes, and, putting his hand to his face, moved -towards the door. - -"Not a word," resumed Squeers, "and never will be. Now, this is a -pretty sort of thing, isn't it, that you should have been left here all -these years, and no money paid after the first six--nor no notice taken, -nor no clue to be got who you belong to? It's a pretty sort of thing -that I should have to feed a great fellow like you, and never hope to -get one penny for it, isn't it?" - -The boy put his hand to his head as if he were making an effort to -recollect something, and then, looking vacantly at his questioner, -gradually broke into a smile, and limped away. - -"I'll tell you what, Squeers," remarked his wife, as the door closed, "I -think that young chap's turning silly." - -"I hope not," said the schoolmaster; "for he's a handy fellow -out-of-doors, and worth his meat and drink anyway. I should think he'd -have wit enough for us, though, if he was." - -Supper being over, Mr. Squeers yawned fearfully and was of opinion that -it was high time to go to bed. Upon this, Mrs. Squeers and a servant -dragged in a small straw mattress and a couple of blankets, and arranged -them into a couch for Nicholas. - -"We'll put you into a regular bedroom with the boys to-morrow, -Nickleby," said Squeers. "Good-night. Seven o'clock, in the morning, -mind." - -The next morning, when Nicholas appeared in the main room, he found Mrs. -Squeers very much distressed. - -"I can't find the school spoon," she said. - -"Never mind it, my dear," observed Squeers in a soothing manner; "it's -of no consequence." - -"No consequence! why, how you talk!" retorted Mrs. Squeers, sharply; -"isn't it brimstone morning?" - -"I forgot, my dear," rejoined Squeers; "yes, it certainly is. We purify -the boys' bloods now and then, Nickleby." - -"Purify fiddlesticks' ends!" said his lady. "Don't think, young man, -that we go to the expense of brimstone and molasses, just to purify -them; because if you think we carry on the business in that way, you'll -find yourself mistaken, and so I tell you plainly." - -"My dear," said Squeers, frowning. "Hem!" - -"Oh! nonsense," rejoined Mrs. Squeers. "If the young man comes to be a -teacher here, let him understand, at once, that we don't want any -foolery about the boys. They have the brimstone and treacle, partly -because if they hadn't something or other in the way of medicine they'd -be always ailing and giving a world of trouble, and partly because it -spoils their appetites and comes cheaper than breakfast and dinner. So -it does them good and us good at the same time, and that's fair enough, -I'm sure." - -A vast deal of searching and rummaging ensued, and it proving fruitless, -Smike was called in, and pushed by Mrs. Squeers and boxed by Mr. -Squeers; which course of treatment brightening his intellects, enabled -him to suggest that possibly Mrs. Squeers might have the spoon in her -pocket--as indeed turned out to be the case. But as Mrs. Squeers had -previously protested that she was quite certain she had not got it, -Smike received another box on the ear for presuming to contradict his -mistress; so that he gained nothing of advantage by his idea. - -"But come," said Squeers, "let's go to the schoolroom; and lend me a -hand with my school-coat, will you?" - -Nicholas assisted his master to put on an old shooting-jacket; and -Squeers, arming himself with his cane, led the way across a yard, to a -door in the rear of the house. - -"There," said the schoolmaster, as they stepped in together; "this is -our shop, Nickleby!" - -It was such a crowded scene, and there were so many objects to attract -attention, that, at first, Nicholas stared about him, really without -seeing anything at all. By degrees, however, the place resolved itself -into a bare and dirty room, with a couple of windows, stopped up with -old copybooks and paper. There were two rickety desks, cut and notched, -and inked in every possible way; two or three forms; a detached desk for -Squeers, and another for his assistant. The ceiling was supported, like -that of a barn, by crossbeams and rafters, and the walls were so stained -and discolored that it was impossible to tell whether they had ever been -touched with paint or whitewash. - -But the pupils! How the last faint traces of hope, the remotest -glimmering of any good to be derived from his efforts in this den, faded -from the mind of Nicholas as he looked in dismay around! Pale and -haggard faces, lank and bony figures, children with the countenances of -old men, boys of stunted growth, and others whose long, meagre legs -would hardly bear their stooping bodies, all crowded on the view -together. - -[Illustration: NICHOLAS AND SMIKE.] - -And yet this scene, painful as it was, had its grotesque features. Mrs. -Squeers stood at one of the desks, presiding over an immense basin of -brimstone and treacle, of which delicious compound she administered a -large instalment to each boy in succession, using for the purpose a -common wooden spoon, which might have been originally manufactured for -some gigantic top, and which widened every young gentleman's mouth -considerably; they being all obliged, under heavy penalties, to take in -the whole of the bowl at a gulp. - -"Now," said Squeers, giving the desk a great rap with his cane which -made half the little boys nearly jump out of their boots, "is that -physicking over?" - -"Just over," said Mrs. Squeers, choking the last boy in her hurry, and -tapping the crown of his head with the wooden spoon to restore him. -"Here, you Smike; take away now. Look sharp!" - -Smike shuffled out with the basin, and Mrs. Squeers having called up a -little boy with a curly head and wiped her hands upon it, hurried out -after him into a species of wash-house, where there was a small fire and -a large kettle, together with a number of little wooden bowls which were -arranged upon a board. Into these bowls Mrs. Squeers, assisted by the -hungry servant, poured a brown composition, which looked like diluted -pincushions without the covers, and was called porridge. A minute wedge -of brown bread was inserted in each bowl, and when they had eaten their -porridge by means of the bread, the boys ate the bread itself, and had -finished their breakfast; whereupon Mr. Squeers said, in a solemn voice, -"For what we have received, may the Lord make us truly thankful!"--and -went away to his own. - -Nicholas filled his stomach with a bowl of porridge, for much the same -reason which induces some savages to swallow earth--lest they should be -hungry when there is nothing to eat. Having disposed of a slice of -bread and butter, allotted to him in virtue of his office, he sat -himself down to wait for school-time. - -He could not but observe how silent and sad the boys all seemed to be. -There was none of the noise and clamor of a schoolroom; none of its -boisterous play or hearty mirth. The children sat crouching and -shivering together, and seemed to lack the spirit to move about. The -only pupil who seemed at all playful was Master Squeers, son of the -master, and as his chief amusement was to tread upon the other boys' -toes in his new boots, his flow of spirits was rather disagreeable than -otherwise. - -After some half-hour's delay Mr. Squeers reappeared, and the boys took -their places and their books, of which latter there might be about one -to eight learners. A few minutes having elapsed, during which Mr. -Squeers looked very profound, as if he had a perfect apprehension of -what was inside all the books, and could say every word of their -contents by heart if he only chose to take the trouble, that gentleman -called up the first class. - -Obedient to this summons there ranged themselves in front of the -schoolmaster's desk half-a-dozen scarecrows, out at knees and elbows, -one of whom placed a torn and filthy book beneath his learned eye. - -"This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy, Nickleby," -said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. "We'll get up a -Latin one, and hand that over to you. Now, then, where's the first boy?" - -"Please, sir, he's cleaning the back parlor window," said the temporary -head of the class. - -"So he is, to be sure," rejoined Squeers. "We go upon the practical mode -of teaching, Nickleby; the regular education system. C-l-e-a-n, clean, -verb active, to make bright, to scour. When the boy knows this out of -book, he goes and does it. Second boy, what's a horse?" - -"A beast, sir," replied the boy. - -"So it is," said Squeers, "and as you're perfect in that, go and look -after _my_ horse, and rub him down well, or I'll rub you down. The rest -of the class go and draw water till somebody tells you to leave off, for -it's washing-day to-morrow, and they want the coppers filled." - -So saying, he dismissed the first class to their experiments in -practical philosophy, and eyed Nicholas with a look, half cunning and -half doubtful, as if he were not altogether certain what he might think -of him by this time. - -"That's the way we do it, Nickleby," he said, after a pause. - -Nicholas shrugged his shoulders in a manner that was scarcely -perceptible, and said he saw it was. - -"And a very good way it is, too," said Squeers. "Now, just take them -fourteen little boys and hear them some reading, because, you know, you -must begin to be useful. Idling about here won't do." - -Mr. Squeers said this, as if it had suddenly occurred to him, either -that he must not say too much to his assistant, or that his assistant -did not say enough to him in praise of the establishment. The children -were arranged in a semicircle round the new master, and he was soon -listening to their dull, drawling recital of those stories of interest -which are to be found in the spelling books. - -In this exciting occupation the morning lagged heavily on. At one -o'clock the boys, having previously had their appetites thoroughly taken -away by stir-about and potatoes, sat down in the kitchen to some hard -salt beef, of which Nicholas was graciously permitted to take his -portion to his own solitary desk, to eat it there in peace. After this, -there was another hour of crouching in the schoolroom and shivering with -cold; and this was a fair sample of the school day at Dotheboys Hall. - -There was a small stove in the corner of the room, and by it Nicholas -sat down, when the school was dismissed, so heavy-hearted that it seemed -to him as though every bit of joy had gone out of the world. The -cruelty and coarseness of Squeers were revolting, and yet Nicholas did -not know how to resent it or which way to turn. He had cast his lot -here, and here he must abide. - -As he was absorbed in these meditations, he all at once encountered the -upturned face of Smike, who was on his knees before the stove, picking a -few stray cinders from the hearth and planting them on the fire. He had -paused to steal a look at Nicholas, and when he saw that he was -observed, shrank back, as if expecting a blow. - -"You need not fear me," said Nicholas, kindly. "Are you cold?" - -"N-n-o." - -"You are shivering." - -"I am not cold," replied Smike, quickly. "I am used to it." - -There was such an obvious fear of giving offence in his manner, and he -was such a timid, broken-spirited creature, that Nicholas could not help -exclaiming, "Poor fellow!" - -If he had struck the drudge, he would have slunk away without a word. -But now he burst into tears. - -"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" he cried, covering his face with his cracked and -horny hands. "My heart will break. It will, it will!" - -"Hush!" said Nicholas, laying his hand upon his shoulder. "Be a man; -you are nearly one by years, God help you." - -"By years!" cried Smike. "Oh, dear, dear, how many of them! How many -of them since I was a little child, younger than any that are here now! -Where are they all?" - -"Whom do you speak of?" inquired Nicholas, wishing to rouse the poor, -half-witted creature to reason. "Tell me." - -"My friends," he replied, "myself--my--oh! what sufferings mine have -been!" - -"There is always hope," said Nicholas; he knew not what to say. - -"No," rejoined the other, "no; none for me. Do you remember the boy -that died here?" - -"I was not here, you know," said Nicholas, gently; "but what of him?" - -"Why," replied the youth, drawing closer to his questioner's side, "I -was with him at night, and when it was all silent he cried no more for -friends he wished to come and sit with him, but began to see faces round -his bed that came from home; he said they smiled, and talked to him; and -he died at last lifting his head to kiss them. Do you hear?" - -"Yes, yes," rejoined Nicholas. - -"What faces will smile on me when I die!" cried his companion, -shivering. "Who will talk to me in those long nights! They cannot come -from home; they would frighten me, if they did, for I don't know what it -is, and shouldn't know them. Pain and fear, pain and fear for me, alive -or dead. No hope, no hope!" - -The bell rang to bed, and the boy, subsiding at the sound into his usual -listless state, crept away as if anxious to avoid notice. It was with a -heavy heart that Nicholas soon afterwards--no, not retired; there was no -retirement there--followed to his dirty and crowded dormitory. - - - - - *II. HOW SMIKE WENT AWAY FROM DOTHEBOYS HALL* - - -Nicholas was of a naturally optimistic temper, however, and he lost as -little time as possible brooding over his difficulties. Instead he -began at once to try to make the school something more than a farce. He -arranged a few regular lessons for the boys, and he treated the poor, -half-starved pupils with such gentleness and sympathy that they passed -from dumb amazement at the first to blind devotion. Indeed, there was -not one of them who would not have lain down cheerfully and let him walk -over his body; and the most devoted of them all was Smike. - -Nicholas was the one ray of sunlight that had ever come into this -wretched creature's life. And in return, Smike now followed him to and -fro, with an ever restless desire to serve or help him; anticipating -such little wants as his humble ability could supply, and content only -to be near him. He would sit beside him for hours, looking patiently -into his face; and a word would brighten up his careworn visage, and -call into it a passing gleam, even of happiness. He was an altered -being; he had an object now; and that object was, to show his attachment -to the only person--that person a stranger--who had treated him, not to -say with kindness, but like a human creature. - -Needless to say, Squeers speedily took a dislike to Nicholas. He knew -of the scarcely concealed disdain with which his assistant regarded his -methods. Squeers was jealous, also, of the influence which Nicholas had -so soon acquired with the boys. Smike's slavish affection was speedily -discovered, and the crafty master was mean enough to strike at Nicholas -through him. - -Upon this poor being all the spleen and ill-humor that could not be -vented on Nicholas were unceasingly bestowed. Drudgery would have been -nothing--Smike was well used to that. Buffetings inflicted without -cause would have been equally a matter of course; for to them also he -had served a long and weary apprenticeship; but it was no sooner -observed that he had become attached to Nicholas, than stripes and -blows, stripes and blows, morning, noon, and night, were his only -portion. Nicholas saw it, and ground his teeth at every repetition of -the savage and cowardly attack. But at present he saw no way to aid the -boy, for a protest would mean his own dismissal, and the lot of Smike -and the others would become that much harder. - -One day, after especially harsh treatment, the boy sat huddled in a dark -corner by himself, sobbing as though his heart would break. The room was -dark and deserted, when Nicholas entered, but he heard the sound of -weeping and went over and laid his hand on the drudge's head. - -"Do not, for God's sake!" said Nicholas, in an agitated voice; "I cannot -bear to see you." - -"They are more hard with me than ever," sobbed the boy. - -"I know it," rejoined Nicholas. "They are." - -"But for you," said the outcast, "I should die. They would kill me, -they would; I know they would." - -"You will do better, poor fellow," replied Nicholas, shaking his head -mournfully, "when I am gone." - -"Gone!" cried the other, looking intently in his face. - -"Softly!" rejoined Nicholas. "Yes." - -"Are you going?" demanded the boy, in an earnest whisper. - -"I cannot say," replied Nicholas. "I was speaking more to my own -thoughts than to you." - -"Tell me," said the boy, imploringly, "oh, do tell me, _will_ you -go--_will_ you?" - -"I shall be driven to that at last!" said Nicholas. "The world is -before me, after all." - -"Tell me," urged Smike, "is the world as bad and dismal as this place?" - -"Heaven forbid," replied Nicholas, pursuing the train of his own -thoughts; "its hardest, coarsest toil were happiness to this." - -"Should I ever meet you there?" demanded the boy, speaking with unusual -wildness. - -"Yes," replied Nicholas, willing to soothe him. - -"No, no!" said the other, clasping him by the hand. "Should I--should -I--tell me that again! Say I should be sure to find you!" - -"You would," replied Nicholas, with the same humane intention, "and I -would help and aid you, and not bring fresh sorrow on you as I have done -here." - -The boy caught both the young man's hands passionately in his, and -hugging them to his breast, uttered a few broken sounds which were -unintelligible. Squeers entered, at the moment, and he shrank back into -his old corner. - -The next morning--a cold, gray day in January--Nicholas was awakened by -hearing the voice of Squeers roughly demanding, "Where's that Smike?" - -Nicholas looked over in the corner where the boy usually slept, but it -was vacant; so he made no answer. - -"Smike!" shouted Squeers. - -"Do you want your head broke in a fresh place, Smike?" demanded his -amiable lady, in the same key. - -Still there was no reply, and still Nicholas stared about him, as did -the greater part of the boys, who were by this time roused. - -"Confound his impudence!" muttered Squeers, rapping the stair-rail -impatiently with his cane. "Nickleby!" - -"Well, sir." - -"Send that obstinate scoundrel down; don't you hear me calling?" - -"He is not here, sir," replied Nicholas. - -"Don't tell me a lie," retorted the schoolmaster. "He is." - -"He is not," retorted Nicholas, angrily. "Don't tell me one." - -"We shall soon see that," said Mr. Squeers, rushing upstairs. "I'll -find him, I warrant you." - -With which assurance Mr. Squeers bounced into the dormitory, and, -swinging his cane in the air ready for a blow, darted into the corner. -The cane descended harmlessly upon the ground. There was nobody there. - -"What does this mean?" said Squeers, turning round. "Where have you hid -him?" - -"I have seen nothing of him since last night," replied Nicholas. - -"Come," blustered Squeers, "you won't save him this way. Where is he?" - -"At the bottom of the nearest pond, for aught I know," rejoined -Nicholas, in a low voice, and fixing his eyes full on the master's face. - -"Confound you, what do you mean by that?" retorted Squeers. Without -waiting for a reply, he inquired of the boys whether any one among them -knew anything of their missing schoolmate. - -There was a general hum of anxious denial, in the midst of which one -shrill voice was heard to say (as, indeed, everybody thought): - -"Please, sir, I think Smike's run away, sir." - -"Ha!" cried Squeers, turning sharp round. "Who said that?" - -And, pouncing suddenly, he seized a small urchin, who was rewarded for -his suggestion so soundly that he howled with pain. - -"There," said Squeers. "Now, if any other boy thinks Smike has run -away, I shall be glad to have a talk with him." - -There was, of course, a profound silence, during which Nicholas showed -his disgust as plainly as looks could show it. - -"Well, Nickleby," said Squeers, eyeing him maliciously. "_You_ think he -has run away, I suppose?" - -"I think it extremely likely," replied Nicholas, in a quiet manner. - -"Oh, you do, do you?" sneered Squeers. "Maybe you know he has?" - -"I know nothing of the kind." - -"He didn't tell you he was going, I suppose, did he?" continued Squeers. - -"He did not," replied Nicholas; "I am very glad he did not, for it would -then have been my duty to have warned you in time." - -"Which no doubt you would have been devilish sorry to do," said Squeers, -in a taunting fashion. - -"I should indeed," replied Nicholas. - -Meanwhile Mrs. Squeers, who had been hunting elsewhere for the boy, -bustled in with great excitement. - -"He is off!" said she. "The cow-house and stable are locked up, so he -can't be there; and he's not downstairs anywhere, for the girl has -looked. He must have gone York way, and by a public road too." - -"Why must he?" inquired Squeers. - -"Stupid!" said Mrs. Squeers, angrily. "He hadn't any money, had he?" - -"Never had a penny of his own in his whole life, that I know of," -replied Squeers. - -"To be sure," rejoined Mrs. Squeers, "and he didn't take anything to eat -with him; that I'll answer for. So, of course, he must beg his way, and -he could do that nowhere but on the public road." - -"That's true," exclaimed Squeers, clapping his hands. - -"True! Yes; but you would never have thought of it, for all that, if I -hadn't said so," replied his wife. "Now, if you take the chaise and go -one road, and I borrow Swallow's chaise and go the other, what with -keeping our eyes open and asking questions, one or other of us is pretty -certain to lay hold of him." - -The worthy lady's plan was put into action without delay; while Nicholas -remained behind in a tumult of anxiety. He realized the bitter -consequences of Smike's rash act. The boy was liable to freeze or -starve to death on the roadside--which could not, perhaps, be much worse -than to fall again into the clutches of Mr. and Mrs. Squeers. - -All that day there was no tidings of the runaway. But at daybreak the -second morning the sound of wheels was heard. Nicholas hardly dared to -look out of the window; but he did so, and the very first object that -met his eyes was the wretched Smike: so bedabbled with mud and rain, so -haggard and worn and wild, that, but for his garments being such as no -scarecrow was ever seen to wear, he might have been doubtful, even then, -of his identity. - -"Lift him out," said Squeers, after he had literally feasted his eyes, -in silence, upon the culprit. "Bring him in; bring him in!" - -Smike, to all appearance more dead than alive, was brought into the -house and securely locked up in a cellar until such time as Mr. Squeers -should deem it expedient to operate upon him in presence of the -assembled school. - -After a hasty breakfast of very thin porridge, the boys were summoned to -the schoolroom by resounding whacks on the desk from an ugly-looking -whip in the hands of the master. - -"Is every boy here?" asked Squeers, in a tremendous voice. - -Every boy was there, but every boy was afraid to speak; so Squeers -glared along the lines to assure himself; and every eye drooped, and -every head cowered down, as he did so. - -"Each boy keep his place," said Squeers, administering his favorite blow -to the desk, and regarding with gloomy satisfaction the universal start -which it never failed to occasion. "Nickleby! to your desk, sir!" - -It was remarked by more than one small observer that there was a very -curious and unusual expression in the usher's face; but he took his seat -without opening his lips in reply. Squeers, casting a triumphant glance -at his assistant and a scowl on the boys, left the room, and shortly -afterwards returned, dragging Smike by the collar. - -In any other place the appearance of the wretched, jaded, spiritless -object would have occasioned a murmur of compassion and remonstrance. -It had some effect, even there; for the lookers-on moved uneasily in -their seats, and a few of the boldest ventured to steal looks at each -other, expressive of indignation and pity. - -They were lost on Squeers, however, whose gaze was fastened on the -luckless Smike, as he inquired, according to custom in such cases, -whether he had anything to say for himself. - -"Nothing, I suppose?" said Squeers, with a diabolical grin. - -Smike glanced round, and his eye rested, for an instant, on Nicholas, as -if he had expected him to intercede; but his look was riveted on his -desk. - -"Have you anything to say?" demanded Squeers again, giving his right arm -two or three flourishes to try its power and suppleness. "Stand a little -out of the way, Mrs. Squeers, my dear; I've hardly got room enough." - -"Spare me, sir!" cried Smike. - -"Oh! that's all, is it?" said Squeers. "Yes, I'll flog you within an -inch of your life, and spare you that." - -"Ha, ha, ha," laughed Mrs. Squeers, "that's a good 'un!" - -"I was driven to do it," said Smike, faintly, and casting another -imploring look about him. - -"Driven to do it, were you?" said Squeers. "Oh! it wasn't your fault; it -was mine, I suppose--eh?" - -Then he caught the boy firmly in his grip. One desperate cut had fallen -on his body--he was wincing from the lash and uttering a scream of -pain--it was raised again, and again about to fall--when Nicholas -Nickleby, suddenly starting up, cried "_Stop!_" in a voice that made the -rafters ring. - -"Who cried stop?" said Squeers, turning savagely round. - -"I," said Nicholas, stepping forward. "This must not go on." - -"Must not go on!" cried Squeers, almost in a shriek. - -"_No!_" thundered Nicholas. - -Aghast at the boldness of this interference, Squeers released his hold -of Smike, and, falling back a pace or two, gazed upon Nicholas with -looks that were positively frightful. - -"I say _must not_!" repeated Nicholas, nothing daunted; "_shall not_! I -will prevent it!" - -Squeers continued to gaze upon him, with his eyes starting out of his -head; but astonishment had actually, for the moment, bereft him of -speech. - -"You have disregarded all my quiet interference in the miserable lad's -behalf," said Nicholas; "you have returned no answer to the letter in -which I begged forgiveness for him, and offered to be responsible that -he would remain quietly here. Don't blame me for this public -interference. You have brought it upon yourself; not I." - -"Sit down, beggar!" screamed Squeers, almost beside himself with rage, -and seizing Smike as he spoke. - -"Wretch," rejoined Nicholas, fiercely, "touch him at your peril! I will -not stand by, and see it done. My blood is up, and I have the strength -of ten such men as you. Look to yourself, for by Heaven I will not spare -you, if you drive me on!" - -"Stand back," cried Squeers, brandishing his weapon. - -"I have a long series of insults to avenge," said Nicholas, flushed with -passion; "and my indignation is aggravated by the cruelties of this foul -den. Have a care; for if you rouse me farther, the consequences shall -fall heavily upon your own head!" - -He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath, -struck him a blow across the face which raised up a bar of livid flesh -as it was inflicted. Smarting with the agony of the blow, and -concentrating into that one moment all its feelings of rage and scorn, -Nicholas sprang upon him, wrested the weapon from his hand, and pinning -him by the throat, beat the ruffian till he roared for mercy. - -Then Nicholas left the astounded boys and the crestfallen master, and -stalked out of the room. He looked anxiously around for Smike, as he -closed the door, but he was nowhere to be seen. - -There was nothing left for him to do. He must face the world again; but -_anything_--he told himself--would be better than this. So he packed up -a few clothes in a small valise, and, finding that nobody offered to -oppose him, he marched boldly out by the front door and struck into the -road which led to Greta Bridge. - -He did not travel far that day, as there had been a heavy fall of snow -which made the way toilsome and hard to find. He lay, that night, at a -cottage, where beds were let at a cheap rate to the more humble class of -travellers; and, rising betimes next morning, made his way before night -to Boroughbridge. Passing through that town in search of some cheap -resting-place, he stumbled upon an empty barn within a couple of hundred -yards of the roadside; in a warm corner of which he stretched his weary -limbs, and soon fell asleep. - -When he awoke next morning, and tried to recollect his dreams, which had -been all connected with his recent sojourn at Dotheboys Hall, he sat up, -rubbed his eyes, and stared--not with the most composed countenance -possible--at some motionless object which seemed to be stationed within -a few yards in front of him. - -"Strange!" cried Nicholas; "can this be some lingering creation of the -visions that have scarcely left me! It cannot be real--and yet I---I am -awake! Smike!" - -The form moved, rose, advanced, and dropped upon its knees at his feet. -It was Smike indeed. - -"Why do you kneel to me?" said Nicholas, hastily raising him. - -"To go with you--anywhere--everywhere--to the world's end!" replied -Smike, clinging to his hand. "Let me, oh, do let me! You are my -home--my kind friend--take me with you, pray!" - -"I am a friend who can do little for you," said Nicholas, kindly. "How -came you here?" - -He had followed him, it seemed; had never lost sight of him all the way; -had watched while he slept, and when he halted for refreshment; and had -feared to appear before, lest he should be sent back. He had not -intended to appear now, but Nicholas had awakened more suddenly than he -looked for, and he had had no time to conceal himself. - -"Poor fellow!" said Nicholas, "your hard fate denies you any friend but -one, and he is nearly as poor and helpless as yourself." - -"May I--may I go with you?" asked Smike, timidly. "I will be your -faithful, hard-working servant, I will, indeed. I want no clothes," -added the poor creature, drawing his rags together; "these will do very -well. I only want to be near you." - -"And you shall," cried Nicholas. "And the world shall deal by you as it -does by me, till one or both of us shall quit it for a better. Come!" - -With these words he strapped his valise on his shoulders, and, taking -his stick in one hand, extended the other to the delighted boy; and so -they passed out of the old barn together. - -And in the days to come--through thick and thin--Smike and Nicholas -fought their battles together--and _won_! - - - - - *THE STORY OF LITTLE NELL* - - - - *I. IN THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP* - - -It was a queer home for a child--this place where Little Nell lived with -her grandfather. He was a dealer in all sorts of curious old things: -suits of mail which stood like ghosts in armor here and there; fantastic -carved tables and chairs; rusty weapons of various kinds; distorted -figures in china and wood and iron. And, amid it all, the oldest thing -in the shop seemed to be the little old man with the long gray hair. - -The only bit of youth was Nell herself; and yet she had a strange -intermingling of dignity and responsibility, in spite of her small -figure and childish ways. Her fourteen years of life had left her -undecided between childhood and girlhood. She had not begun to grow up; -and yet she was an orphan, accustomed to doing everything for herself. - -Her grandfather tried in his way to take care of her, for he loved her -dearly. But between the tending of his shop and the mysterious journeys -which he made night after night, the child was often sent upon strange -errands or left alone in the old house. And at all times it was she who -took care of him. But the old man did not see that this lonely life was -putting lines of sorrow into her face. To him she was still the child -of yesterday, care-free and happy. - -She had been happy once. She had gone singing through the dim rooms, -and moving with gay step among their dusty treasures, making them older -by her young life, and sterner and more grim by her cheerful presence. -But now the chambers were cold and gloomy, and when she left her own -little room to while away the tedious hours, and sat in one of them, she -was still and motionless as their inanimate occupants, and had no heart -to startle the echoes--hoarse from their long silence--with her voice. - -In one of these rooms was a window looking into the street, where the -child sat, many and many a long evening, and often far into the night, -alone and thoughtful. None are so anxious as those who watch and wait; -and at these times mournful fancies came flocking on her mind in crowds. - -She knew instinctively that her grandfather was hiding something from -her. What it was she could not guess; but these regular journeys at -night, while she watched and waited, left him only the more fretful and -careworn. He seemed to have a constant fever for something; yet all he -would say was that he would some day leave her a fortune. Meanwhile he -had fallen into the clutches of Quilp a terrible dwarf, who had lent him -money from time to time, until the entire contents of the shop were -mortgaged. So it is not strange that Little Nell should have mournful -thoughts. - -When the night had worn away, the child would close the window and even -smile, with the first dawn of light, at her night-time fears. Then after -praying earnestly for her grandfather and the restoring of their former -happy days, she would unlatch the door for him and fall into a troubled -sleep. - -One night the old man said that he would not leave home. The child's -face lit up at the news, but became grave again when she saw how worried -he looked. - -"You took my note safely to Mr. Quilp, you say?" he asked fretfully. -"What did he tell you, Nell?" - -"Exactly what I told you, dear grandfather, indeed." - -"True," said the old man, faintly. "Yes. But tell me again, Nell. My -head fails me. What was it that he told you? Nothing more than that he -would see me to-morrow or next day? That was in the note." - -"Nothing more," said the child. "Shall I go to him again to-morrow, -dear grandfather? Very early? I will be there and back before -breakfast." - -The old man shook his head and, sighing mournfully, drew her towards -him. - -"'T would be no use, my dear, no earthly use. But if he deserts me, -Nell, at this moment--if he deserts me now, when I should, with his -assistance, be recompensed for all the time and money I have lost and -all the agony of mind I have undergone, which makes me what you see, I -am ruined and worse,--far worse than that--I have ruined you, for whom I -ventured all. If we are beggars--!" - -"What if we are?" said the child, boldly. "Let us be beggars and be -happy." - -"Beggars--and happy!" said the old man. "Poor child!" - -"Dear grandfather," cried the girl with an energy which shone in her -flushed face, trembling voice, and impassioned gesture, "I am not a -child in that I think, but even if I am, oh, hear me pray that we may -beg, or work in open roads or fields, to earn a scanty living, rather -than live as we do now." - -"Nelly!" said the old man. - -"Yes, yes, rather than live as we do now," the child repeated more -earnestly than before. "If you are sorrowful, let me know why and be -sorrowful too; if you waste away and are paler and weaker every day, let -me be your nurse and try to comfort you. If you are poor, let us be -poor together; but let me be with you, do let me be with you; do not let -me see such change and not know why, or I shall break my heart." - -The child's voice was lost in sobs, as she clasped her arms about the -old man's neck; nor did she weep alone. - -These were not words for other ears, nor was it a scene for other eyes. -And yet other ears and eyes were there and greedily taking in all that -passed, and moreover they were the ears and eyes of no less a person -than Mr. Daniel Quilp, who, having entered unseen when the child first -placed herself at the old man's side, stood looking on with his -accustomed grin. Standing, however, being tiresome, and the dwarf being -one of that kind of persons who usually make themselves at home, he soon -cast his eyes upon a chair, into which he skipped with uncommon agility, -and perching himself on the back with his feet upon the seat, was thus -enabled to look on and listen with greater comfort to himself, besides -gratifying at the same time that taste for doing something fantastic and -monkey-like, which on all occasions had strong possession of him. Here, -then, he sat, one leg cocked carelessly over the other, his chin resting -on the palm of his hand, his head turned a little on one side, and his -ugly features twisted into a complacent grimace. And in this position -the old man, happening in course of time to look that way, chanced to -see him. - -The child uttered a suppressed shriek on beholding this figure; in their -first surprise both she and the old man, not knowing what to say, and -half doubting its reality, looked shrinkingly at it. Not at all -disconcerted by this reception, Daniel Quilp preserved the same -attitude, merely nodding twice or thrice with great condescension. At -length, the old man pronounced his name and inquired how he came there. - -"Through the door," said Quilp, pointing over his shoulder with his -thumb. "I'm not quite small enough to get through keyholes. I wish I -was. I want to have some talk with you, particularly, and in -private--with nobody present, neighbor. Good-bye, little Nelly." - -Nell looked at the old man, who nodded to her to retire, and kissed her -cheek. - -The dwarf said never a word, but watched his companion as he paced -restlessly up and down the room, and presently returned to his seat. -Here he remained, with his head bowed upon his breast for some time, and -then suddenly raising it, said, - -"Once, and once for all, have you brought me any money?" - -"No!" returned Quilp. - -"Then," said the old man, clenching his hands desperately and looking -upward, "the child and I are lost!" - -"Neighbor," said Quilp, glancing sternly at him, and beating his hand -twice or thrice upon the table to attract his wandering attention, "let -me be plain with you, and play a fairer game than when you held all the -cards, and I saw but the backs and nothing more. You have no secret -from me, now." - -The old man looked up, trembling. - -"You are surprised," said Quilp. "Well, perhaps that's natural. You -have no secret from me now, I say; no, not one. For now I know that all -those sums of money, that all those loans, advances, and supplies that -you have had from me, have found their way to--shall I say the word?" - -"Aye!" replied the old man, "say it if you will." - -"To the gaming-table," rejoined Quilp, "your nightly haunt. This was -the precious scheme to make your fortune, was it; this was the secret -certain source of wealth in which I was to have sunk my money (if I had -been the fool you took me for); this was your inexhaustible mine of -gold, your El Dorado, eh?" - -"Yes," cried the old man, turning upon him with gleaming eyes, "it was. -It is. It will be, till I die." - -"That I should have been blinded," said Quilp, looking contemptuously at -him, "by a mere shallow gambler!" - -"I am no gambler," cried the old man, fiercely. "I call Heaven to -witness that I never played for gain of mine, or love of play. It was -all for _her_--for my little Nelly! I had sworn to leave her rich!" - -"When did you first begin this mad career?" asked Quilp, his taunting -inclination subdued, for a moment, by the old man's grief and wildness. - -"When did I first begin?" he rejoined, passing his hand across his brow. -"When was it, that I first began? When should it be, but when I began -to think how little I had saved, how long a time it took to save at all, -how short a time I might have, at my age, to live, and how she would be -left to the rough mercies of the world with barely enough to keep her -from the sorrows that wait on poverty; then it was that I began to think -about it." - -"Humph! the old story," said the dwarf. "You lost what money you had -laid by, first, and then came to me. While I thought you were making -your fortune (as you said you were) you were making yourself a beggar, -eh? Dear me! And so it comes to pass that I hold every security you -could scrape together, and a bill of sale upon the--upon the stock and -property. But did you never win?" - -"Never!" groaned the old man. "Never won back my loss!" - -"I thought," sneered the dwarf, "that if a man played long enough he was -sure to win at last, or, at the worst, not to come off a loser." - -"And so he is!" cried the old man, "so he is; I have felt that from the -first, I have always known it, I've seen it, I never felt it half so -strongly as I feel it now. Quilp, I have dreamed, three nights, of -winning the same large sum. I never could dream that dream before, -though I have often tried. Do not desert me, now I have this chance! I -have no resource but you,--give me some help, let me try this one last -hope." - -The dwarf shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. - -"Nay, Quilp, _good_ Quilp!" gasped the old man, extending his hands in -entreaty; "let me try just this once more. I tell you it is not for -me--it is for _her_! Oh, I cannot die and leave her in poverty!" - -"I couldn't do it, really," said Quilp, with unusual politeness. And -grinning and making a low bow he passed out of the door. - -The dwarf was, for once, as good as his word. He not only refused to -lend any more money, but he at once began to make plans for closing the -shop. The old man was so broken-hearted that he fell ill of a raging -fever, and for days was delirious. Little Nell, his only nurse, -gradually learned the truth about her grandfather's evening pursuit--the -gaming-table--and it added all the more to her sorrow. - -At last when he was well enough to go about again, the impatient dwarf -would not be put off any longer in regard to the sale. An early day was -fixed for it, and the old dealer no longer offered any objections. -Instead, he sat quietly, dully in his chair, looking at a tiny patch of -green through his window. - -To one who had been tossing on a restless bed so long, even these few -green leaves and this tranquil light, although it languished among -chimneys and house-tops, were pleasant things. They suggested quiet -places afar off, and rest and peace. - -The child thought, more than once, that he was moved and had forborne to -speak. But now he shed tears--tears that it lightened her aching heart -to see--and making as though he would fall upon his knees, he besought -her to forgive him. - -"Forgive you--what?" said Nell, interposing to prevent his purpose. -"Oh, grandfather, what should _I_ forgive?" - -"All that is past, all that has come upon you, Nell," returned the old -man. - -"Do not talk so," said the child. "Pray do not. Let us speak of -something else." - -"Yes, yes, we will," he rejoined. "And it shall be of what we talked of -long ago--many months--months is it, or weeks, or days? which is it, -Nell?" - -"I do not understand you," said the child. - -"You said, let us be beggars and happy in the open fields," he answered. -"Oh, let us go away--anywhere!" - -"Yes, let us go," said Nell, earnestly; "there will we find happiness -and peace." - -And so it was arranged. On the night before the public auction they -were to steal forth quietly, out into the wide world. - -The old man had slept for some hours soundly in his bed, while she was -busily engaged in preparing for their flight. There were a few articles -of clothing for herself to carry, and a few for him; old garments, such -as became their fallen fortunes, laid out to wear; and a staff to -support his feeble steps, put ready for his use. But this was not all -her task, for now she must visit the old rooms for the last time. - -And how different the parting with them was from any she had expected, -and most of all from that which she had oftenest pictured to herself! -How could she ever have thought of bidding them farewell in triumph, -lonely and sad though her days had been! She sat down at the window -where she had spent so many evenings---darker far, than this--and every -thought of hope or cheerfulness that had occurred to her in that place -came vividly upon her mind, and blotted out all its dull and mournful -associations in an instant. - -Her own little room, too, where she had so often knelt down and prayed -at night--prayed for the time which she hoped was dawning now--the -little room where she had slept so peacefully, and dreamed such pleasant -dreams--it was hard to leave it without one kind look or grateful tear. - -But at last she was ready to go, and her grandfather was awakened. Just -as the first rays of dawn were seen they stole forth noiselessly, hand -in hand. They dared not awaken Quilp, who was sleeping that night in -the shop to guard his prospective wealth. Out in the middle of the -street they paused. - -"Which way?" said the child. - -The old man looked irresolutely and helplessly, first at her, then to -the right and left, then at her again, and shook his head. It was plain -that she was thenceforth his guide and leader. The child felt it, but -had no doubts or misgiving, and putting her hand in his led him gently -away. - - - - - *II. OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD* - - -It was a bright morning in June when Nell and her grandfather set forth -upon their travels. Out of the city they walked briskly, for the desire -to leave their old life--to elude pursuit--lay strong upon them. Nell -had provided a simple lunch for that day's needs; and at night they -stopped foot-sore and weary at a hospitable farmhouse. - -Late in the next day they chanced to pass a country church. Among the -tombstones, at one side, they saw two men who were seated upon the -grass, so busily at work as not to notice the newcomers. - -It was not difficult to guess that they were of a class of travelling -showmen who went from town to town showing Punch and his antics, for -perched upon a tombstone was a figure of that hero himself, his nose and -chin as hooked and his face as beaming as usual. - -Scattered upon the ground were the other members of the play, in various -stages of repair; while the two showmen were engaged with glue, hammer, -and tacks, in putting their proper parts more strongly together. - -The showmen raised their eyes when the old man and his young companion -were close upon them, and pausing in their work, returned their looks of -curiosity. One of them, the actual exhibitor, no doubt, was a little -merry-faced man with a twinkling eye and a red nose, who seemed to have -unconsciously imbibed something of his hero's character. The -other--that was he who took the money--had rather a careful and cautious -look, which was perhaps inseparable from his occupation also. - -The merry man was the first to greet the strangers with a nod; and -following the old man's eyes, he observed that perhaps that was the -first time he had ever seen a Punch off the stage. - -"Why do you come here to do this?" asked the old man, after answering -their greeting. - -"Why, you see," rejoined the little man, "we're putting up for to-night -at the public-house yonder, and it wouldn't do to let 'em see the -present company undergoing repair." - -"No!" cried the old man, making signs to Nell to listen, "why not, eh? -why not?" - -"Because it would destroy all the delusion, and take away all the -interest, wouldn't it?" replied the little man. "Would you care a -ha'penny for the Lord Chancellor if you know'd him in private and -without his wig?--certainly not." - -"Good!" said the old man, venturing to touch one of the puppets, and -drawing away his hand with a shrill laugh. "Are you going to show 'em -to-night? are you?" - -"That is the intention, governor," replied the other. "Look here," he -continued, turning to his partner, "here's all this Judy's clothes -falling to pieces again. Much good you do at sewing things!" - -Seeing that they were at a loss, the child said timidly: - -"I have a needle, sir, in my basket, and thread too. Will you let me -try to mend it for you? I think I can do it neater than you could." - -The showman had nothing to urge against a proposal so seasonable. -Nelly, kneeling down beside the box, was soon busily engaged in her -task, and accomplishing it to a miracle. - -While she was thus engaged, the merry little man looked at her with an -interest which did not appear to be diminished when he glanced at her -helpless companion. When she had finished her work he thanked her, and -inquired whither they were travelling. - -"N--no farther to-night, I think," said the child, looking towards her -grandfather. - -"If you're wanting a place to stop at," the man remarked, "I should -advise you to take up at the same house with us. That's it--the long, -low, white house there. It's very cheap. Come along." - -The tavern was kept by a fat old landlord and landlady who made no -objection to receiving their new guests, but praised Nelly's beauty and -were at once prepossessed in her behalf. There was no other company in -the kitchen but the two showmen, and the child felt very thankful that -they had fallen upon such good quarters. The landlady was very much -astonished to learn that they had come all the way from London, and -appeared to have no little curiosity touching their farther destination. -But Nell could give her no very clear replies. - -That evening the wayfarers enjoyed the Punch show, though poor Nell was -so tired that she went to sleep early in the performance. - -The next morning she met the showmen at breakfast. - -"And where are you going to-day?" asked the little man with the red -nose. - -"Indeed, I hardly know. We have not decided," replied the child. - -"We're going to the races," said the little man. "If that's your way -and you'd like to have us for company, let us travel together." - -"We'll go with you, and gladly," interposed Nell's grandfather, eagerly; -for he had been as pleased as a child with the performance of Punch. - -Nell was a trifle alarmed over the prospect of a crowded race-course; -but this seemed their best chance to press forward, so she accepted the -invitation thankfully. - -For several days they travelled together, and despite the wearisome way -the child found much novelty and interest in the wandering life. But -presently she became uneasy in the changed attitude of the two showmen. -From being ordinarily kind, they now seemed to watch Nell and her -grandfather so closely as not to suffer them out of their sight. - -The showmen had, in fact, got it into their heads that the two wayfarers -were not common people, but runaways for whom a reward must even now be -posted in London. And so they resolved to deliver them over to the -proper authorities at the first opportunity and claim the reward. - -Now, although Nell and her grandfather had a perfect right to go where -they pleased, and there was no reward offered, they were at all times -fearful of being pursued by that terrible Quilp. So Nell determined to -flee from these two watchful men at the earliest moment. - -The chance of escape offered during one of the busy days at the -race-course. While the two men were busy showing off Punch to the -delighted crowd, she took her grandfather by the hand and hurriedly -slipped away. - -At first they pressed forward regardless of whither their steps led -them, and from time to time casting fearful glances behind them to see -if they were being pursued. But as they drew farther away they gained -more confidence. Weariness also forced them to slacken their pace. When -they had come into the middle of a little woodland they rested a short -time; then encountered a path which led to the opposite side. Taking -their way along it for a short distance they came to a lane, so shaded -by the trees on either hand that they met together overhead, and arched -the narrow way. A broken finger-post announced that this led to a -village three miles off; and thither they resolved to bend their steps. - -The miles appeared so long that they sometimes thought they must have -missed their road. But at last, to their great joy, it led downward in -a steep descent, with overhanging banks over which the footpaths led; -and the clustered houses of the village peeped from the woody hollow -below. - -It was a very small place. The men and boys were playing at cricket on -the green; and as the other folks were looking on, they wandered up and -down, uncertain where to seek a humble lodging. There was but one man -in the little garden before his cottage, and him they were timid of -approaching, for he was the schoolmaster, and had "School" written up -over his window in black letters on a white board. He was a pale, -simple-looking man, and sat among his flowers and beehives, smoking his -pipe, in the little porch before his door. - -"Speak to him, dear," the old man whispered. - -"I am almost afraid to disturb him," said the child, timidly. "He does -not seem to see us. Perhaps if we wait a little, he may look this way." - -But as nobody else appeared and it would soon be dark, Nell at length -ventured to draw near, leading her grandfather by the hand. The slight -noise they made in raising the latch of the wicket-gate caught his -attention. He looked at them kindly but seemed disappointed too, and -slightly shook his head. - -Nell dropped a courtesy, and told him they were poor travellers who -sought a shelter for the night which they would gladly pay for, so far -as their means allowed. The schoolmaster looked earnestly at her as she -spoke, laid aside his pipe, and rose up directly. - -"If you could direct us anywhere, sir," said the child, "we should take -it very kindly." - -"You have been walking a long way," said the schoolmaster. - -"A long way, sir," the child replied. - -"You're a young traveller, my child," he said, laying his hand gently on -her head. "Your grandchild, friend?" - -"Aye, sir," cried the old man, "and the stay and comfort of my life." - -"Come in," said the schoolmaster. - -[Illustration: NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER.] - -Without farther preface he conducted them into his little school-room, -which was parlor and kitchen likewise, and told them they were welcome -to remain under his roof till morning. Before they had done thanking -him, he spread a coarse white cloth upon the table, with knives and -platters; and bringing out some bread and cold meat, besought them to -eat. - -They did so gladly, and the schoolmaster showed them, soon after, to -some plain but neat sleeping chambers up close under the thatched roof. -Here they slept the sound sleep of the very weary, and awoke refreshed -and light-hearted the following day. - -But the schoolmaster, while kind and courteous, was sad and quiet. He -gave his small school a half-holiday that day, and Nell learned that it -was because of the illness of a favorite pupil--a boy about her own age. - -"If your journey is not a long one," he added to the travellers, "you're -very welcome to pass another night here. I should really be glad if you -would do so, as I am very lonely to-day." - -They accepted and thanked him with grateful hearts. Nell busied herself -tidying up the rooms and trying in many little ways to add to the -master's comfort. And that evening, when his pupil died, Nell's grief -was almost as deep in its sympathy as the master's own. - -She bade him a reluctant farewell the next morning. School had already -begun, but he rose from his desk and walked with them to the gate. - -It was with a trembling and reluctant hand that the child held out to -him the money which a lady had given her at the races for some flowers; -faltering in her thanks as she thought how small the sum was, and -blushing as she offered it. But he bade her put it up, and stooping to -kiss her cheek, turned back into his house. - -They had not gone half-a-dozen paces when he was at the door again; the -old man retraced his steps to shake hands, and the child did the same. - -"Good fortune and happiness go with you!" said the poor schoolmaster. -"I am quite a solitary man now. If you ever pass this way again, you'll -not forget the little village school." - -"We shall never forget it, sir," rejoined Nell; "nor ever forget to be -grateful to you for your kindness to us." - -"I have heard such words from the lips of children very often," said the -schoolmaster, shaking his head and smiling thoughtfully, "but they were -soon forgotten. I had attached one young friend to me, the better -friend for being young--but that's over--God bless you!" - -They bade him farewell very many times and turned away, walking slowly -and often looking back, until they could see him no more. At length -they had left the village far behind, and even lost sight of the smoke -among the trees. They trudged onward now at a quicker pace, resolving -to keep the main road, and go wherever it might lead them. - -But main roads stretch a long, long way. With the exception of two or -three inconsiderable clusters of cottages which they passed without -stopping, and one lonely roadside public-house where they had some bread -and cheese, this highway had led them to nothing--late in the -afternoon--and still lengthened out, far in the distance, the same dull, -tedious, winding course that they had been pursuing all day. As they -had no resource, however, but to go forward, they still kept on, though -at a much slower pace, being very weary and fatigued. - -Finally, just at dusk, they came upon a curious little house upon -wheels--a travelling show somewhat more pretentious than the Punch -performance they had run away from. This little house was mounted upon a -cart, with white dimity curtains at the windows and shutters of green -set in panels of bright red. Altogether it was a smart little -contrivance. Grazing in front of it were two comfortable-looking horses; -while at its open door sat a stout lady--evidently the -proprietor--sipping tea. - -This lady, Mrs. Jarley by name, had seen Nell and her grandfather at the -races, so hailed them and asked about the success of the Punch show. -She was greatly astonished to learn that they had nothing to do with it, -and were wandering about without any object in view. - -Her own performance was more "classic," as she expressed it. It was a -Waxwork exhibition; and as she looked at Nell's attractive face she was -seized with an idea. This bright little girl was just the sort of -assistant she had been needing. So she invited them to stop and have -some tea with her. They did so; and when Mrs. Jarley presently unfolded -her plan--which was to engage Nell to exhibit the wax figures and -describe them in a set speech--Nell was delighted to accept the offer, -especially since it involved no separation from her grandfather, who -could dust the figures and do other light tasks. - -It was really not a very hard position for Nell. At the first town -where the Waxworks were to be shown, Nell was given a private view and -instructed in her new duties. The figures were displayed on a raised -platform some two feet from the floor, running round the room and parted -from the rude public by a crimson rope breast high. They represented -celebrated characters, singly and in groups, clad in glittering dresses -of various climes and times, and standing more or less unsteadily upon -their legs, with their eyes very wide open, and their nostrils very much -inflated, and the muscles of their legs and arms very strongly -developed, and all their countenances expressing great surprise. All -the gentlemen were very pigeon-breasted and very blue about the beards, -and all the ladies were miraculous figures; and all the ladies and all -the gentlemen were looking with extraordinary earnestness at nothing at -all. - -Nell was taught a little speech about each one of them, and so apt was -she that one rehearsal rendered her able to take the willow wand, which -Mrs. Jarley had formerly wielded, and tell the interesting history of -this very select Waxwork show to the audiences which presently began to -come. - -Mrs. Jarley herself was delighted with her venture. She saw at once -that Nell would be a strong drawing card. And in order that the child -might remain contented she made her and her grandfather as comfortable -as possible, besides paying them a fair salary. - -So the wanderers now rode in the van from town to town, and lived almost -happily. Nell carefully saved all their money, and watched over her -feeble grandfather with the tenderness of a little mother. She had one -scare in almost meeting face to face with Quilp, the dwarf, but he had -not recognized her. - -Quilp, indeed, was a perpetual nightmare to the child, who was -constantly haunted by a vision of his ugly face and stunted figure. She -slept, for their better security, in the room where the waxwork figures -were, and she never retired to this place at night but she tortured -herself--she could not help it--with imagining a resemblance, in some -one or other of their death-like faces, to the dwarf, and this fancy -would sometimes so gain upon her that she would almost believe he had -removed the figure and stood within the clothes. - -But presently a deeper and more real concern came to her. Her -grandfather had never alluded to their former life, nor to his passion -for gambling. He did not see the card-tables out in the country; and -that was the reason why she had been so eager to wander, even without a -roof over their heads. But now, as the Waxworks exhibited only in the -towns, temptation came again to the poor, weak old man. He saw some men -playing cards in a tavern, and instantly his slumbering passion was -aroused. He would play again and win a great fortune--for Nell! - -He began to play, and, of course, with the old result. He was but a -tool in the hands of the sharpers, and presently he had exhausted all -the slender hoard which Nell had so carefully made. She watched his -actions with a bursting heart, but was powerless to stop him or keep the -money out of his grasp. At last the villains who had led him on--not -satisfied with their small winnings from him--urged him to get the money -belonging to the Waxwork show, saying that when he won he could pay it -all back. - -Nell had followed her grandfather upon this visit to the gamblers, and -overheard their plot. She knew there was but one thing to do, to save -her grandfather. They must flee out into the world again at once. That -night she roused him from his sleep, and told him they must go away. - -"What does this mean?" he cried. - -"I have had dreadful dreams," said the child. "If we stay here another -night something awful will happen. Come!" - -The old man looked at her as if she were a spirit, and trembled in every -joint. - -"Must we go to-night?" he asked. - -"Yes, to-night," she replied. "To-morrow night will be too late. The -dream will have come again. Nothing but flight can save us. Up!" - -The old man rose obediently and made ready to follow. She had already -packed their scanty belongings. She gave him his wallet and staff, and -secretly, in the night, they fled away. - -The wanderings of the next few days seemed like a nightmare to them. -Nell had brought only a few pennies in her pockets and these went for a -scant supply of bread and cheese. Two days and a night they rode on an -open canal-boat in company with some rough but not unkind men. It was -easier than walking, but the rain descended in torrents and drenched -them to the skin. - -Finally the boat drew up to a wharf in an ugly manufacturing town, and -the travellers were cast adrift as lonely and helpless as though they -had just awakened from a sleep of a thousand years. They had not one -friend, nor the least idea where to turn for shelter. But a rough -stoker at one of the furnaces told them that they might pass the night -in front of his fire. It was nothing but a bed of ashes, yet they were -warm and the heat dried out the poor travellers' drenched garments. - -The child felt stiff and weak in every joint the next morning, but the -furnace-tender told them that it was two days' journey to the open -country and sweet, pure fields, and she felt that they must press -forward at any cost. So they started forth, slowly and wearily, for -their journey and privations had almost exhausted them, but still with -brave hearts. Through long rows of red brick houses that looked exactly -alike they wended their way, asking for bread to eat only when obliged -to, and meeting little else but scowls from the dirty factory workers. - -Finally, to their great joy, the open country began again to appear; and -with fresh courage in their hearts they continued to press on. - -They were dragging themselves along through the last street, and the -child felt that the time was close at hand when her enfeebled powers -would bear no more; when there appeared before them, going in the same -direction as themselves, a traveller on foot, who, with a portmanteau -strapped to his back, leaned upon a stout stick as he walked, and read -from a book which he held in his other hand. - -It was not an easy matter to come up with him, and beseech his aid, for -he walked fast, and was a little distance in advance. At length he -stopped to look more attentively at some passage in his book. Animated -with a ray of hope, the child shot on before her grandfather, and going -close to the stranger without rousing him by the sound of her footsteps, -began, in a few faint words, to implore his help. - -He turned his head. The child clapped her hands together, uttered a -wild shriek, and fell senseless at his feet. - - - - - *III. AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY* - - -It was the poor schoolmaster. Scarcely less moved and surprised by the -sight of the child than she had been on recognizing him, he stood, for a -moment, without even the presence of mind to raise her from the ground. - -But quickly recovering his self-possession, he threw down his stick and -book, and dropping on one knee beside her, endeavored by such simple -means as occurred to him to restore her to herself; while her -grandfather, standing idly by, wrung his hands, and implored her with -many endearing expressions to speak to him, were it only a word. - -"She is quite exhausted," said the schoolmaster, glancing upward into -his face. "You have taxed her powers too far, friend." - -"She is perishing of want," rejoined the old man. "I never thought how -weak and ill she was till now." - -Casting a look upon him, half reproachful and half compassionate, the -schoolmaster took the child in his arms, and, bidding the old man gather -up her little basket and follow him directly, bore her away at his -utmost speed. - -There was a small inn within sight, to which, it would seem, he had been -directing his steps when so unexpectedly overtaken. Towards this place -he hurried with his unconscious burden, and rushing into the kitchen -deposited it on a chair before the fire. - -A doctor was hastily called in and restoratives were applied; after -which Nell was given what she most needed, some warm broth and toast, -and was put to bed. - -The schoolmaster asked anxiously after her health the next morning, and -was greatly relieved to find that she was much better, though still so -weak that it would require a day's careful nursing before she could -proceed upon her journey. That evening he was allowed to see her, and -was greatly touched by the sight of her pale, pinched face. But she -held out both hands to him. - -"It makes me unhappy even in the midst of all this kindness," said the -child, "to think that we should be a burden upon you. How can I ever -thank you? If I had not met you so far from home, I must have died, and -poor grandfather would have no one to take care of him." - -"We'll not talk about dying," said the schoolmaster, "and as to burdens, -I have made my fortune since you slept at my cottage." - -"Indeed!" cried the child, joyfully. - -"Oh, yes," returned her friend. "I have been appointed clerk and -schoolmaster to a village a long way from here--and a long way from the -old one as you may suppose--at five-and-thirty pounds[#] a year. -Five-and-thirty pounds!" - - -[#] About $175. - - -"I am very glad," said the child--"so very, very glad." - -"I am on my way there now," resumed the schoolmaster. "They allowed me -the stagecoach hire--outside stage-coach hire all the way. Bless you, -they grudge me nothing. But as the time at which I am expected there -left me ample leisure, I determined to walk instead. How glad I am to -think I did so!" - -"How glad should we be!" - -"Yes, yes," said the schoolmaster, moving restlessly in his chair, -"certainly, that's very true. But you--where are you going, where are -you coming from, what have you been doing since you left me, what had -you been doing before? Now, tell me--do tell me. I know very little of -the world, and perhaps you are better fitted to advise me in its affairs -than I am qualified to give advice to you; but I am very sincere, and I -have a reason (you have not forgotten it) for loving you. I have felt -since that time as if my love for him who died had been transferred to -you." - -Nell was moved in her turn by this allusion to the favorite pupil who -had died, and by the plain, frank kindness of the good schoolmaster. She -told him all--that they had no friend or relative--that she had fled -with the old man to save him from all the miseries he dreaded--that she -was flying now to save him from himself--and that she sought an asylum -in some quiet place, where the temptation before which he fell would -never enter, and her late sorrows and distresses could have no place. - -The schoolmaster heard her with astonishment. "This child!" he thought; -"she is one of the heroines and saints of earth!" - -Then he told her of a great idea which had occurred to him. They were -all three to travel together to the village where his new school was -located, and he made no doubt he could find them some simple and -congenial employment. - -The child joyfully accepted this; and the journey was made very -comfortably in a stage which went that way. Stowed among the softer -bundles and packages she thought this to be a drowsy, luxurious way of -going, indeed. - -At last they came upon a quiet, restful-looking hamlet clustered in a -valley among some stately trees. - -"See--here's the church!" cried the delighted schoolmaster, in a low -voice; "and that old building close beside it is the schoolhouse, I'll -be sworn. Five-and-thirty pounds a year in this beautiful place!" - -They admired everything--the old gray porch, the green churchyard, the -ancient tower, the very weathercock; the brown thatched roofs of -cottage, barn, and homestead, peeping from among the trees; the stream -that rippled by the distant watermill; the blue Welsh mountains far -away. It was for such a spot the child had wearied in the dense, dark, -miserable haunts of labor. Upon her bed of ashes, and amidst the -squalid horrors through which they had forced their way, visions of such -scenes--beautiful indeed, but not more beautiful than this sweet -reality--had been always present to her mind. They had seemed to melt -into a dim and airy distance, as the prospect of ever beholding them -again grew fainter; but, as they receded, she had loved and panted for -them more. - -"I must leave you somewhere for a few minutes," said the schoolmaster, -at length breaking the silence into which they had fallen in their -gladness. "I have a letter to present, and inquiries to make, you know. -Where shall I take you? To the little inn yonder?" - -"Let us wait here," rejoined Nell. "The gate is open. We will sit in -the church porch till you come back." - -"A good place, too," said the schoolmaster, leading the way towards it. -"Be sure that I come back with good news, and am not long gone." - -So the happy schoolmaster put on a brand-new pair of gloves which he had -carried in a little parcel in his pocket all the way, and hurried off, -full of ardor and excitement. - -The child watched him from the porch until the intervening foliage hid -him from her view, and then stepped softly out into the old -churchyard--so solemn and quiet that every rustle of her dress upon the -fallen leaves, which strewed the path and made her footsteps noiseless, -seemed an invasion of its silence. It was an aged, ghostly place; the -church had been built hundreds of years before; yet from this first -glimpse the child loved it and felt that in some strange way she was a -part of its crumbling walls and grass-grown churchyard. - -After a time the schoolmaster reappeared, hurrying towards them and -swinging a bunch of keys. - -"You see those two houses?" he asked, pointing, quite out of breath. -"Well, one of them is mine." - -Without saying any more, or giving the child time to reply, the -schoolmaster took her hand, and, his honest face quite radiant with -exultation, led her to the place of which he spoke. - -They stopped before its low, arched door. After trying several of the -keys in vain, the schoolmaster found one to fit the huge lock, which -turned back, creaking, and admitted them into the house. - -It was a very old house, and, like the church, falling into decay, yet -still handsome with high vaulted ceilings and queer carvings. It was -not quite destitute of furniture. A few strange chairs, whose arms and -legs looked as though they had dwindled away with age; a table, the very -spectre of its race; a great old chest that had once held records in the -church, with other quaintly fashioned domestic necessaries, and store of -firewood for the winter, were scattered around, and gave evident tokens -of its occupation as a dwelling-place, at no very distant time. - -The child looked around her, with that solemn feeling with which we -contemplate the work of ages that have become but drops of water in the -great ocean of eternity. The old man had followed them, but they were -all three hushed for a space, and drew their breath softly, as if they -feared to break the silence, even by so slight a sound. - -"It is a very beautiful place!" said the child, in a low voice. - -"I almost feared you thought otherwise," returned the schoolmaster. -"You shivered when we first came in, as if you felt it cold or gloomy." - -"It was not that," said Nell, glancing round with a slight shudder. -"Indeed, I cannot tell you what it was, but when I saw the outside, from -the church porch, the same feeling came over me. It is its being so old -and gray, perhaps." - -"A peaceful place to live in, don't you think so?" said her friend. - -"Oh, yes," rejoined the child, clasping her hands earnestly. "A quiet, -happy place--a place to live and learn to die in!" - -"A place to live, and learn to live, and gather health of mind and body -in," said the schoolmaster; "for this old house is yours." - -"Ours!" cried the child. - -"Aye," returned the schoolmaster, gaily, "for many a merry year to come, -I hope. I shall be a close neighbor--only next door--but this house is -yours." - -Having now disburdened himself of his great surprise, the schoolmaster -sat down, and drawing Nell to his side, told her how he had learned that -the ancient tenement had been occupied for a very long time by an old -person, who kept the keys of the church, opened and closed it for the -services, and showed it to strangers; how she had died not many weeks -ago, and nobody had yet been found to fill the office; how, learning all -this in an interview with the sexton, he had hurried to the clergyman -and obtained the vacant post for Nell and her grandfather. - -"There's a small allowance of money," said the schoolmaster. "It is not -much, but still enough to live upon in this retired spot. By clubbing -our funds together, we shall do bravely; no fear of that." - -"Heaven bless and prosper you!" sobbed the child. - -"Amen, my dear," returned her friend, cheerfully; "and all of us, as it -will, and has, in leading us through sorrow and trouble to this tranquil -life. But we must look at my house now. Come!" - -They repaired to the other tenement; tried the rusty keys as before; at -length found the right one; and opened the worm-eaten door. It led into -a chamber, vaulted and old, like that from which they had come, but not -so spacious, and having only one other little room attached. It was not -difficult to divine that the other house was of right the -schoolmaster's, and that he had chosen for himself the least commodious, -in his care and regard for them. Like the adjoining habitation, it held -such old articles of furniture as were absolutely necessary, and had its -stack of firewood. - -To make these dwellings as habitable and full of comfort as they could, -was now their pleasant care. In a short time, each had its cheerful -fire glowing and crackling on the hearth, and reddening the pale old -walls with a hale and healthy blush. Nell, busily plying her needle, -repaired the tattered window-hangings, drew together the rents that time -had worn in the threadbare scraps of carpet, and made them whole and -decent. The schoolmaster swept and smoothed the ground before the door, -trimmed the long grass, trained the ivy and creeping plants, which hung -their drooping heads in melancholy neglect; and gave to the outer walls -a cheery air of home. The old man, sometimes by his side and sometimes -with the child, lent his aid to both, went here and there on little -patient services, and was happy. Neighbors, too, as they came from -work, proffered their help; or sent their children with such small -presents or loans as the strangers needed most. So it was not many days -before they were quite cosy; and Nell felt again, in that strange way -which had come over her at the church, that she had always been a part -of the place. - -And how she loved her work from the very first! Hour after hour she -would spend in the old church, dusting off its pews or casements with -reverent fingers, or more often, sitting quietly before some tablet or -inscription looking at it or beyond it, with a dreamy light in her eyes. - -Her grandfather noted her attitude anxiously. He saw that she grew more -listless and frail, day by day, and he sought constantly--poor old -man!--to lighten her few tasks. But it was not these which wearied her; -it was merely the burden of all things earthly. - -Every person in the village soon grew to love this frail, -spiritual-looking child; but from the first she seemed a being apart -from them. They were constantly showing her kindness, or pausing at the -church gate to speak with her; but as they went their way, a sad smile -or shake of the head told only too plainly of their fears. She was like -some rare, delicate flower which, they knew, could not endure the frost -of winter. - -The good schoolmaster gently chided her for spending so much of her time -in the church and among the graves, instead of out in the light and -sunshine. But she only smiled and said she loved to tend the graves and -keep them neat, for she could not bear to think that any lying there -should be forgotten, or that she herself might be forgotten some day. - -"There is nothing good that is forgotten," he replied kindly. "There is -not an angel added to the host of Heaven but does its blessed work on -earth in those that loved it here." - -As the cold days of autumn and winter drew on, the child spent more and -more time within doors, on a couch before the fire. The slightest task -wearied her now, and her grandfather kept watch night and day to save -her needless steps. He could scarcely bear her out of his sight; and -often would creep to the side of her couch during the night, listening -to her breathing or stroking her slender fingers softly. And if by -chance she awoke and smiled on him, he would creep back to his own bed -comforted. - -But one chill morning in midwinter, when the snow lay thickly on the -ground, it seemed to him that she slept more quietly than usual. The -schoolmaster, coming in, found him crouched over a fire, muttering -softly to himself, and wondering why she slumbered so long. The two -went softly into her chamber, and then the schoolmaster knew why she was -so quiet. - -For she was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. No sleep -so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. -She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting the breath -of life; not one who had lived and suffered death. - -The old man held one languid arm in his, and had the small hand tight -folded to his breast, for warmth. It was the hand she had stretched out -to him with her last smile--the hand that had led him on, through all -their wanderings. Ever and anon he pressed it to his lips, then hugged -it to his breast again, murmuring that it was warmer now; and, as he -said it, he looked in agony to the schoolmaster, as if imploring him to -help her. - -She was dead, and past all help, or need of it. The ancient rooms she -had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was waning fast; the -garden she had tended; the eyes she had gladdened; the noiseless haunts -of many a thoughtful hour; the paths she had trodden as it were but -yesterday--could know her nevermore. - -"It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on the -cheek, and gave his tears free vent, "it is not on earth that Heaven's -justice ends. Think what earth is, compared with the world to which her -young spirit has winged its early flight, and say, if one deliberate -wish expressed in solemn terms above this bed could call her back to -life, which of us would utter it!" - -The whole village, young and old, came to the churchyard when they laid -her to rest--save only the old man. He could not realize that she was -dead, and he had gone to pick winter berries to decorate her couch. - -When he returned and could not find her, they were obliged to tell him -the truth--that her body had been put away in the cold earth--and then -his grief and distress were pitiful to see. He seemed at once to lose -all power of thought or action, save as they concerned her alone. - -Day by day he sought for her about the house or in the garden, calling -her name wildly. At other times he sat before the fire staring dully, -and did not seem to hear when they spoke to him. - -At length, they found, one day, that he had risen early, and, with his -knapsack on his back, his staff in hand, her own straw hat, and little -basket full of such things as she had been used to carry, was gone. As -they were making ready to pursue him far and wide, a frightened -schoolboy came who had seen him, but a moment before, sitting in the -church--upon her grave, he said. - -They hastened there, and going softly to the door, espied him in the -attitude of one who waited patiently. They did not disturb him then, -but kept a watch upon him all that day. When it grew quite dark, he rose -and returned home, and went to bed, murmuring to himself, "She will come -to-morrow!" - -Upon the morrow he was there again from sunrise until night; and still -at night he laid him down to rest, and murmured, "She will come -to-morrow!" - -And thenceforth, every day, and all day long, he waited at her grave for -her. How many pictures of new journeys over pleasant country, of -resting-places under the free broad sky, of rambles in the fields and -woods, and paths not often trodden; how many tones of that one -well-remembered voice; how many glimpses of the form, the fluttering -dress, the hair that waved so gaily in the wind; how many visions of -what had been, and what he hoped was yet to be--rose up before him, in -the old, dull, silent church! He never told them what he thought, or -where he went. He would sit with them at night, pondering with a secret -satisfaction, they could see, upon the flight that he and she would take -before night came again; and still they would hear him whisper in his -prayers, "Lord! Let her come to-morrow!" - -The last time was on a genial day in spring. He did not return at the -usual hour, and they went to seek him. He was lying dead upon the -stone. - -They laid him by the side of her whom he had loved so well; and, in the -church where they had often prayed and mused and lingered hand in hand, -the child and the old man slept together. - - - - - *THE STORY OF PAUL AND FLORENCE DOMBEY* - - - - *I. THE HOUSE OF DOMBEY AND SON* - - -Paul Dombey was a boy born to achieve great things. His birth was the -one historic event of the Dombey household--at least, so his father -said. 'T is true that Paul's sister Florence was six years older than -he, but then Florence was only a girl. What Mr. Dombey had long wanted -was a son who could grow up to carry on the business of the great export -house, and who from his birth would make possible the imposing title of -Dombey and Son. - -So Florence, who had remained quietly neglected in her nursery, now came -into notice only as the sister of Paul, or as a faithful little nurse -who could help amuse him. - -As for Mr. Dombey himself, he was a cold, haughty man, very proud of -what he had done, and at all times exacting obedience from every one -else. Paul's mother had died soon after he was born; and Mr. Dombey -having engaged the best nurses he could find, expected them forthwith to -bring the child through all the round of infant ailments--of which the -frail little fellow had more than his full share. Indeed, Mr. Dombey -loved his son with all the love he had. If there were a warm place in -his frosty heart, his son occupied it; though not so much as an infant -or a boy, as a prospective man--the "Son" of the firm. Therefore he was -impatient to have him grow up; feeling as if the boy had a charmed life, -and must become the man around whom all his hopes centred. - -Thus Paul grew to be nearly five years old. He was a pretty little -fellow, though there was something wan and wistful in his small face, -that gave occasion to many significant shakes of his nurse's head. His -temper gave abundant promise of being imperious, like his father's, in -after life. He was childish and sportive enough at times; but he had a -strange, old-fashioned, thoughtful way at other times of sitting -brooding in his miniature arm-chair, when he looked and talked like one -of those terrible little beings in the fairy tales, who, at a hundred -and fifty or two hundred years of age, fantastically represent the -children for whom they have been substituted. He would frequently be -stricken with this mood upstairs in the nursery, and would sometimes -lapse into it suddenly, exclaiming that he was tired, even while playing -with Florence, or driving his nurse in single harness. But at no one -time did he fall into it so surely, as when, his little chair being -carried down into his father's room, he sat there with him after dinner -by the fire. They were the strangest pair at such a time that ever -firelight shone upon. Mr. Dombey, so erect and solemn, gazing at the -blaze; his little image, with an old, old face, peering into the red -perspective with the fixed and rapt attention of a sage; the two so very -much alike, and yet so monstrously contrasted. - -On one of these occasions, when they had both been perfectly quiet for a -long time, little Paul broke the silence thus:-- - -"Papa! what's money?" - -The abrupt question had such immediate reference to the subject of Mr. -Dombey's thoughts, that Mr. Dombey was quite disconcerted. - -"What is money, Paul?" he answered. "Money?" - -"Yes," said the child, laying his hands upon the elbows of his little -chair, and turning the old face up towards Mr. Dombey's, "what is -money?" - -Mr. Dombey was in a difficulty. He would have liked to give him some -grown-up explanation; but looking down at the little chair, and seeing -what a long way down it was, he answered: "Gold, and silver, and copper. -Guineas, shillings, halfpence. You know what they are?" - -"Oh, yes, I know what they are," said Paul. "I don't mean that, papa. I -mean what's money, after all." - -"What is money, after all?" said Mr. Dombey, backing his chair a little, -that he might the better gaze at the atom that made such an inquiry. - -"I mean, papa, what can it do?" returned Paul. - -Mr. Dombey drew his chair back to its former place, and patted him on -the head. "You'll know better, by and by, my man," he said. "Money, -Paul, can do anything." - -"Anything, papa?" - -"Yes. Anything--almost," said Mr. Dombey. - -"Anything means everything, don't it, papa?" asked his son, not -observing, or possibly not understanding the qualification. - -"Yes," said Mr. Dombey. - -"Why didn't money save me my mamma?" returned the child. "It isn't -cruel, is it?" - -"Cruel!" said Mr. Dombey, settling his neckcloth, and seeming to resent -the idea. "No. A good thing can't be cruel." - -"If it's a good thing, and can do anything," said the little fellow -thoughtfully, as he looked back at the fire, "I wonder why it didn't -save me my mamma." - -Mr. Dombey having recovered from his surprise, not to say his alarm (for -it was the very first occasion on which the child had ever broached the -subject of his mother to him), expounded to him how that money, though a -very potent spirit, could not keep people alive whose time was come to -die; and how that we must all die, unfortunately, even in the city, -though we were never so rich. - -Paul listened to all this and much more with grave attention, and then -suddenly asked a question which was still more alarming. - -"It can't make me strong and quite well, either, papa, can it?" - -"Why, you _are_ strong and quite well," returned Mr. Dombey. "Are you -not?" - -Oh! the age of the face that was turned up again, with an expression, -half of melancholy, half of slyness on it! - -"You are as strong and well as such little people usually are, eh?" said -Mr. Dombey. - -"Florence is older than I am, but I'm not as strong and well as -Florence, I know," returned the child; "but I believe that when Florence -was as little as me, she could play a great deal longer at a time -without tiring herself. I am so tired sometimes that I don't know what -to do." - -"But that's at night," said Mr. Dombey, drawing his own chair closer to -his son's, and laying his hand gently on his back; "little people should -be tired at night, for then they sleep well." - -"Oh, it's not at night, papa," returned the child, "it's in the day; and -I lie down in Florence's lap, and she sings to me. At night I dream -about such cu-ri-ous things!" - -Mr. Dombey was so astonished, and so perfectly at a loss how to pursue -the conversation, that he could only sit looking at his son by the light -of the fire. - -Here they sat until Florence came timidly into the room to take Paul -upstairs to bed; when he raised towards his father, in bidding him -good-night, a countenance so much brighter, so much younger, and so much -more childlike altogether, that Mr. Dombey, while he felt greatly -reassured by the change, was quite amazed at it. - -After they had left the room together, he thought he heard a soft voice -singing; and remembering that Paul had said his sister sang to him, he -had the curiosity to open the door and listen, and look after them. She -was toiling up the great, wide staircase, with him in her arms; his head -was lying on her shoulder, one of his arms thrown negligently round her -neck. So they went, toiling up; she singing all the way, and Paul -sometimes crooning out a feeble accompaniment. - -Mr. Dombey was so alarmed about Paul's remarks as to his health, that he -called the family doctor in consultation the very next day. The doctor -admitted that Paul was not as strong as he could hope, and suggested -that sea air might benefit him. So the boy was sent to the home of a -Mrs. Pipchin at Brighton. But he refused to go without Florence, much to -the secret displeasure of Mr. Dombey, who did not like to see any -one--especially this neglected daughter--gain more influence with Paul -than he himself had. - -Mrs. Pipchin was a cross-grained old lady who gained a livelihood by -taking care of delicate children. But she was not unkind to Paul, whose -patient little face and strange way of asking questions attracted her, -as they did everybody else. - -When he had been with her for some time and it was found that he did not -gain in strength, a little carriage was hired for him, in which he could -lie at his ease with his books and be wheeled down to the seaside. - -Consistent in his odd tastes, the child set aside a ruddy-faced lad who -was proposed as the drawer of this carriage, and selected, instead, the -boy's grandfather--a weazen, old, crab-faced man, in a suit of battered -oilskin. With this attendant to pull him along, and Florence always -walking by his side, he went down to the margin of the ocean every day; -and there he would sit or lie in his carriage for hours together; never -so distressed as by the company of children--Florence alone excepted, -always. - -Some small voice, near his ear, would ask him how he was, perhaps. - -"I am very well, I thank you," he would answer. "But you had better go -and play, if you please." - -Then he would turn his head, and watch the child away, and say to -Florence, "We don't want any others, do we? Kiss me, Floy." - -His favorite spot was quite a lonely one, far away from most loungers; -and with Florence sitting by his side at work, or reading to him, or -talking to him, and the wind blowing on his face, and the water coming -up among the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more. - -"Floy," he said one day, "where's India?" - -"Oh, it's a long, long distance off," said Florence, raising her eyes -from her work. - -"Weeks off?" asked Paul. - -"Yes, dear. Many weeks' journey, night and day." - -"If you were in India, Floy," said Paul, after being silent for a -minute. "I should--what is it that mamma did? I forget." - -"Loved me?" answered Florence. - -"No, no. Don't I love you now, Floy? What is it?--Died. If you were in -India, I should die, Floy." - -She hurriedly put her work aside, and laid her head down on his pillow, -caressing him. And so would she, she said, if he were there. He would be -better soon. - -"Oh! I am a great deal better now!" he answered. "I don't mean that. -I mean that I should die of being so sorry and so lonely, Floy!" - -Another time, in the same place, he fell asleep, and slept quietly for a -long time. Awaking suddenly, he started up, and sat listening. - -Florence asked him what he thought he heard. - -"I want to know what it says," he answered, looking steadily in her -face. "The sea, Floy; what is it that it keeps on saying?" - -She told him that it was only the noise of the rolling waves. - -"Yes, yes," he said. "But I know that they are always saying something. -Always the same thing. What place is over there?" He rose up, looking -eagerly at the horizon. - -She told him that there was another country opposite, but he said he -didn't mean that; he meant farther away--farther away. - -Very often afterwards, in the midst of their talk, he would break off to -try to understand what it was that the waves were always saying; and -would rise up in his couch to look towards that invisible region far -away. - -But in spite of Paul's brooding fancies, the days in the open air, and -with the salt spray blowing about him, began to have good effect. Little -by little he grew stronger until he became able to do without his -carriage; though he still remained the same old, quiet, dreamy child. - -One day after he had been with Mrs. Pipchin about a year, Mr. Dombey -came to see her. He informed Mrs. Pipchin that, as Paul was now six -years old and so much stronger, it was time his education was being -considered; and so the child was to be sent to a certain Dr. Blimber, -who lived near by and managed a select school of boys. Meanwhile, -Florence could continue to live here, so that Paul need not be entirely -separated from his sister. - -Accordingly, a few days later, Paul stood upon the Doctor's doorsteps, -with his small right hand in his father's, and his other locked in that -of Florence. How tight the tiny pressure of that one, and how loose and -cold the other! - -The doctor was sitting in his portentous study, with a globe at each -knee, books all round him, Homer over the door, and Minerva on the -mantel-shelf. - -"And how do you do, sir," he said to Mr. Dombey, when they had been -ushered in, "and how is my little friend?" - -Grave as an organ was the doctor's speech; and when he ceased, the great -clock in the hall seemed (to Paul at least) to take him up, and to go on -saying, "how-is-my-lit-tle-friend-how-is-my-lit-tle-friend," over and -over and over again. - -The little friend being something too small to be seen at all from where -the doctor sat, over the books on his table, the doctor made several -futile attempts to get a view of him round the legs; which Mr. Dombey -perceiving, relieved the doctor from his embarrassment by taking Paul up -in his arms and sitting him on another little table, over against the -doctor, in the middle of the room. - -"Ha!" said the doctor, leaning back in his chair with his hand in his -breast. "Now I see my little friend. How do you do, my little friend?" - -The clock in the hall wouldn't subscribe to this alteration in the form -of words, but continued to repeat -"how-is-my--lit-tle-friend--how-is-my-lit-tle-friend!" - -"Very well, I thank you, sir," returned Paul, answering the clock quite -as much as the doctor. - -"Ha!" said Doctor Blimber. "Shall we make a man of him?" - -"Do you hear, Paul?" added Mr. Dombey, Paul being silent. - -"Shall we make a man of him?" repeated the doctor. - -"I had rather be a child," replied Paul. - -"Indeed!" said the doctor. "Why?" - -The child sat on the table looking at him, with a curious expression of -suppressed emotion in his face, and beating one hand proudly on his knee -as if he had the rising tears beneath it, and crushed them. But his -other hand strayed a little way the while, a little farther--farther -from him yet--until it lighted on the neck of Florence. "This is why," -it seemed to say, and then the steady look was broken up and gone, the -working lip was loosened and the tears came streaming forth. - -"Never mind," said the doctor, blandly nodding his head. "Ne-ver mind; -we shall substitute new cares and new impressions, Mr. Dombey, very -shortly. You would wish my little friend to acquire--" - -"Everything, if you please, doctor," returned Mr. Dombey, firmly. - -"Yes," said the doctor, who, with his half-shut eyes, and his usual -smile, seemed to survey Paul with the sort of interest that might attach -to some choice little animal he was going to stuff. "Yes, exactly. Ha! -We shall impart a great variety of information to our little friend, and -bring him quickly forward, I dare say. I dare say." - -As soon as Mr. Dombey and Florence were gone, Dr. Blimber gave into the -charge of his learned daughter Cornelia the little new pupil, saying, -"Bring him on, Cornelia, bring him on." - -Miss Blimber received her young ward from the doctor's hands; and Paul, -feeling that the spectacles were surveying him, cast down his eyes. - -"How old are you, Dombey?" said Miss Blimber. - -"Six," answered Paul, wondering, as he stole a glance at the young lady, -why her hair didn't grow long like Florence's, and why she was like a -boy. - -"How much do you know of your Latin Grammar, Dombey?" said Miss Blimber. - -"None of it," answered Paul. Feeling that the answer was a shock to -Miss Blimber's sensibility, he looked up and added timidly,-- - -"I haven't been well. I have been a weak child. I couldn't learn a -Latin Grammar when I was out, every day, with old Glubb. I wish you'd -tell old Glubb to come and see me, if you please." - -"What a dreadfully low name!" said Miss Blimber. "Unclassical to a -degree! Who is the monster, child?" - -"What monster?" inquired Paul. - -"Glubb." - -"He's no more a monster than you are," returned Paul. - -"What!" cried the doctor, in a terrible voice. "What's that?" - -Paul was dreadfully frightened; but still he made a stand for the absent -Glubb, though he did it trembling. - -"He's a very nice old man, ma'am," he said. "He used to pull my carriage -for me, down along the beach. I wish you'd let him come to see me. He -knows lots of things." - -"Ha!" said the doctor, shaking his head; "this is bad, but study will do -much." - -Mrs. Blimber opined, with something like a shiver, that he was an -unaccountable child; and, allowing for the difference of visage, looked -at him pretty much as Mrs. Pipchin had been used to do. - -As for Miss Blimber, she told him to come down to her room that evening -at tea-time. When he did so he noticed a little pile of new books, which -she was glancing over. - -"These are yours, Dombey," she said. - -"All of 'em, ma'am?" said Paul. - -"Yes," returned Miss Blimber; "and Mr. Feeder will look you out some -more very soon, if you are as studious as I expect you will be, Dombey." - -"Thank you, ma'am," said Paul. - -"I am going out for a constitutional," resumed Miss Blimber; "and while -I am gone, that is to say, in the interval between this and breakfast, -Dombey, I wish you to read over what I have marked in these books, and -to tell me if you quite understand what you have got to learn. Don't -lose time, Dombey, for you have none to spare, but take them downstairs, -and begin directly." - -"Yes, ma'am," answered Paul. - -There were so many of them that although Paul put one hand under the -bottom book and his other hand and his chin on the top book, and hugged -them all closely, the middle book slipped out before he reached the -door, and then they all tumbled down on the floor. Miss Blimber said, -"Oh, Dombey, Dombey, this is really very careless!" and piled them up -afresh for him; and this time, by dint of balancing them with great -nicety, Paul got out of the room. - -But if the poor child found them heavy to carry downstairs, how much -harder was it to cram their contents into his head. Oh, how tired he -grew! But always there was a never-ending round of lessons waiting for -him during these long days and nights that Dr. Blimber and Cornelia -tried to make a man of him. And all week long his aching head held but -one longing desire--for Saturday to come. - -Oh, Saturdays! Oh, happy Saturdays! when Florence always came at noon, -and never would, in any weather, stay away. - -And when Florence found how hard Paul's studies were for him, she -quietly bought books just like his and studied them during the week, so -that she might keep along with him and help him when they were together. - -Not a word of this was breathed to Mrs. Pipchin; but many a night when -she was in bed and the candles were spluttering and burning low, -Florence tried so hard to be a substitute for one small Dombey, that her -fortitude and perseverance might have almost won her a free right to -bear the name herself. - -And high was her reward, when, one Saturday evening, as little Paul was -sitting down as usual to "resume his studies," she sat down by his side, -and showed him all that was so rough made smooth, and all that was so -dark made clear and plain before him. It was nothing but a startled -look in Paul's wan face--a flush--a smile--and then a close embrace--but -God knows how her heart leaped up at this rich payment for her trouble. - -"Oh, Floy!" cried her brother, "how I love you! How I love you, Floy!" - -"And I you, dear!" - -"Oh! I am sure of that, Floy." - -And so little Paul struggled on bravely under his heavy load, never -complaining, but growing more old-fashioned day by day--and growing -frailer, too. - -[Illustration: MRS. PIPCHIN AND PAUL DOMBEY.] - -Then came the holidays, and a grand party at the school, to which -Florence came, looking so beautiful in her simple ball dress that Paul -could hardly make up his mind to let her go again. - -"But what is the matter, Floy?" he asked, almost sure he saw a tear on -her face. - -"Nothing, dear. We will go home together, and I'll nurse you till you -are strong again." - -"Nurse me!" echoed Paul. - -Paul couldn't understand what that had to do with it, nor why the other -guests looked on so seriously, nor why Florence turned away her face for -a moment, and then turned it back, lighted up again with smiles. - -"Floy," said Paul, holding a ringlet of her dark hair in his hand. -"Tell me, dear. Do _you_ think I have grown old-fashioned?" - -His sister laughed and fondled him, and told him "No." - -"Because I know they say so," returned Paul, "and I want to know what -they mean, Floy." - -Florence would have sat by him all night, and would not have danced at -all of her own accord, but Paul made her, by telling her how much it -pleased him. And he told her the truth, too; for his small heart -swelled, and his face glowed, when he saw how much they all admired her, -and how she was the beautiful little rosebud of the room. - -Then after the party came the leave-takings, for Paul was going home. -And every one was good to him--even the pompous doctor, and -Cornelia--and bade him good-bye with many regrets; for they were afraid, -as they looked upon his pinched, wan face, that he would not be able to -come back and take up that load of heavy books ever again. - -There was a great deal, the next day and afterwards, which Paul could -not quite get clear in his mind. As, why they stopped at Mrs. Pipchin's -for a while instead of going straight home; why he lay in bed, with -Florence sitting by him; whether that had been his father in the room, -or only a tall shadow on the wall. - -He could not even remember whether he had often said to Florence, "Oh, -Floy, take me home and never leave me!" but he thought he had. He -fancied sometimes he had heard himself repeating, "Take me home, Floy! -take me home!" - -But he could remember, when he got home, and was carried up the -well-remembered stairs, that there had been the rumbling of a coach for -many hours together, while he lay upon the seat, with Florence still -beside him, and Mrs. Pipchin sitting opposite. He remembered his old -bed too, when they laid him down in it; but there was something else, -and recent, too, that still perplexed him. - -"I want to speak to Florence, if you please," he said. "To Florence by -herself, for a moment!" - -She bent down over him, and the others stood away. - -"Floy, my pet, wasn't that papa in the hall, when they brought me from -the coach?" - -"Yes, dear." - -"He didn't cry, and go into his room, Floy, did he, when he saw me -coming in?" - -Florence shook her head, and pressed her lips against his cheek. - -"I'm very glad he didn't cry," said little Paul. "I thought he did. -Don't tell them that I asked." - -Paul never rose from his little bed. He lay there, listening to the -noises in the street quite tranquilly; not caring much how time went, -but watching everything about him with observing eyes. And when -visitors or servants came softly to the door to inquire how he was, he -always answered for himself, "I am better; I am a great deal better, -thank you! Tell papa so!" - -And sometimes when he awoke out of a feverish dream, in which he thought -a river was bearing him away, he would see a figure seated motionless, -with bowed head, at the foot of his couch. Then he would stretch out -his hands and cry, "Don't be so sorry for me, dear papa! Indeed, I am -quite happy!" - -His father coming, and bending down to him--which he did quickly, and -without first pausing by the bedside--Paul held him round the neck, and -repeated those words to him several times, and very earnestly; and Paul -never saw him in his room at any time, whether it were day or night, but -he called out "Don't be so sorry for me! Indeed, I am quite happy!" -This was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a -great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so. - -Then one day he asked to see all his friends, and shook hands with each -one quietly, and bade them good-bye. His father he clung to as though -he felt more deeply for that proud man's sorrow and disappointment, than -any unhappiness on his own account. For he was going to his -mother--about whom he had often talked with Florence in these closing -days. - -"Now lay me down," he said, "and Floy, come close to me, and let me see -you!" - -Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden -light came streaming in, and fell upon them, locked together. - -"How fast the river runs, between its green banks and the rushes, Floy! -But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves! They always said so!" - -Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was -lulling him to rest. How green the banks were now, how bright the -flowers growing on them, and how tall the rushes! Now the boat was out -at sea, but gliding smoothly on. And now there was a shore before him. -Who stood on the bank!-- - -He put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He -did not remove his arms to do it; but they saw him fold them so, behind -her neck. - -"Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face. But tell them that -the print upon the stairs at school is not divine enough. The light -about the head is shining on me as I go!" - -The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred -in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our -first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its -course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old -fashion--Death! - -Oh, thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of -Immortality! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards -not quite estranged, when the swift river bears us to the ocean! - - - - - II. *HOW FLORENCE CAME INTO HER OWN* - - -The death of Paul, far from softening Mr. Dombey's heart toward his -daughter, only served to widen the gap between them. He had been -secretly hurt by Paul's preference for Florence, and now was more cold -and distant with her than ever. - -She, poor child, had this deep sorrow to bear in addition to the loss of -Paul. Many and many a night when no one in the house was stirring, and -the lights were all extinguished, she would softly leave her own room, -and with noiseless feet descend the staircase, and approach her father's -door. Against it, scarcely breathing, she would rest her face and head, -and press her lips, in the yearning of her love. She crouched upon the -cold stone floor outside it, every night, to listen even for his breath; -and in her one absorbing wish to be allowed to show him some affection, -to be a consolation to him, to win him over to some tenderness for her, -his solitary child, she would have knelt down at his feet, if she had -dared, in humble supplication. - -No one knew it. No one thought of it. The door was ever closed, and he -shut up within. He went out once or twice, and it was said in the house -that he was very soon going on a journey; but he lived in those rooms, -and lived alone, and never saw her or inquired for her. Perhaps he did -not even know that she was in the house. - -But one night Florence found the door slightly ajar. She paused a -moment tremblingly, and then pushed it open and entered. - -Her father sat at his old table in the middle room. He had been -arranging some papers and destroying others, and the latter lay in -fragile ruins before him. The rain dripped heavily upon the glass panes -in the outer room, where he had so often watched poor Paul, a baby; and -the low complainings of the wind were heard without. - -He sat with his eyes fixed on the table, so immersed in thought that a -far heavier tread than the light foot of his child could make, might -have failed to rouse him. His face was turned towards her. By the -waning lamp, and at that haggard hour, it looked worn and dejected; and -in the utter loneliness surrounding him there was an appeal to Florence -that struck home. - -"Papa! papa! Speak to me, dear papa!" - -He started at her voice. - -"What is the matter?" he said sternly. "Why do you come here? What has -frightened you?" - -If anything had frightened her, it was the face he turned upon her. The -glowing love within the breast of his young daughter froze before it, -and she stood and looked at him as if stricken into stone. There was -not one touch of tenderness or pity in it. - -Did he see before him the successful rival of his son, in health and -life? Did he look upon his own successful rival in that son's -affection? Did a mad jealousy and withered pride poison sweet -remembrances that should have endeared and made her precious to him? -Could it be possible that it was gall to him to look upon her in her -beauty and her promise: thinking of his infant boy! - -Florence had no such thoughts. But love is quick to know when it is -spurned and hopeless; and hope died out of hers, as she stood looking in -her father's face. - -"I ask you, Florence, are you frightened? Is there anything the matter, -that you come here?" - -"I came, papa--" - -"Against my wishes. Why?" - -She saw he knew why--it was written broadly on his face--and dropped her -head upon her hands with one prolonged low cry. - -He took her by the arm. His hand was cold and loose, and scarcely -closed upon her. - -"You are tired, I dare say," he said, taking up the light and leading -her towards the door, "and want rest. We all want rest. Go, Florence. -You have been dreaming." - -The dream she had had was over then, God help her! and she felt that it -could never more come back. - -"I will remain here to light you up the stairs. The whole house is -yours, above there," said her father, slowly. "You are its mistress -now. Good-night!" - -Still covering her face, she sobbed, and answered "Good-night, dear -papa," and silently ascended. Once she looked back as if she would have -returned to him, but for fear. It was a momentary thought, too hopeless -to encourage; and her father stood therewith the light--hard, -unresponsive, motionless--until her fluttering dress was lost in the -darkness. - -The days that followed were lonely and sad indeed for the child. Her -father went away upon a journey, and she was left entirely alone in the -great house, but for the companionship of a faithful maid, Susan Nipper, -and of her dog Diogenes. - -Then some kind friends in the country took pity upon her loneliness and -invited her to visit them. - -When she came home she was amazed to find huge scaffolds built all -around the house. It was being remodelled. Only her own little room had -not been changed. The explanation for all this work came a few days -later when her father came home accompanied by two ladies. One was old -and greatly overdressed. The other--her daughter--was very beautiful, -but with a cold, hard face. - -"Mrs. Skewton," said her father, turning to the first, and holding out -his hand, "this is my daughter Florence." - -"Charming, I am sure," observed the lady, putting up her glass. "So -natural! My darling Florence, you must kiss me, if you please." - -Florence having done so, turned towards the other lady by whom her -father stood waiting. - -"Edith," said Mr. Dombey, "this is my daughter Florence. Florence, this -lady will soon be your mamma." - -Florence started, and looked up at the beautiful face in a conflict of -emotions, among which the tears that name awakened struggled for a -moment with surprise, interest, admiration, and an indefinable sort of -fear. Then she cried out, "Oh, papa, may you be happy! may you be very, -very happy all your life!" and then fell weeping on the lady's bosom. - -There was a short silence. The beautiful lady, who at first had seemed -to hesitate whether or not she should advance to Florence, held her to -her breast, and pressed the hand with which she clasped her close about -her waist, as if to reassure and comfort her. Not one word passed the -lady's lips. She bent her head down over Florence, and she kissed her -on the cheek, but said no word. - -"Shall we go on through the rooms," said Mr. Dombey, "and see how our -workmen are doing? Pray allow me, my dear madam." - -He said this in offering his arm to Mrs. Skewton, and they turned and -went up the staircase. The beautiful lady lingered a moment to whisper -to the little girl. - -"Florence," said the lady hurriedly, and looking into her face with -great earnestness, "You will not begin by hating me?" - -"By hating you, mamma!" cried Florence, winding her arm round her neck, -and returning the look. - -"Hush! Begin by thinking well of me," said the beautiful lady. "Begin -by believing that I will try to make you happy and that I am prepared to -love you, Florence." - -Again she pressed her to her breast--she had spoken in a rapid manner, -but firmly--and Florence saw her rejoin them in the other room. - -And now Florence began to hope that she would learn from her new and -beautiful mamma how to gain her father's love; and in her sleep that -night, in her lost old home, her own mamma smiled radiantly upon the -hope, and blessed it. Dreaming Florence! - -Very soon after this her new mamma came to live with them; and the -gloomy house took on some semblance of life. But the marriage was not a -happy one. Even Florence could see that. Mrs. Dombey's face did not -belie her character. She was haughty and reserved--a fitting match for -Mr. Dombey. He had married her out of a desire to have a suitable -ornament for his home and position in society. She--it was -whispered--had been lured into a "fine" marriage by her matchmaking -mother. It was no wonder, then, that the marriage should be unhappy. - -Only toward Florence did the proud lady unbend. The child's impulsive -greeting had stirred her heart in a sudden and surprising way; and when -Mrs. Dombey saw how lonely she was and how her life had been starved, -she tried to make good her promise to the child to love her and be good -to her always. - -But once again poor Florence was misunderstood by her father. He saw -that his cold wife cared only for the child, and he thought that just as -Florence had cheated him out of some of Paul's love she was now -estranging his wife from him. It was cruelly unjust, but Mr. Dombey was -so arrogant that he could see things only in his own narrow way. - -Thus matters went along in this unhappy house for several months. Mr. -and Mrs. Dombey met rarely, except at the table or in some social -gathering, when the words which passed between them were of the coldest. - -Then Mr. Dombey hit upon the meanest trick of his weak nature. When he -found that he could not "humble" his wife by ordinary means, he called -in his business manager, Carker, a smooth, deceitful man, whose hair was -plastered down close to his white forehead and whose teeth shone in a -continual sly smile. To Carker Mr. Dombey would entrust various messages -for Mrs. Dombey, as to the running of the house, the hiring of servants, -and the like. Mr. Dombey knew that she would resent such petty -interference, especially through an outsider; but he did not know that -she submitted quietly to these indignities simply for the sake of -Florence, whom she wished to protect. And even her love for the girl -was given in secret, for the same reason. - -Florence, long since awakened from her dream, mournfully observed the -estrangement between her father and new mother; and saw it widen more -and more, and knew that there was greater bitterness between them every -day. It had been very hard to have all her love repulsed, but it now -seemed harder to be compelled to doubt her father, or choose between him -and this mother, so affectionate and dear to her, yet whose other moods -she could only witness with distrust or fear. - -One great sorrow, however, was spared her. She never had the least -suspicion that Mrs. Dombey, by her tenderness for her, widened the -separation from her father, or gave him new cause of dislike. If she -had thought it, for a single moment, what grief she would have felt, -what sacrifice she would have tried to make, poor loving girl! - -No word was ever spoken between Florence and her mother now, on these -subjects. Mrs. Dombey had said there ought to be between them, in that -wise, a silence like the grave itself; and Florence felt that she was -right. - -In this state of affairs her father was brought home suffering and ill, -and gloomily retired to his own rooms, where he was tended by servants, -not approached by his wife, and had no friend or companion but Mr. -Carker, who always withdrew near midnight. - -Every night Florence would listen out in the hall for news of him, after -leaving her mother. But, late one evening, she was surprised to see a -bright light burning in her room, and her mother sitting before the -dying fire looking so fiercely at it that it terrified her. - -"Mamma!" she cried, "what is the matter?" - -Mrs. Dombey started; looking at her with such a strange dread in her -face that Florence was more frightened than before. - -"Mamma!" said Florence, hurriedly advancing. "Dear mamma! what is the -matter?" - -"I have not been well," said Mrs. Dombey, shaking, and still looking at -her in the same strange way. "I have had bad dreams, my love." - -"And have not yet been to bed, mamma?" - -"No," she returned. "Half-waking dreams." - -Her features gradually softened; and suffering Florence to come close to -her, within her embrace, she said in a tender manner, "But what does my -bird do here! What does my bird do here!" - -"I have been uneasy, mamma, in not seeing you to-night, and in not -knowing how papa was; and I--" - -Florence stopped there, and said no more. - -"Is it late?" her mother asked, fondly putting back the curls that -mingled with her own dark hair, and strayed upon her face. - -"Very late. Near day." - -"Near day!" she repeated in surprise. - -"Mamma!" said Florence. "Oh, mamma, what can I do, what should I do, to -make us happier? Is there anything?" - -"Nothing," she replied. - -"Are you sure of that? Can it never be? If I speak now of what is in my -thoughts, in spite of what we have agreed," said Florence, "you will not -blame me, will you?" - -"It is useless," she replied, "useless. I have told you, dear, that I -have had bad dreams. Nothing can change them, or prevent their coming -back." - -"I do not understand," said Florence, gazing on her agitated face, which -seemed to darken as she looked. - -Her mother's clenched hand tightened on the trembling arm she had in -hers, and as she looked down on the alarmed and wondering face, her own -feelings subsided. "Oh, Florence!" she said, "I think I have been -nearly mad to-night!" and humbled her proud head upon the girl's neck, -and burst into tears. - -"Don't leave me! be near me! I have no hope but in you!" These words -she said a score of times. - -Florence was greatly puzzled and distressed, and could only repeat her -promise of love and trust. - -Through six months that followed upon Mr. Dombey's illness and recovery, -no outward change was shown between him and his wife. Both were cold and -proud; and still Mr. Carker--a man whom she detested----bore his petty -commands to her. - -As for Florence, the little hope she had ever held for happiness in -their new home was quite gone now. That home was nearly two years old, -and even the patient trust that was in her could not survive the daily -blight of such an experience. - -Florence loved her father still, but by degrees had come to love him -rather as some dear one who had been, or who might have been, than as -the hard reality before her eyes. Something of the softened sadness with -which she loved the memory of little Paul or her mother, seemed to enter -now into her thoughts of him, and to make them, as it were, a dear -remembrance. Whether it was that he was dead to her, and that partly -for this reason, partly for his share in those old objects of her -affection, and partly for the long association of him with hopes that -were withered and tendernesses he had frozen, she could not have told; -but the father whom she loved began to be a vague and dreamy idea to -her; hardly more substantially connected with her real life than the -image she would sometimes conjure up of her dear brother yet alive, and -growing to be a man, who would protect and cherish her. - -The change, if it may be called one, had stolen on her like the change -from childhood to womanhood, and had come with it. Florence was almost -seventeen, when, in her lonely musings, she was conscious of these -thoughts. - -She was often alone now, for the old association between her and her -mamma was greatly changed. At the time of her father's illness, and -when he was lying in his room downstairs, Florence had first observed -that Edith avoided her. Wounded and shocked, and yet unable to -reconcile this with her affection when they did meet, she sought her in -her own room at night, once more. - -"Mamma," said Florence, stealing softly to her side, "have I offended -you?" - -She answered "No." - -"I must have done something," said Florence. "Tell me what it is. You -have changed your manner to me, dear mamma. I cannot say how instantly -I feel the least change; for I love you with my whole heart." - -"As I do you," said Mrs. Dombey. "Ah, Florence, believe me never more -than now!" - -"Why do you go away from me so often, and keep away?" asked Florence. -"And why do you sometimes look so strangely on me, dear mamma? You do -so, do you not?" - -"Dear Florence, it is for your good. Why, I cannot tell you now. But -you will believe I have always tried to make you happy, dear, will you -not?" - -"Mamma," said Florence, anxiously, "there is a change in you, in more -than what you say to me, which alarms me. Let me stay with you a -little." - -"No, dearest. I am best left alone now, and I do best to keep apart -from you, of all else. Ask me no questions, but believe that what I am, -I am not of my own will, or for myself. Forgive me for having ever -darkened your dark home--I am a shadow on it, I know well--and let us -never speak of this again." - -"Mamma," sobbed Florence, "we are not to part?" - -"We do this that we may not part," said her mother. "Ask no more. Go, -Florence! My love and my remorse go with you!" - -Thus did Mrs. Dombey hide from Florence one dark secret--that her -husband was displeased with their love for each other. It was for -Florence's welfare that she felt compelled to hide her affections. - -From that hour Florence and she were as they had been no more. For days -together they would seldom meet, except at table, and when Mr. Dombey -was present. Then Mrs. Dombey, imperious, inflexible, and silent, never -looked at her. Whenever Mr. Carker was of the party, as he often was -during the progress of Mr. Dombey's recovery, she was more distant -towards her than at other times. Yet she and Florence never encountered, -when there was no one by, but she would embrace her as affectionately as -of old, though not with the same relenting of her proud aspect; and -often when she had been out late she would steal up to Florence's room -as she had been used to do in the dark, and whisper "Good-night." - -Then came a dreadful day not long afterwards when it was found that Mrs. -Dombey had fled from her home. The day was the second anniversary of -this ill-starred marriage; and the poor, misguided woman left a note for -her husband telling him that she had gone away with the man whom he had -trusted most (and whom she hated most) Mr. Carker. It was a foolish way -to be revenged for the harsh treatment she had received, but it served -her purpose. Mr. Dombey was wounded in his most vulnerable spot--his -pride. - -As for Florence, she was overcome with grief; yet in the midst of her -own emotion she could realize her father's bitterness. Yielding at once -to the impulse of her affection and forgetful of his past coldness, -Florence hurried to him with her arms stretched out and crying, "Oh -dear, dear papa!" tried to clasp him round the neck. - -But in his wild despair he shook her off so roughly that she almost fell -to the floor; telling her she could join her mother, for all he cared, -as they had always been in league against him. - -She did not sink down at his feet; she did not shut out the sight of him -with her trembling hands; she did not weep nor speak one word of -reproach. She only uttered a single low cry of pain and then fled from -the house like a hunted animal. - -Without a roof over her head--without father or mother, she was indeed -an orphan. - - - -While the days went by, after Florence's flight, what was the proud man -doing? Did he ever think of his daughter or wonder where she had gone? -Did he suppose she had come home again and was leading her old life in -the weary house? He did not utter her name or make any search for her. -He might have thought of her constantly, or not at all. It was all one -for any sign he made. - -But this was sure. He did not think that he had lost her. He had no -suspicion of the truth that she had fled away from him. He had lived -too long shut up in his pride, seeing her a patient, gentle creature in -his path, to have any fear of that. And so he waited, day by day, until -she should make her appearance on the stairs or at the table as before. - -But the days dragged slowly by and she did not come. - -The sea had ebbed and flowed through a whole year. Through a whole year -the winds and clouds had come and gone; the ceaseless work of Time had -been performed, in storm and sunshine. Through a whole year the famous -House of Dombey and Son had fought a fight for life, against doubtful -rumors, unsuccessful ventures, and most of all, against the bad judgment -of its head, who would not contract its enterprises by a hair's breadth, -and would not listen to a word of warning that the ship he strained so -hard against the storm was weak, and could not bear it. - -For Mr. Dombey had grown strangely indifferent and reckless, and plunged -blindly into speculation. - -The year was out, and the great House was down. - -One summer afternoon there was a buzz and whisper, about the streets of -London, of a great failure. A certain cold, proud man, well known -there, was not there, nor was he represented there. Next day it was -noised abroad that Dombey and Son had stopped, and next night there was -a list of bankrupts published, headed by that name. - -Nobody's opinion stayed the misfortune, lightened it, or made it -heavier. It was understood that the affairs of the House were to be -wound up as they best could be; that Mr. Dombey freely resigned -everything he had, and asked for no favor from any one. That any -resumption of the business was out of the question, as he would listen -to no friendly negotiation having that compromise in view; that he had -relinquished every post of trust or distinction he had held as a man -respected among merchants; and that he was a broken man. - -The old home where Paul had died and whence Florence had fled away was -now empty and deserted--a wreck of what it had been. All the furniture -and hangings had been sold to satisfy Mr. Dombey's creditors; and he now -lived there alone in one cheerless room--a man without friends, without -hope. - -But at last he began to come to his senses; to see what a treasure he -had cast away in Florence; to recall his own injustice and cruelty -toward her. - -In the miserable night he thought of it; in the dreary day, the wretched -dawn, the ghostly, memory-haunted twilight, he remembered. In agony, in -sorrow, in remorse, in despair! - -"Papa! papa!" He heard the words again, and saw the face. He saw it -fall upon the trembling hands, and heard the one prolonged, low cry go -upward. - -Oh! He did remember it! The rain that fell upon the roof, the wind -that mourned outside the door, had foreknowledge in their melancholy -sound. He knew now what he had done. He knew now that he had called -down that upon his head, which bowed it lower than the heaviest stroke -of fortune. He knew now what it was to be rejected and deserted; now, -when every loving blossom he had withered in his innocent daughter's -heart was snowing down in ashes on him. - -He thought of her as she had been that night when he and his bride came -home. He thought of her as she had been in all the home events of the -abandoned house. He thought now that of all around him, she alone had -never changed. His boy had faded into dust, his proud wife had deserted -him, his flatterer and friend had been transformed into the worst of -villains, his riches had melted away, the very walls that sheltered him -looked on him as a stranger; she alone had turned the same mild, gentle -look upon him always. Yes, to the latest and the last. She had never -changed to him--nor had he ever changed to her--and she was lost. - -As, one by one, they fell away before his mind--his baby hope, his wife, -his friend, his fortune--oh, how the mist through which he had seen her -cleared, and showed him her true self! How much better than this that -he had loved her as he had his boy, and lost her as he had his boy, and -laid them in their early grave together! - -As the days dragged by, it seemed to him that he should go mad with -remorse and longing. He haunted Paul's room and Florence's room--so -empty now--as though they were his only dwelling-place. He had meant to -go away, but clung to this tie in the house as the last and only thing -left to him. He would go to-morrow. To-morrow came. He would go -to-morrow. Every night, within the knowledge of no human creature, he -came forth, and wandered through the despoiled house like a ghost. Many -a morning when the day broke, with altered face drooping behind the -closed blind in his window, he pondered on the loss of his two children. -It was one child no more. He reunited them in his thoughts, and they -were never asunder. - -Then, one day, when strange fancies oppressed him more than usual, he -paused at Florence's door and gazed wildly down as though suddenly -awakened from a dream. - -He heard a cry--a loving, pleading voice--and there at his knees knelt -Florence herself. - -"Papa! Dearest papa! I have come back to ask forgiveness. I never can -be happy more, without it!" - -Unchanged still. Of all the world, unchanged. Raising the same face to -his as on that miserable night. Asking _his_ forgiveness! - -"Dear papa, oh, don't look strangely on me! I never meant to leave you. -I never thought of it, before or afterwards. I was frightened when I -went away and could not think. Papa, dear, I am changed. I am -penitent. I know my fault. I know my duty better now. Papa, don't -cast me off or I shall die!" - -He tottered to his chair. He felt her draw his arms about her neck: he -felt her put her own round his; he felt her kisses on his face; he felt -her wet cheek laid against his own; he felt--oh, how deeply!--all that -he had done. - -Upon the breast that he had bruised, against the heart that he had -almost broken, she laid his face, now covered with his hands, and said, -sobbing,-- - -"I have been far away, dear papa, and could not come back before this. -I have been across the seas, and I have a home of my own over there now. -Oh, I want you to see it! I want to take you there; for my home is -_your_ home--always, always! Say you will pardon me, will come to me!" - -He would have said it if he could. He would have raised his hands and -besought _her_ for pardon, but she caught them in her own and put them -down hurriedly. - -"You will come, I know, dear papa! And I will know by that that you -forgive me. And we will never talk about what is past and forgotten; -never again!" - -As she clung closer to him, in another burst of tears, he kissed her on -the lips, and, lifting up his eyes, said, "Oh, my God, forgive me, for I -need it very much!" - -With that he dropped his head again, lamenting over and caressing her, -and there was not a sound in all the house for a long, long time; they -remaining clasped in one another's arms, in the glorious sunshine that -had crept in with Florence. - - - - - *THE STORY OF PIP AS TOLD BY HIMSELF* - - - - *I. HOW PIP HELPED THE CONVICT* - - -My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my -infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer than Pip. So I -called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip. - -I give Pirrip as my father's family name, on the authority of his -tombstone and my sister--Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith. -As I never saw my father or my mother, my first fancies regarding what -they were like were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. - -Ours was the marsh country down by the river, within twenty miles of the -sea. My most vivid memory of these early days was of a raw evening -about dusk. At such a time I found out for certain that this bleak spot -where I chanced to be wandering all alone was the churchyard; that the -low, leaden line beyond was the river; and that the small bundle of -shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry was myself--Pip. - -"Hold your noise!" cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from -among the graves at the side of the church porch. - -He was a fearful looking man, clad in coarse gray, covered with mud and -brambles, and with a great clanking chain upon his leg. - -"Tell us your name!" said the man. - -"Quick!" - -"Pip, sir." - -"Show us where you live," said the man. "P'int out the place!" - -I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the trees -a mile or more from the church. - -The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside-down and -emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. When -the church came to itself--for he was so sudden and strong that he made -it go head-over-heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my -feet--when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a high -tombstone, trembling, while he ate the bread ravenously. - -"You young dog," said the man, licking his lips, "what fat cheeks you -ha' got." - -I believe they were fat, though I was at that time undersized for my -years, and not strong. - -"Darn _me_ if I couldn't eat 'em," said the man, with a threatening -shake of his head, "and if I ha'nt half a mind to't!" - -I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn't, and held tighter to the -tombstone on which he had put me; partly to keep myself upon it; partly -to keep myself from crying. - -"Now lookee here!" said the man. "Where's your mother?" - -"There, sir!" said I. - -He started, made a short run, and stopped and looked over his shoulder. - -"There, sir!" I timidly explained, pointing to an inscription on a -stone; "that's my mother." - -"Oh!" said he, coming back. "And is that your father alonger your -mother?" - -"Yes, sir," said I; "him too; 'late of this parish.'" - -"Ha!" he muttered then, considering. "Who d' ye live with--supposin' -you're kindly let to live, which I ha'nt made up my mind about?" - -"My sister, sir--Mrs. Joe Gargery--wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, -sir." - -"Blacksmith, eh?" said he, and looked down at his leg. - -After darkly looking at his leg and at me several times, he came closer -to my tombstone, took me by both arms, and tilted me back as far as he -could hold me, so that his eyes looked most powerfully down into mine, -and mine looked most helplessly up into his. - -"Now lookee here," he said, "the question being whether you're to be let -to live. You know what a file is?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And you know what wittles is?" - -"Yes, sir." - -After each question he tilted me over a little more, so as to give me a -greater sense of helplessness and danger. - -"You get me a file." He tilted me again. "And you get me some wittles. -If you don't--!" - -He tilted me again and shook me till my teeth chattered. - -"In--indeed--I will, sir," said I, "if you will only let me go. I'll -run all the way home." - -"Well, see that you come back. But to-morrow morning will -do--early--before day. I'll wait for you here." - -As he released me, I needed no second bidding, but scurried away as fast -as I could, and soon reached the blacksmith shop. - -My sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I, -and had established a great reputation with herself and the neighbors -because she had brought me up "by hand." Having at that time to find -out for myself what the expression meant, and knowing her to have a hard -and heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon her -husband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were both -brought up by hand. - -She was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a general -impression that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. Joe -was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smooth -face, and with eyes of such a very undecided blue that they seemed to -have somehow got mixed with their own whites. He was a mild, -good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow--a sort -of Hercules in strength, and also in weakness. - -My sister, Mrs. Joe, with black hair and eyes, had such a prevailing -redness of skin that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possible -she washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was tall -and bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened behind with -two loops, and having a bib in front that was stuck full of pins and -needles. - -Joe's forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many of the -dwellings in our country were--most of them, at that time. When I ran -home from the churchyard the forge was shut up, and Joe was sitting -alone in the kitchen. Joe and I being fellow-sufferers, and having -confidences as such, Joe imparted a confidence to me the moment I raised -the latch of the door and peeped in at him opposite to it, sitting in -the chimney corner. - -"Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times looking for you, Pip. And she's -out now, making it a baker's dozen." - -"Is she?" - -"Yes, Pip," said Joe; "and what's worse, she's got Tickler with her." - -At this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only button on my waistcoat -round and round, and looked in great depression at the fire. Tickler -was a wax-ended piece of cane, worn smooth by collision with my tickled -frame. - -"She sot down," said Joe, "and she got up, and she made a grab at -Tickler, and she Rampaged out. That's what she did," said Joe, slowly -clearing the fire between the lower bars with the poker, and looking at -it; "she Rampaged out, Pip." - -"Has she been gone long, Joe?" I always treated him as no more than my -equal. - -"Well," said Joe, glancing up at the Dutch clock, "she's been on the -Rampage, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She's a coming! Get -behind the door, old chap, and have the jack-towel betwixt you." - -I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, throwing the door wide open, -and finding an obstruction behind it, immediately divined the cause, and -applied Tickler to its farther investigation. - -"Where have you been?" she demanded, between tickles. - -"I have only been to the churchyard," said I, crying and rubbing myself. - -"Churchyard!" repeated my sister. "If it warn't for me you'd been to -the churchyard long ago, and stayed there! Who brought you up by hand?" - -My thoughts strayed from that question as I looked disconsolately at the -fire. For the fugitive out on the marshes with the ironed leg, the -file, the food, and the dreadful pledge I was under to steal, from under -my sister's very roof, rose before me in the avenging coals. - -"Ha!" said Mrs. Joe, restoring Tickler to his station. "Churchyard, -indeed! You may well say churchyard, you two." (One of us, by the by, -had not said it at all.) "You'll drive _me_ to the churchyard betwixt -you, one of these days, and oh, a pr-r-recious pair you'd be without -me!" - -As she applied herself to set the tea-things, Joe peeped down at me over -his leg, as if he were mentally calculating what kind of pair we should -make, under such circumstances. After that, he sat feeling his -right-side flaxen curls and whisker, and following Mrs. Joe about with -his blue eyes, as his manner always was at squally times. - -My sister had a sudden, severe way of cutting and buttering bread, which -never varied. Now she ripped me off a section of loaf, bidding me eat -and be thankful. Though I was hungry, I dared not eat; for she was a -strict housekeeper who would miss any further slices, and I must not let -that dreadful man out in the churchyard go hungry. So I resolved to put -my hunk of bread and butter down the leg of my trousers--a plan which I -presently found the chance to carry out. - -It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day with a -copper-stick. I tried it with the load upon my leg (and that made me -think afresh of the man with the load on _his_ leg), and found the -tendency of exercise to bring the bread-and-butter out at my ankle quite -unmanageable. Happily, I slipped away and deposited that part of my -conscience in my garret bedroom. - -"Hark!" said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final warm -in the chimney corner before being sent up to bed; "was that great guns, -Joe?" - -"Ah!" said Joe. "There's another conwict off." - -"What does that mean, Joe?" said I. - -Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said snappishly, -"Escaped. Escaped." - -"There was a conwict off last night," added Joe, "after sunset-gun. And -they fired warning of him. And now it appears they're firing warning of -another." - -"Who's firing?" said I. - -"Drat that boy," interposed my sister, frowning at me over her work, -"what a questioner he is. Ask no questions, and you'll be told no -lies." - -It was not very polite to herself, I thought, as she always answered. -But she never was polite, unless there was company. - -Presently Joe said to me in a quiet kind of whisper. "Hulks, Pip; -prison ships. They're firing because one of the thieves on the hulks is -got away." - -Thieves! Prison ships! And here I was planning to rob my sister of the -bread and butter; and honest Joe of a file! Truly conscience is a -fearful thing, yet there was no turning back for me. - -That night the rest of the dreadful deed was done. Just before daybreak -I crept out, carrying the file which I had found among Joe's tools, the -slice of bread, and a pie which was too convenient in the pantry, and -which I took in the hope it was not intended for early use and would not -be missed for some time. - -I found the man with the iron waiting for me, crouched behind a -tombstone. - -"Are you alone?" he asked hoarsely. - -"Yes, sir." - -"No one following you?" - -"No, sir." - -"Well," said he, "I believe you. Give me them wittles, quick." - -I had often watched a large dog of ours eating his food; and I now -noticed a decided similarity between the dog's way of eating and the -man's. The man took strong, sharp, sudden bites, just like the dog. He -swallowed, or rather snapped up, every mouthful, too soon and too fast; -and he looked sideways here and there while he ate, as if he thought -there was danger in every direction of somebody's coming to take the pie -away. - -"Now give us hold of the file, boy," he said, when he had finished -swallowing. - -I did so, and he bent to the iron like a madman, and began filing it -away in quick, fierce rasps. I judged this a good time to slip away, -and he paid no further attention to me. The last I heard of him, the -file was still going. - -"And where the mischief ha' you been?" was Mrs. Joe's Christmas -salutation, when I and my conscience showed ourselves. - -I said I had been down to hear the chimes. - -"Ah, well!" observed Mrs. Joe. "You might ha' done worse." - -Not a doubt of that, I thought. - -We were to have a superb dinner--so Joe slyly told me--consisting of a -leg of pork and greens, a pair of roast stuffed fowls, and a handsome -pie which had been baked the day before. - -I started when he spoke about the pie, but his blue eyes beamed upon me -kindly. - -My sister having so much to do, was going to church vicariously; that is -to say, Joe and I were going. In his working clothes, Joe was a -well-knit characteristic-looking blacksmith; in his holiday clothes, he -was more like a scarecrow in good circumstances, than anything else. -Nothing that he wore then fitted him or seemed to belong to him. On the -present festive occasion he emerged from his room, when the blithe bells -were ringing, the picture of misery, in a full suit of Sunday -penitentials. As to me, I think my sister must have had some general -idea that I was a young offender who must be punished each holy-day by -being put into clothes so tight that I could on no account move my arms -and legs without danger of something bursting. - -Joe and I going to church, therefore, must have been a moving spectacle -for compassionate minds. Yet, what I suffered outside was nothing to -what I underwent within. The terrors that had assailed me whenever Mrs. -Joe had gone near the pantry, or out of the room, were only to be -equalled by the remorse with which my mind dwelt on what my hands had -done. Under the weight of my wicked secret, I pondered whether even the -Church would be powerful enough to shield me from the wrath to come. - -Mr. Wopsle, the clerk at church, was to dine with us; and Mr. Hubble, -the wheelwright, and Mrs. Hubble; and Uncle Pumblechook (Joe's uncle, -but Mrs. Joe appropriated him), who was a well-to-do cornchandler in the -nearest town, and drove his own chaise-cart. The dinner hour was -half-past one. - -When Joe and I got home, we found the table laid, and Mrs. Joe dressed, -and the dinner dressing, and the front door unlocked (it never was at -any other time) for the company to enter by, and everything most -splendid. And still, not a word of the robbery. - -Oh, the agony of that festive dinner! During each helping of my plate I -ate mechanically, hardly daring to lift my eyes, and clutching -frantically at the leg of the table for support. With each mouthful we -drew nearer to that pie--and discovery! But as they chattered away, I -felt a faint hope that they might perhaps forget the pie. - -They did not, for presently my sister said to Joe, "Clean plates--cold." - -I got a fresh hold on the table leg. I foresaw I was doomed. - -"You must taste," said my sister, addressing the guests with her best -grace, "you must finish with a pie, in honor of Uncle Pumblechook." - -The company murmured their compliments. Uncle Pumblechook, sensible of -having deserved well of his fellow-creatures, said,--quite vivaciously, -all things considered,--"Well, Mrs. Joe, we'll do our best endeavors; -let us have a cut at this same pie." - -My sister went out to get it. I heard her steps proceed to the pantry. -I saw Mr. Pumblechook balance his knife. I saw reawakening appetite in -the Roman nostrils of Mr. Wopsle. I heard Mr. Hubble remark that "a bit -of savory pie would lay atop of anything you could mention, and do no -harm," and I heard Joe say "you shall have some, Pip." I have never -been absolutely certain whether I uttered a shrill yell of terror, -merely in spirit, or in the bodily hearing of the company. I felt that -I could bear no more, and that I must run away. I released the leg of -the table, and ran for my life. - -But I ran no farther than the house door, for there I ran headforemost -into a party of soldiers with their muskets, one of whom held out a pair -of handcuffs to me, saying, "Here you are, look sharp, come on!" - -The vision of a file of soldiers caused the dinner party to rise from -the table in confusion, and caused Mrs. Joe, re-entering the kitchen -empty-handed, to stop short and stare, in her wondering lament of -"Gracious goodness, gracious me, what's gone--with the--pie!" - -"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," said the sergeant, "but as I have -mentioned at the door to this smart young shaver" (which he hadn't), "I -am on a chase in the name of the king, and I want the blacksmith." - -"And pray, what might you want with him?" retorted my sister, quick to -resent his being wanted at all. - -"Missis," returned the gallant sergeant, "speaking for myself, I should -reply, the honor and pleasure of his fine wife's acquaintance; speaking -for the king, I answer, a little job done." - -This was received as rather neat in the sergeant; insomuch that Mr. -Pumblechook cried audibly, "Good again!" - -"You see, blacksmith," said the sergeant, who had by this time picked -out Joe with his eye, "we have had an accident with these, and I find -the lock of one of 'em goes wrong, and the coupling don't act pretty. -As they are wanted for immediate service, will you throw your eye over -them?" - -Joe threw his eye over them, and pronounced that the job would -necessitate the lighting of his forge fire, and would take nearer two -hours than one. - -"Will it? Then will you set about it at once, blacksmith," said the -off-hand sergeant, "as it's on his Majesty's service. And if my men can -bear a hand anywhere, they'll make themselves useful." With that, he -called to his men, who came trooping into the kitchen one after another, -and piled their arms in a corner. - -All these things I saw without then knowing that I saw them, for I was -in an agony of apprehension. But, beginning to perceive that the -handcuffs were not for me, and that the military had so far got the -better of the pie as to put it in the background, I collected a little -more of my scattered wits. - -[Illustration: PIP BRINGS THE CONVICT SOME FOOD.] - -The soldiers were out hunting for the convicts that had escaped. And as -soon as Joe had mended the handcuffs, they fell in line and started -again for the marshes. Joe caught an appealing look from me, and -timidly asked if he and I might go along with them. The consent was -given and away we went. - -After a rough journey over bogs and through briars, a loud shout from -the soldiers in front announced that one of the fugitives had been -caught. We ran hastily up and peered into a ditch. It was my convict. - -He was hustled into the handcuffs and hustled up a hill where stood a -rough hut or sentry-box, and here we halted to rest. - -My convict never looked at me, except once. While we were in the hut, he -stood before the fire looking thoughtfully at it, or putting up his feet -by turns upon the hob. Suddenly he turned to the sergeant and remarked: - -"I wish to say something respecting this escape. It may prevent some -persons laying under suspicion alonger me." - -"You can say what you like," returned the sergeant, standing coolly -looking at him with his arms folded, "but you have no call to say it -here. You'll have opportunity enough to say about it, and hear about -it, before it's done with, you know." - -"I know, but this is another p'int, a separate matter. A man can't -starve; at least _I_ can't. I took some wittles, up at the village over -yonder--where the church stands a'most out on the marshes." - -"You mean stole," said the sergeant. - -"And I'll tell you where from. From the blacksmith's." - -"Hallo!" said the sergeant, staring at Joe. - -"Hallo, Pip!" said Joe, staring at me. - -"It was some broken wittle--that's what it was--and a dram of liquor, -and a pie." - -"Have you happened to miss such an article as a pie, blacksmith?" asked -the sergeant, confidentially. - -"My wife did, at the very moment when you came in. Don't you know, -Pip?" - -"So," said my convict, turning his eyes on Joe in a moody manner, and -without the least glance at me; "so you're the blacksmith, are you? -Then I'm sorry to say I've eat your pie." - -"God knows you're welcome to it--so far as it was ever mine," returned -Joe, with a saving remembrance of Mrs. Joe. "We don't know what you -have done, but we wouldn't have you starve to death for it, poor -miserable fellow-creatur. Would us, Pip?" - -Something that I had noticed before clicked in the man's throat again, -and he turned his back. The boat had returned, and his guard were -ready, so we followed him to the landing-place made of rough stakes and -stones, and saw him put into the boat, which was rowed by a crew of -convicts like himself. No one seemed surprised to see him, but they -looked at him stolidly and rowed him back to the hulks as a matter of -course. - -My state of mind regarding the pie was curious. I do not recall that I -felt any tenderness of conscience in reference to Mrs. Joe, when the -fear of being found out was lifted off me. But I loved Joe--perhaps for -no better reason in those early days than because the dear fellow let me -love him--and, as to him, my inner self was not so easily composed. It -was much upon my mind (particularly when I first saw him looking about -for his file) that I ought to tell Joe the whole truth. Yet I did not, -and for the reason that I mistrusted that if I did he would think me -worse than I was. The fear of losing Joe's confidence and of thenceforth -sitting in the chimney corner at night staring drearily at my forever -lost companion and friend, tied up my tongue. And so the whole truth -never came out. - - - - - *II. PIP AND ESTELLA* - - -At this time I was only an errand boy around the forge, and my education -was limited to spelling out the names on the tombstones. So in the -evenings they sent me to school to Mr. Wopsle's aunt, a worthy woman who -used to go to sleep regularly from six to seven while her small class -was supposed to study. - -But I was lucky enough to find a friend in her granddaughter, Biddy. -She was about my own age, and, while her shoes were generally untied and -her hands sometimes dirty, her heart was in the right place and she had -a good head. So with her help I struggled through my letters as if they -had been a bramble-bush, getting considerably worried and scratched by -each letter in turn. Then came the dreaded nine figures to add to my -troubles. But at last I learned to read and cipher. - -I do not know which was the prouder, Joe or I, when I wrote him my first -letter (which was hardly needed, as he sat beside me while I wrote it). - -"I say, Pip, old chap!" he cried, opening his eyes very wide, "what a -scholar you are! Ain't you?" - -"I should like to be," I answered, looking at the slate with -satisfaction. - -Mrs. Joe made occasional trips with Uncle Pumblechook on market-days, to -assist him in buying such household stuffs and goods as required a -woman's judgment; Uncle Pumblechook being a bachelor and reposing no -confidences in his domestic servant. On this particular evening she -came home from such a trip, bringing Uncle Pumblechook with her. - -"Now," said she, unwrapping herself with haste and excitement, and -throwing her bonnet back on her shoulders where it hung by the strings, -"if this boy ain't grateful this night, he never will be!" - -I looked as grateful as any boy possibly could, who was wholly -uninformed why he ought to assume that expression. - -"You have heard of Miss Havisham up town, haven't you?" continued my -sister, addressing Joe. "She wants this boy to go and play there. And -of course he's going. And he had _better_ play there," said my sister, -shaking her head at me as an encouragement to be extremely light and -sportive, "or I'll work him!" - -I had heard of Miss Havisham up town--everybody for miles round had -heard of Miss Havisham up town--as an immensely rich and grim lady who -lived in a large and dismal house barricaded against robbers, and who -led a life of seclusion. - -"Well to be sure!" said Joe, astounded. "I wonder how she come to know -Pip!" - -"Noodle!" cried my sister. "Who said she knew him? Couldn't she ask -Uncle Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and play there? And couldn't -Uncle Pumblechook, being always considerate and thoughtful of us, -mention this boy that I have been a willing slave to? And couldn't -Uncle Pumblechook, being sensible that for anything we can tell, this -boy's fortune may be made by his going to Miss Havisham's, offer to take -him into town to-night in his own chaise-cart, and to keep him to-night, -and to take him with his own hands to Miss Havisham's to-morrow morning? -And Lor-a-mussy me!" cried my sister, casting off her bonnet in sudden -desperation, "here I stand talking to mere Mooncalfs, with Uncle -Pumblechook waiting, and the mare catching cold at the door, and the boy -grimed with dirt from the hair of his head to the sole of his foot!" - -With that, she pounced on me, like an eagle on a lamb, and my face was -squeezed into wooden bowls in sinks, and my head was put under taps of -water-butts, and I was soaped and kneaded, and towelled, and thumped, -and harrowed, and rasped, until I really was quite beside myself. - -When my ablutions were completed, I was put into clean linen of the -stiffest character, like a young penitent into sackcloth, and was -trussed up in my tightest and fearfullest suit. I was then delivered -over to Mr. Pumblechook, who formally received me as if he were the -Sheriff, saying pompously, "Boy, be forever grateful to all friends, but -especially unto them which brought you up by hand!" - -"Good-bye, Joe!" - -"God bless you, Pip, old chap!" - -I had never parted from him before, and what with my feelings and what -with soap-suds, I could at first see no stars from the chaise-cart. But -they twinkled out one by one, without throwing any light on the -questions as to why on earth I was going to play at Miss Havisham's, and -what on earth I was expected to play at. - -I spent the night at Uncle Pumblechook's, and the next morning after -breakfast we proceeded to Miss Havisham's. It was a dismal looking -house with a great many iron bars to it. Some of the windows had been -walled up, and the others were rustily barred. There was a courtyard in -front, which was also barred; so we had to wait, after ringing the bell, -for some one to open it. - -Presently a window was raised, and a clear voice demanded, "What name?" - -"Pumblechook," was the reply. - -The voice returned, "Quite right," and the window was shut again, and a -young lady came across the courtyard, with keys in her hand. - -"This," said Mr. Pumblechook, "is Pip." - -"This is Pip, is it?" returned the young lady, who was very pretty and -seemed very proud; "come in, Pip." - -Mr. Pumblechook was coming in also, when she stopped him with the gate. - -"Oh!" she said. "Did you wish to see Miss Havisham?" - -"If Miss Havisham wished to see me," returned Mr. Pumblechook, -discomfited. - -"Ah!" said the girl; "but you see she don't." - -She said it so finally, and in such an undiscussible way, that Mr. -Pumblechook, though in a condition of ruffled dignity, could not -protest. - -We went into the house by a side door--the great front entrance had two -chains across it outside--and the first thing I noticed was that the -passages were all dark, and that she had left a candle burning there. -She took it up, and we went through more passages and up a staircase, -and still it was all dark, and only the candle lighted us. - -At last we came to the door of a room and she said, "Go in." - -I answered, more in shyness than politeness, "After you, miss." - -To this she returned, "Don't be ridiculous, boy; I am not going in." -And scornfully walked away, and--what was worse--took the candle with -her. - -This was very uncomfortable, and I was half afraid. However, the only -thing to do being to knock at the door, I knocked, and was told from -within to enter. I entered, therefore, and found myself in a pretty -large room, well lighted with wax candles. No glimpse of daylight was -to be seen in it. It was a dressing-room, as I supposed from the -furniture, though much of it was of forms and uses then quite unknown to -me. But prominent in it was a draped table with a gilded looking-glass, -and that I made out at first sight to be a fine lady's dressing-table. - -In an arm-chair, with an elbow resting on the table and her head leaning -on that hand, sat the strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever -see. - -She was dressed in rich materials,--satins and lace and silks,--all of -white. Her shoes were white. And she had a long white veil dependent -from her hair, and she had bridal flowers in her hair, but her hair was -white. Some bright jewels sparkled on her neck and on her hands, and -some other jewels lay sparkling on the table. Dresses, less splendid -than the dress she wore, and half-packed trunks, were scattered about. -She had not quite finished dressing, for she had but one shoe on,--the -other was on the table near her hand,--her veil was but half arranged, -her watch and chain were not put on, and her handkerchief, gloves, some -flowers, and a prayer-book lay confusedly heaped about the -looking-glass. - -"Who is it?" said the lady at the table. - -"Pip, ma'am." - -"Pip?" - -"Mr. Pumblechook's boy, ma'am. Come--to play." - -"Look at me," said Miss Havisham. "You are not afraid of a woman who -has never seen the sun since you were born?" - -I regret to state that I was not afraid of telling the enormous lie -comprehended in the answer "No." - -"I am tired," said Miss Havisham. "I want diversion, and I have done -with men and women. Play." - -I looked foolish and bewildered, not knowing what to do. - -"I sometimes have sick fancies," she went on, "and I have a sick fancy -that I want to see some play. There, there!" with an impatient movement -of the fingers of her right hand; "play, play, play!" - -For a moment, with the fear of my sister's working me before my eyes, I -had a desperate idea of starting round the room in the assumed character -of Mr. Pumblechook's chaise-cart. But I felt myself so unequal to the -performance that I gave it up, and stood looking at Miss Havisham in -what I suppose she took for a dogged manner, inasmuch as she said, when -we had taken a good look at each other, - -"Are you sullen and obstinate?" - -"No, ma'am, I am very sorry for you, and very sorry I can't play just -now. If you complain of me I shall get into trouble with my sister, so -I would do it if I could; but it's so new here, and so strange, and so -fine, and melancholy--" I stopped, fearing I might say too much. - -"Call Estella," she commanded, looking at me. "You can do that." - -To stand in a strange house calling a scornful young lady by her first -name was almost as bad as playing to order. But she answered at last. - -"My dear," said Miss Havisham, "let me see you play cards with this -boy." - -"What do you play, boy?" asked Estella, with the greatest disdain. - -"Nothing but 'beggar my neighbor,' Miss." - -"Beggar him," said Miss Havisham to Estella. So we sat down to cards. - -It was then I began to understand that everything in the room had -stopped, with the watch and the clock, a long time ago. I noticed that -Miss Havisham put down the jewel exactly on the spot from which she had -taken it up. As Estella dealt the cards, I glanced at the -dressing-table again, and saw that the shoe upon it, once white, now -yellow, had never been worn. - -"He calls the knaves, Jacks, this boy!" said Estella with disdain, -before our first game was out. "And what coarse hands he has! And what -thick boots!" - -I had never thought of being ashamed of my hands before; but now I began -to consider them. Her contempt for me was so strong that I caught it. - -She won the game, and I dealt. I misdealt, as was only natural, when I -knew she was lying in wait for me to do wrong; and she denounced me for -a stupid, clumsy laboring-boy. - -"You say nothing of her," remarked Miss Havisham to me, as she looked -on. "She says many hard things of you, but you say nothing of her. -What do you think of her?" - -"I don't like to say," I stammered. - -"Tell me in my ear," said Miss Havisham, bending down. - -"I think she is very proud," I replied, in a whisper. - -"Anything else?" - -"I think she is very pretty." - -"Anything else?" - -"I think she is very insulting." (She was looking at me then with a -look of supreme aversion.) - -"Anything else?" - -"I think I should like to go home." - -"You shall go soon," said Miss Havisham aloud; "play the game out." - -I played the game to an end with Estella, and she beggared me. She -threw the cards down on the table when she had won them all, as if she -despised them for having been won of me. - -"When shall I have you here again?" said Miss Havisham. "Let me think. -I know nothing of days of the week, or of weeks of the year. Come again -after six days. You hear?" - -"Yes, ma'am." - -"Estella, take him down. Let him have something to eat, and let him -roam and look about him while he eats. Go, Pip." - -I followed the candle down, as I had followed the candle up, and she -stood it in the place where we had found it. Until she opened the side -entrance, I had fancied, without thinking about it, that it must -necessarily be night-time. The rush of the daylight quite confounded me, -and made me feel as if I had been in the candle-light of the strange -room many hours. - -When I reached home, my sister was very curious to know all about Miss -Havisham and what I had seen and done at her house. Uncle Pumblechook, -too, came hurrying over, armed with many questions. - -I was naturally a truthful boy--as boys go--but I knew instinctively -that I could not make myself understood about that strange visit. So I -didn't try. When he fired his first question, as to What was Miss -Havisham like? - -"Very tall and dark," I told him. - -"Is she, uncle?" asked my sister. - -Mr. Pumblechook winked assent; from which I at once inferred that he had -never seen Miss Havisham, for she was nothing of the kind. - -"Good!" said Mr. Pumblechook conceitedly. "Now, boy! What was she a -doing of when you went in to-day?" he continued. - -"She was sitting," I answered, "in a black velvet coach." - -Mr. Pumblechook and Mrs. Joe stared at one another--as they well -might--and both repeated, "In a black velvet coach?" - -"Yes," said I. "And Miss Estella--that's her niece, I think--handed her -in cake and wine at the coach-window, on a gold plate. And we all had -cake and wine on gold plates. And I got up behind the coach to eat mine, -because she told me to." - -"Was anybody else there?" asked Mr. Pumblechook. - -"Four dogs," said I. - -"Large or small?" - -"Immense," said I. "And they fought for veal cutlets out of a silver -basket." - -Mr. Pumblechook and Mrs. Joe stared at one another again in utter -amazement. I was perfectly frantic--a reckless witness under the -torture--and would have told them anything. - -"Where _was_ this coach, in the name of gracious?" asked my sister. - -"In Miss Havisham's room." They stared again. "But there weren't any -horses to it." I added this saving clause, in the moment of rejecting -four richly caparisoned coursers which I had had wild thoughts of -harnessing. - -"Can this be possible, uncle?" asked Mrs. Joe. "What can the boy mean?" - -"I'll tell you, Mum," said Mr. Pumblechook. "My opinion is, it's a -sedan-chair. She's flighty, you know--very flighty--quite flighty -enough to pass her days in a sedan-chair." - -"Did you ever see her in it, uncle?" asked Mrs. Joe. - -"How could I?" he returned, forced to the admission, "when I never see -her in my life. Never clapped eyes upon her!" - -"Goodness, uncle! And yet you have spoken to her!" - -"Just through the door," he replied testily. "Now, boy, what did you -play?" - -"We played with flags." - -"Flags!" echoed my sister. - -"Yes," said I. "Estella waved a blue flag, and I waved a red one, and -Miss Havisham waved one sprinkled all over with little gold stars, out -at the coach-window. And then we all waved our swords and hurrahed." - -"Swords!" repeated my sister. "Where did you get swords from?" - -"Out of a cupboard," said I. "And I saw pistols in it--and jam--and -pills. And there was no daylight in the room, but it was all lighted up -with candles." - -"That's true, Mum," said Mr. Pumblechook, with a grave nod. "That's the -state of the case, for that much I've seen myself." And then they both -stared at me, and I at them, and plaited the right leg of my trousers -with my right hand. - -If they had asked me any more questions I should undoubtedly have -betrayed myself, for I was even then on the point of mentioning that -there was a balloon in the yard, and should have hazarded the statement -but for my invention being divided between that phenomenon and a bear. -They were so much occupied, however, in discussing the marvels I had -already presented for their consideration, that I escaped. The subject -still held them when Joe came in from his work to have a cup of tea. To -whom my sister, more for the relief of her own mind than for the -gratification of his, related my pretended experiences. - -Now, when I saw Joe open his blue eyes and roll them all round the -kitchen in helpless amazement, I was overtaken by penitence; but only as -regarded him--not in the least as regarded the other two. Towards Joe, -and Joe only, I considered myself a young monster, while they sat -debating what results would come to me from Miss Havisham's acquaintance -and favor. They had no doubt that Miss Havisham would "do something" -for me; their doubts related to the form that something would take. My -sister stood out for "property." Mr. Pumblechook was in favor of a -handsome premium for binding me apprentice to some genteel trade,--say, -the corn and seed trade, for instance. Joe fell into the deepest -disgrace with both, for offering the bright suggestion that I might only -be presented with one of the dogs who had fought for the veal cutlets. -"If a fool's head can't express better opinions than that," said my -sister, "and you have got any work to do, you had better go and do it." -So he went. - -After Mr. Pumblechook had driven off, and when my sister was washing up, -I stole into the forge to Joe, and remained by him until he had done for -the night. Then I said, "Before the fire goes out, Joe, I should like -to tell you something." - -"Should you, Pip?" said Joe, drawing his shoeing-stool near the forge. -"Then tell us. What is it, Pip?" - -"Joe," said I, taking hold of his rolled-up shirt sleeve, and twisting -it between my finger and thumb, "you remember all that about Miss -Havisham's?" - -"Remember?" said Joe. "I believe you! Wonderful!" - -"It's a terrible thing, Joe; it ain't true." - -"What are you telling of, Pip?" cried Joe, falling back in the greatest -amazement. "You don't mean to say it's--" - -"Yes, I do; it's lies, Joe." - -"But not all of it? Why sure you don't mean to say, Pip, that there was -no black welwet co--ch?" For, I stood shaking my head. "But at least -there was dogs, Pip? Come, Pip," said Joe persuasively, "if there warn't -no weal cutlets, at least there was dogs?" - -"No, Joe." - -"_A_ dog?" said Joe. "A puppy? Come?" - -"No, Joe, there was nothing at all of the kind." - -As I fixed my eyes hopelessly on Joe, Joe contemplated me in dismay. -"Pip, old chap! This won't do, old fellow! I say! Where do you expect -to go to?" - -"It's terrible, Joe; ain't it?" - -"Terrible?" cried Joe. "Awful! What possessed you?" - -"I don't know what possessed me, Joe," I replied, letting his shirt -sleeve go, and sitting down in the ashes at his feet, hanging my head; -"but I wish you hadn't taught me to call knaves at cards, Jacks; and I -wish my boots weren't so thick nor my hands so coarse." - -And then I told Joe that I felt very miserable, and that I hadn't been -able to explain myself to Mrs. Joe and Pumblechook, and that there had -been a beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham's who was dreadfully proud, -and that she had said I was common, and much more to that effect. - -"There's one thing you maybe sure of, Pip," said Joe, after some -rumination, "namely, that lies is lies. Howsever they come, they didn't -ought to come, and they come from the father of lies, and work round to -the same. Don't you tell no more of 'em, Pip. _That_ ain't the way to -get out of being common, old chap. And as to being common, I don't make -it out at all clear. You are oncommon in some things. You're oncommon -small. Likewise you're a oncommon scholar." - -"No, I am ignorant and backward, Joe." - -"Why, see what a letter you wrote last night. Wrote in print even! I've -seen letters--Ah! and from gentlefolks!--that I'll swear weren't wrote -in print," said Joe. - -"I have learnt next to nothing, Joe. You think much of me. It's only -that." - -"Well, Pip," said Joe, "be it so or be it son't, you must be a common -scholar afore you can be a oncommon one, I should hope! The king upon -his throne, with his crown upon his 'ed, can't sit and write his acts of -Parliament in print, without having begun, when he were a unpromoted -prince, with the alphabet--Ah!" added Joe, with a shake of the head that -was full of meaning, "and begun at A too, and worked his way to Z!" - -There was some hope in this piece of wisdom, and it rather encouraged -me. - -"You're not angry with me, Joe?" - -"No, old chap. But you might bear in mind about them dog fights and -weal cutlets when you say your prayers to-night. That's all, old chap, -and don't never do it no more." - - - - - *III. HOW PIP FELL HEIR TO GREAT EXPECTATIONS* - - -The happy idea occurred to me a morning or two later when I woke, that -the best step I could take towards making myself uncommon was to get out -of Biddy everything she knew. In pursuance of this idea, I mentioned to -Biddy, when I went to Mr. Wopsle's aunt's at night, that I had a -particular reason for wishing to get on in life, and that I should feel -very much obliged to her if she would impart all her learning to me. -Biddy, who was the most obliging of girls, immediately said she would, -and indeed began to carry out her promise within five minutes. - -The books at the school were few and ragged, but we attacked them all -valiantly during the course of the winter, and even refreshed our -budding minds with newspaper scraps. And with every new piece of -knowledge I could fancy myself saying to Miss Estella, "Now am I -common?" - -At the appointed time I returned to Miss Havisham's, and my hesitating -ring at the gate brought out Estella. - -"You are to come this way to-day," she said after admitting me, and took -me to quite another part of the house. - -We went in at a door, which stood open, and into a gloomy room with a -low ceiling on the ground floor at the back. There was some company in -the room, and Estella said to me as she joined it, "You are to go and -stand there, boy, till you are wanted." "There," being the window, I -crossed to it, and stood "there," in a very uncomfortable state of mind, -looking out. - -Presently she brought a candle and led the way down a dark passage to a -staircase. As we went up the stairs we met a man coming down. He was -large and bald, with bushy black eyebrows and deep-set eyes which were -disagreeably keen. He was nothing to me at the time, and yet I couldn't -help observe him. - -He stopped and looked at me. - -"How do _you_ come here?" he asked. - -"Miss Havisham sent for me, sir," I explained. - -"Well! Behave yourself. I have a pretty large experience of boys, and -you're a bad set of fellows. Now mind!" said he, biting the side of his -great forefinger as he frowned at me, "you behave yourself!" - -With those words he released me--which I was glad of, for his hand smelt -of scented soap--and went his way downstairs. I wondered whether he -could be a doctor; but no, I thought; he couldn't be a doctor, or he -would have a quieter manner. There was not much time to consider the -subject, for we were soon in Miss Havisham's room, where she and -everything else were just as I had left them. Estella left me standing -near the door, and I stood there until Miss Havisham cast her eyes upon -me from the dressing-table. - -"So!" she said, without being startled or surprised; "the days have worn -away, have they?" - -"Yes, ma'am. To-day is--" - -"There, there, there!" with the impatient movement of her fingers. "I -don't want to know. Are you ready to play?" - -I was obliged to answer in some confusion, "I don't think I am, ma'am." - -"Not at cards again?" she demanded with a searching look. - -"Yes, ma'am; I could do that, if I was wanted." - -"Since this house strikes you old and grave, boy," said Miss Havisham, -impatiently, "and you are unwilling to play, are you willing to work?" - -I could answer this inquiry with a better heart than I had been able to -find for the other question, and I said I was quite willing. - -"Then go into that opposite room," said she, pointing at the door behind -me with her withered hand, "and wait there till I come." - -I did so, and after hearing mice scamper about the faintly lighted room -for a few minutes, Miss Havisham entered and laid a hand upon my -shoulder. In her other hand she had a crutch-headed stick on which she -leaned, and she looked like the Witch of the place. - -"This," said she, pointing to the long table with her stick, "is where I -will be laid when I am dead. They shall come and look at me here." - -With some vague misgiving that she might get upon the table then and -there and die at once, the complete realization of the ghastly wax-work -at the Fair, I shrank under her touch. - -"What do you think that is?" she asked me, again pointing with her -stick; "that, where those cobwebs are?" - -"I can't guess what it is, ma'am." - -"It's a great cake. A bride-cake. Mine!" - -She looked all around the room in a glaring manner, and then said, -leaning on me while her hand twitched my shoulder, "Come, come, come! -Walk me, walk me!" - -From this I made out that the work I had to do was to walk Miss Havisham -round and round the room. So I started at once, she following at a -fitful speed, twitching the hand upon my shoulder. After a while she -said, "Call Estella," and I did so. Then the company I had noticed -before filed in and paid their respects, which Miss Havisham hardly -seemed to hear. - -While Estella was away lighting them down, Miss Havisham still walked -with her hand on my shoulder, but more and more slowly. At last she -stopped before the fire, and said, after muttering and looking at it -some seconds, - -"This is my birthday, Pip." - -I was going to wish her many happy returns, when she lifted her stick. - -"I don't suffer it to be spoken of. I don't suffer those who were here -just now or any one to speak of it. They come here on the day, but they -dare not refer to it." - -Of course _I_ made no further effort to refer to it. - -"On this day of the year, long before you were born, this heap of -decay," stabbing with her crutched stick at the pile of cobwebs on the -table but not touching it, "was brought here. It and I have worn away -together. The mice have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than teeth of -mice have gnawed at me." - -She held the head of her stick against her heart as she stood looking at -the table; she in her once white dress, all yellow and withered; the -once white cloth all yellow and withered; everything around, in a state -to crumble under a touch. - -"When the ruin is complete," said she, with a ghastly look, "and when -they lay me dead, in my bride's dress on the bride's table--which shall -be done, and which will be the finished curse upon him--so much the -better if it is done on this day!" - -She stood looking at the table as if she stood looking at her own figure -lying there. I remained quiet. Estella returned, and she too remained -quiet. It seemed to me that we continued thus a long time. In the -heavy air of the room, and the heavy darkness that brooded in its -remoter corners, I even had an alarming fancy that Estella and I might -presently crumble to dust. - -And thus passed my second visit to Miss Havisham's. - -On my next visit, the following week, I saw a garden-chair--a light -chair on wheels, that you pushed from behind. I entered, that same day, -on a regular occupation of pushing Miss Havisham in this chair (when she -was tired of walking with her hand upon my shoulder) round her own room, -and across the landing, and round the other room. Over and over and -over again, we would make these journeys, and sometimes they would last -as long as three hours at a stretch. I insensibly fall into a general -mention of these journeys as numerous, because it was at once settled -that I should return every alternate day at noon for these purposes, and -because I am now going to sum up a period of at least eight or ten -months. - -As we began to be more used to one another, Miss Havisham talked more to -me, and asked me such questions as, what had I learned and what was I -going to be? I told her I was going to be apprenticed to Joe, I -believed; and I enlarged upon my knowing nothing and wanting to know -everything, in the hope that she might offer some help towards that -desirable end. But she did not; on the contrary, she seemed to prefer -my being ignorant. Neither did she ever give me any money nor anything -but my daily dinner. - -Estella was always there to let me in and out. Sometimes she would -coldly tolerate me; sometimes she would condescend to me; sometimes she -would be quite familiar with me; sometimes she would say she hated me. -But always my admiration for her grew apace, and I was the more firmly -resolved not to be common. - -There was a song Joe used to hum fragments of at the forge, of which the -burden was Old Clem. This was not a very ceremonious way of rendering -homage to a patron saint; for I believe Old Clem stood in that relation -towards smiths. It was a song that imitated the measure of beating upon -iron, and was a mere lyrical excuse for the introduction of Old Clem's -respected name. Thus, you were to hammer boys round--Old Clem! With a -thump and a sound--Old Clem! Beat it out, beat it out--Old Clem! With -a clink for the stout--Old Clem! Blow the fire, blow the fire--Old -Clem! Roaring dryer, soaring higher--Old Clem! One day soon after the -appearance of the chair, Miss Havisham suddenly saying to me, with the -impatient movement of her fingers, "There, there, there! Sing!" I was -surprised into crooning this ditty as I pushed her over the floor. It -happened so to catch her fancy that, she took it up in a low brooding -voice as if she were singing in her sleep. After that, it became -customary with us to have it as we moved about, and Estella would often -join in; though the whole strain was so subdued, even when there were -three of us, that it made less noise in the grim old house than the -lightest breath of wind. - -What could I become with these surroundings? How could my character fail -to be influenced by them? Is it to be wondered at if my thoughts were -dazed, as my eyes were, when I came out into the natural light from the -misty yellow rooms? - -Perhaps I might have talked it all over with Joe, had it not been for -those enormous tales about coaches, dogs, and veal cutlets. But I felt -a natural shrinking from having Miss Havisham and Estella discussed, -which had come upon me in the beginning, and which grew much more potent -as time went on. I reposed complete confidence in no one but Biddy; and -so I told her everything. Why it came natural for me to do so, and why -Biddy had a deep concern in everything I told her, I did not know then, -though I think I know now. - -We went on in this way for a long time, and it seemed likely that we -should continue to go on in this way for a long time, when, one day, -Miss Havisham stopped short as she and I were walking, she leaning on my -shoulder; and said with some displeasure, - -"You are growing tall, Pip!" - -She said no more at the time; but she presently stopped and looked at me -again; and presently again; and after that, looked frowning and moody. -On the next day of my attendance, when our usual exercise was over, and -I had landed her at her dressing-table, she stayed me with a movement of -her impatient fingers: - -"Tell me the name again of that blacksmith of yours." - -"Joe Gargery, ma'am." - -"Meaning the master you were to be apprenticed to?" - -"Yes, Miss Havisham." - -"You had better be apprenticed at once. Would Gargery come here with -you, and bring your indentures, do you think?" - -I signified that I had no doubt he would take it as an honor to be -asked. - -"Then let him come." - -"At any particular time, Miss Havisham?" - -"There, there! I know nothing about times. Let him come soon, and come -alone with you." - -So, on my very next visit, I conducted Joe, stiffly arrayed in his -Sunday clothes, into Miss Havisham's presence. She asked him several -questions about himself and my apprenticeship, while the poor fellow -twisted his hat in his hand and persisted in answering _me_. I am -afraid I was the least bit ashamed of him, when I saw that Estella stood -at the back of Miss Havisham's chair, and that her eyes laughed -mischievously. - -Miss Havisham glanced at him as if she understood what he really was, -better than I had thought possible, seeing what an awkward figure he -cut; and took up a little bag from the table beside her. - -"Pip has earned a premium here," she said, "and here it is. There are -five-and-twenty guineas in this bag. Give it to your master, Pip." - -As if he were absolutely out of his mind with the wonder awakened in him -by her strange figure and the strange room, Joe, even at this pass, -persisted in addressing me. - -"This is wery liberal on your part, Pip," said Joe, "and it is as such -received and grateful welcome, though never looked for, far nor near nor -nowheres. And now, old chap, may we do our duty! May you and me do our -duty, both on us, by one and another, and by them which your liberal -present--have--conweyed--to be--for the satisfaction of mind--of--them -as never--" here Joe showed that he felt he had fallen into frightful -difficulties, until he triumphantly rescued himself with the words, "and -from myself far be it!" These words had such a round and convincing -sound for him that he said them twice. - -"Good-bye, Pip!" said Miss Havisham, after my papers were signed. "Let -them out, Estella." - -"Am I to come again, Miss Havisham?" I asked. - -"No. Gargery is your master now. Gargery! One word!" - -Thus calling him back as I went out of the door, I heard her say to Joe, -in a distinct emphatic voice, "The boy has been a good boy here, and -that is his reward. Of course, as an honest man, you will expect no -other and no more." - -How Joe got out of the room, I have never been able to determine; but I -know that when he did get out he was steadily proceeding upstairs -instead of coming down, and was deaf to all remonstrances until I went -after him and laid hold of him. In another minute we were outside the -gate, and it was locked, and Estella was gone. When we stood in the -daylight alone again, Joe backed up against a wall, and said to me, -"Astonishing!" And there he remained so long, saying, "Astonishing!" at -intervals, so often, that I began to think his senses were never coming -back. At length he prolonged his remark into "Pip, I do assure you this -is as-TON-ishing!" and so, by degrees, became able to walk away. - -It is a most miserable thing to feel ashamed of home. There may be -black ingratitude in the thing, and the punishment may be retributive -and well deserved; but that it is a miserable thing, I can testify. - -Home had never been a pleasant place to me, because of my sister's -temper. But, Joe had sanctified it, and I believed in it. I had -believed in the best parlor as a most elegant place; I had believed in -the front door as a mysterious portal of the Temple of State whose -solemn opening was attended with a sacrifice of roast fowls; I had -believed in the kitchen as a chaste though not magnificent apartment; I -had believed in the forge as the glowing road to manhood and -independence. Within a single year all this was changed. Now, it was -all coarse and common, and I would not have had Miss Havisham and -Estella see it on any account. - -How much of my ungracious condition of mind may have been my own fault, -how much Miss Havisham's, how much my sister's, is now of no moment to -me or to any one. The change was made in me; the thing was done. - -Once, it had seemed to me that when I should at last roll up my -shirt-sleeves and go into the forge, Joe's apprentice, I should be -distinguished and happy. Now that the reality was here, I only felt -that I was dusty with the dust of small-coal, and that I had a weight -upon my daily remembrance to which the anvil was a feather. I remember -that at a later period of my "time," I used to stand about the -churchyard on Sunday evenings, when night was falling, comparing my own -perspective with the windy marsh view, and making out some likeness -between them by thinking how flat and low both were, and how on both -there came an unknown way and a dark mist and then the sea. I was quite -as dejected on the first working-day of my apprenticeship as in that -after-time; but I am glad to know that I never breathed a murmur to Joe -while my indentures lasted. It is about the only thing I _am_ glad to -know of myself in that connection. - -For, though it includes what I proceed to add, all the merit was Joe's. -It was not because I was faithful, but because Joe was faithful, that I -never ran away and went for a soldier or a sailor. It was not because I -had a strong sense of the virtue of industry, but because of Joe, that I -worked with tolerable zeal against the grain. - -As I was getting too big for Mr. Wopsle's aunt's room, my education -under that lady ended. Not, however, until Biddy had imparted to me -everything she knew, from the little catalogue of prices to a comic song -she had once bought for a half-penny. Although the only coherent part -of the latter piece were the opening lines: - - When I went to Lunnon town, sirs, - Too rul loo rul - Too rul loo rul - Was 't I done very brown, sirs? - Too rul loo rul - Too rul loo rul - ---still, in my desire to be wiser, I got this composition by heart with -the utmost gravity; nor do I recollect that I questioned its merit, -except that I thought (as I still do) the amount of Too rul somewhat in -excess of the poetry. - -Thus matters went until I reached the fourth year of my apprenticeship; -and they bade fair to end that way, but for an unusual event. - -I had gone with Joe one Saturday night to a neighboring tavern to join -some friends. In the course of the conversation, a strange gentleman, -who had been listening to us, stepped between us and the fire, and said: - -"I understand that one of you is a blacksmith, by name, Joseph Gargery. -Which is the man?" - -"Here is the man," said Joe. - -"You have an apprentice," pursued the stranger, "commonly known as Pip. -Is he here?" - -"Here," I answered. - -The stranger did not recognize me, but I did recognize him as the man I -had once met on the stair at Miss Havisham's. - -"I wish to have a private talk with you both," he said. "Perhaps we had -better go to your house." - -So, in a wondering silence we left the inn and walked home, where Joe, -vaguely recognizing the occasion to be important, opened the front door -and ushered us into the state parlor. - -The stranger told us that he was a lawyer in London, and was now acting -as confidential agent for some one else. He wished to purchase my -apprenticeship papers from Joe, if Joe were willing to release me. - -"Lord forbid that I should want anything for not standing in Pip's way," -said Joe, staring. - -"Lord forbidding is pious, but not to the purpose," returned the lawyer. -"The question is, Would you want anything? Do you want anything." - -"The answer is," returned Joe, sternly, "No." - -"Then I am instructed to communicate to him," said Mr. Jaggers, throwing -his finger at me, sideways, "that he will come into a handsome property. -Further, that it is the desire of the present possessor of that -property, that he be immediately removed from his present sphere of life -and from this place, and be brought up as a gentleman--in a word, as a -young fellow of great expectations." - -My dream was out; my wild fancy was surpassed by sober reality; Miss -Havisham was going to make my fortune on a grand scale!--at least, so I -thought at the time. - -"Now, Mr. Pip," pursued the lawyer, "I address the rest of what I have -to say to you. You are to understand, first, that it is the request of -the person from whom I take my instructions, that you always bear the -name of Pip. You will have no objection, I dare say, to that easy -condition. But if you have any objection, this is the time to mention -it." - -I gasped, but had no objection. - -"The second condition," he resumed, "is that you are not to know the -name of your benefactor, for the present. I will act as your guardian -and see that you are educated properly. You desire an education, don't -you?" - -I replied that I had always longed for it. - -"Good. Then we will see to getting you a tutor. But first you should -have some new clothes to come away in. When will you be ready to leave? -Say this day week. You'll want some money. Shall I leave you twenty -guineas?" - -He produced a long purse, with the greatest coolness, and counted them -out on the table and pushed them over to me. This was the first time he -had taken his leg from the chair. He sat astride of the chair when he -had pushed the money over, and sat swinging his purse and eyeing Joe. - -"Well, Joseph Gargery? You look dumbfoundered?" - -"I _am_!" said Joe, in a very decided manner. - -"It was understood that you wanted nothing for yourself, remember?" - -"It were understood," said Joe. "And it _are_ understood. And it ever -will be similar according." - -"But what," said the lawyer, swinging his purse, "what if it was in my -instructions to make you a present, as compensation?" - -"As compensation what for?" Joe demanded. - -"For the loss of his services." - -Joe laid his hand upon my shoulder with the touch of a woman. I have -often thought of him since, like the steam-hammer, that can crush a man -or pat an egg-shell, in his combination of strength with gentleness. -"Pip is that hearty welcome," said Joe, "to go free with his services, -to honor and fortun', as no words can tell him. But if you think as -Money can make compensation to me for the loss of the little child--what -come to the forge--and ever the best of friends--" - -Oh, dear, good Joe, whom I was so ready to leave and so unthankful to, I -see you again, with your muscular blacksmith's arm before your eyes, and -your broad chest heaving, and your voice dying away. Oh, dear, good, -faithful, tender Joe, I feel the loving tremble of your hand upon my -arm, as solemnly this day as if it had been the rustle of an angel's -wing! - -But at the time I was lost in the mazes of my future fortunes, and could -not retrace the by-paths we had trodden together. I begged Joe to be -comforted. Joe scooped his eyes with his disengaged wrist, as if he -were bent on gouging himself, but said not another word. - -After the lawyer had taken his leave, Joe and I went into the kitchen, -where we found Biddy and my sister, and told them of my good fortune. - -They dropped their sewing and looked at me. Joe held his knees and -looked at me. I looked at them, in turn. After a pause they heartily -congratulated me; but there was a certain touch of sadness in their -congratulations that I rather resented. - -Now that I was actually going away I became quite gloomy. I did not -know why, but I sat in the chimney corner looking at the fire, my elbow -on my knee; and while the others tried to make the conversation -cheerful, I grew gloomier than ever. - -But the bright sunlight of the next morning dispelled my doubts and -fears, and I began to count the days eagerly. I went down to Trabb's, -the tailor's, and got measured for a wonderful suit of clothes, much to -the consternation of Trabb's boy, who thought himself equal to any -blacksmith that ever lived. Then I went to the hatter's and the -bootmaker's and the hosier's, and felt rather like Mother Hubbard's dog, -whose outfit required the services of so many trades. I also went to -the coach-office and took my place for seven o'clock Saturday morning. -And everywhere about the village the news of my great expectations -preceded me and I was heartily stared at. - -Uncle Pumblechook was especially officious at this time. He acted as -though he were the sole cause of all this. - -"To think," said he, swelling up, "that I should have been the humble -instrument of this proud reward." - -He thought, like all the rest of us, that Miss Havisham was my unknown -benefactor. It was a natural mistake, as she had been kind to me in her -way; and I had seen the lawyer at her house. But it was a mistake after -all and led to other unhappy blunders ere I learned the truth. - -For, many years afterward, I found that "my convict"--the man I had -helped down in the churchyard--was none other than the friend who had -left me this fortune. He had escaped again from the hulks and, coming -into a considerable property, had arranged with the lawyer to use it in -making a gentleman out of the little boy he had found crying on the -tombstone. But, as I say, none of us knew it or suspected it at first. - -And now, those six days which were to have run out so slowly, had run -out fast and were gone, and to-morrow looked me in the face more -steadily than I could look at it. As the six evenings had dwindled away -to five, to four, to three, to two, I had become more and more -appreciative of the society of Joe and my sister and Biddy. On this -last evening, I dressed myself out in my new clothes, for their delight, -and sat in my splendor until bedtime. We had a hot supper on the -occasion, graced by the inevitable roast fowl, and we had some flip to -finish with. We were all very low, and none the higher for pretending -to be in spirits. - -It was a hurried breakfast, the next morning, with no taste in it. I -got up from the meal, saying with a sort of briskness, as if it had only -just occurred to me, "Well! I suppose I must be off!" and then I kissed -my sister, and kissed Biddy, and threw my arms around Joe's neck. Then I -took up my little portmanteau and walked out. The last I saw of them -was, when I presently heard a scuffle behind me, and, looking back, saw -Joe throwing an old shoe after me and Biddy throwing another old shoe. I -stopped then, to wave my hat, and dear old Joe waved his strong right -arm above his head, crying huskily "Hooroar!" and Biddy put her apron to -her face. - -I walked away at a good pace, thinking it was easier to go than I had -supposed it would be, and reflecting that it would never have done to -have an old shoe thrown after the coach, in sight of all the -High-street. I whistled and made nothing of going. But the village was -very peaceful and quiet, and the light mists were solemnly rising, as if -to show me the world, and I had been so innocent and little there, and -all beyond was so unknown and great, that in a moment with a strong -heave and sob I broke into tears. It was by the finger-post at the end -of the village, and I laid my hand upon it, and said, "Good-bye, oh, my -dear, dear friend!" - -So subdued was I by those tears, that when I was on the coach, and it -was clear of the town, I deliberated with an aching heart whether I -would not get down when we changed horses, and walk back, and have -another evening at home, and a better parting. But while I deliberated, -we had changed and changed again, and it was now too late and too far to -go back, and I went on. And the mists had all solemnly risen now, and -the world lay spread before me. My boyhood was over. Henceforth I was -to play a man's part--a man with Great Expectations. - - - - - *THE STORY OF LITTLE DORRIT* - - - -[Illustration: LITTLE DORRIT.] - - *I. THE CHILD OF THE MARSHALSEA* - - -Some years ago when the laws of England were harsher than they are now, -there were debtors' prisons, or big, gloomy jails into which men were -put, if they couldn't pay what they owed. This was cruel and unjust, -for the prisoner was of course cut off from the chance to earn any more -money; and so he might linger there for years or even his whole life -long, if some friend did not come to his relief. But otherwise the -prisoner was given many liberties not found in ordinary jails. His -family might live with him, if they chose, and come and go as they -pleased. - -One of the largest of these debtors' prisons was called the -"Marshalsea." One day a gentleman was brought there who had lost his -money in business; but so confident was he of speedily regaining his -liberty, that he would not unpack his valise, at first. His name was -William Dorrit, an easy-going man who had spent his money freely and -paid little attention to his tradesmen's bills. Now that he had fallen -upon evil days, he thought that his friends would be glad to help him. -But as the days and weeks passed with no prospect of aid, he was -persuaded not only to unpack his belongings but also to have his wife -and two children brought to live with him. - -The two children, Fanny and Edward--commonly called "Tip"--were so young -when they were brought to the Marshalsea, that they soon forgot any -earlier life, and played very happily with other children in the prison -yard. Not long after, a little sister was added to their family. She -was christened Amy, but was so tiny that everybody called her "Little -Dorrit." - -Being born in the prison, Little Dorrit was petted and made much of. -Every one there seemed to claim her, and visitors were proudly shown -"the Child of the Marshalsea." - -The turnkey, who was a kind-hearted man, took an especial interest in -her. - -"By rights," he remarked, when she was first shown to him, "I ought to -be her godfather." - -Mr. Dorrit looked at the honest fellow for a moment, and thought that he -would suit better than some of their false friends. - -"Perhaps you wouldn't object to really being her godfather?" he said. - -"Oh, I don't object, if you don't," replied the turnkey. - -Thus it came to pass that she was christened one Sunday afternoon, when -the turnkey, being relieved, went up to the font of Saint George's -church, and promised and vowed on her behalf, as he himself related when -he came back, "like a good 'un." - -This invested the turnkey with a new proprietary share in the child, -over and above his former official one. When she began to walk and -talk, he became fond of her; bought a little arm-chair and stood it by -the high fender of the lodge fireplace; liked to have her company when -he was on the lock; and used to bribe her with cheap toys to come and -talk to him. The child, for her part, soon grew so fond of the turnkey, -that she would come climbing up the lodge steps of her own accord at all -hours of the day. When she fell asleep in the little arm-chair by the -high fender, the turnkey would cover her with his pocket handkerchief; -and when she sat in it dressing and undressing a doll--which soon came -to be unlike dolls on the other side of the lock--he would contemplate -her from the top of his stool, with exceeding gentleness. Witnessing -these things, the inmates would express an opinion that the turnkey, who -was a bachelor, had been cut out by nature for a family man. But the -turnkey thanked them, and said, "No, on the whole it was enough for him -to see other people's children there." - -At what period of her early life the little creature began to perceive -that it was not the habit of all the world to live locked up in narrow -yards, surrounded by high walls with spikes at the top, would be a -difficult question to settle. But she was a very, very little creature -indeed, when she had somehow gained the knowledge, that her clasp of her -father's hand was to be always loosened at the door which the great key -opened; and that while her own light steps were free to pass beyond it, -his feet must never cross that line. A pitiful and plaintive look, with -which she had begun to regard him when she was still extremely young, -was perhaps a part of this discovery. - -Wistful and wondering, she would sit in summer weather by the high -fender in the lodge, looking up at the sky through the barred window, -until bars of light would arise, when she would turn her eyes away. - -"Thinking of the fields," the turnkey said once, after watching her, -"ain't you?" - -"Where are they?" she inquired. - -"Why, they're--over there, my dear," said the turnkey, with a vague -flourish of his key. "Just about there." - -"Does anybody open them, and shut them? Are they locked?" - -The turnkey was at a loss. "Well!" he said, "not in general." - -"Are they very pretty, Bob?" She called him Bob, by his own particular -request and instruction. - -"Lovely. Full of flowers. There's buttercups, and there's daisies, and -there's"--the turnkey hesitated, being short of names--"there's -dandelions, and all manner of games." - -"Is it very pleasant to be there, Bob?" - -"Prime," said the turnkey. - -"Was father ever there?" - -"Hem!" coughed the turnkey. "Oh, yes, he was there, sometimes." - -"Is he sorry not to be there now?" - -"N--not particular," said the turnkey. - -"Nor any of the people?" she asked, glancing at the listless crowd -within. "Oh, are you quite sure and certain, Bob?" - -At this difficult point of the conversation Bob gave in, and changed the -subject; always his last resource when he found his little friend -getting him into a political, social, or theological corner. But this -was the origin of a series of Sunday excursions that these two curious -companions made together. They used to issue from the lodge on -alternate Sunday afternoons with great gravity, bound for some meadows -or green lanes that had been elaborately appointed by the turnkey in the -course of the week; and there she picked grass and flowers to bring -home, while he smoked his pipe. Afterwards they would come back hand in -hand, unless she was more than usually tired, and had fallen asleep on -his shoulder. - -In those early days the turnkey first began profoundly to consider a -question which cost him so much mental labor, that it remained -undetermined on the day of his death. He decided to will and bequeath -his little property of savings to his godchild, and the point arose how -could it be so "tied up" that she alone should benefit by it. He asked -the knotty question of every lawyer who came through the lodge gate on -business. - -"Settle it strictly on herself," the gentleman would answer. - -"But look here," quoth the turnkey. "Supposing she had, say a brother, -say a father, say a husband, who would be likely to make a grab at that -property when she came into it--how about that?" - -"It would be settled on herself, and they would have no more legal claim -on it than you," would be the professional answer. - -"Stop a bit," said the turnkey. "Supposing she was tender-hearted, and -they came over her. Where's your law for tying it up then?" - -The deepest character whom the turnkey sounded was unable to produce his -law for tying such a knot as that. So, the turnkey thought about it all -his life, and died without a will after all. - -But that was long afterwards, when his god-daughter was past sixteen. -She was only eight when her mother died, and from that time the -protection that her wondering eyes had expressed towards her father -became embodied in action, and the Child of the Marshalsea took upon -herself a new relation. - -At first, such a baby could do little more than sit with him, deserting -her livelier place by the high fender, and quietly watching him. But -this made her so far necessary to him that he became accustomed to her, -and began to be sensible of missing her when she was not there. Through -this little gate she passed out of childhood into the care-laden world. - -What her pitiful look saw, at that early time, in her father, in her -sister, in her brother, in the jail; how much, or how little of the -wretched truth it pleased God to make visible to her, lies hidden with -many mysteries. It is enough that she was inspired to be something -which was not what the rest were, and for the sake of the rest. - -And while the mark of the prison was seen only too clearly in her vain, -selfish sister, and weak, wayward brother, Little Dorrit's life was -singularly free from taint; her heart was full of service and love. - -And so, in spite of her small stature and want of strength, she toiled -and planned, and soon became the real head of this poor, fallen house. - -At thirteen, she could read and keep accounts--that is, could put down -in words and figures how much the bare necessaries that they wanted -would cost, and how much less they had to buy them with. She had been, -by snatches of a few weeks at a time, to an evening school outside, and -got her sister and brother sent to day schools during three or four -years. There was no instruction for any of them at home; but she knew -well--no one better--that her broken-spirited father could no longer -help them. - -To these scanty means of improvement, she added another of her own -contriving. Once, among the curious crowd of inmates, there appeared a -dancing-master. Her sister Fanny had a great desire to learn to dance, -and seemed to have a taste that way. At thirteen years old, the Child -of the Marshalsea presented herself to the dancing-master, with a little -bag in her hand, and said timidly, "If you please, I was born here, -sir." - -"Oh! You are the young lady, are you?" said the man, surveying the -small figure and uplifted face. - -"Yes, sir." - -"And what can I do for you?" - -"Nothing for me, sir, thank you," anxiously undrawing the strings of the -little bag; "but if, while you stay here, you could be so kind as to -teach my sister cheap--" - -"My child, I'll teach her for nothing," said the dancing-master, -shutting up the bag. - -He was as good-natured a master as ever danced to the Insolvent Court, -and he kept his word. Fanny was so apt a pupil, and made such wonderful -progress that he continued to teach her after he was released from -prison. In time, he obtained a place for her at a small theatre. It was -at the same theatre where her uncle--who was also now a poor man--played -a clarinet for a living; and Fanny left the Marshalsea and went to live -with him. - -The success of this beginning gave Little Dorrit courage to try again, -this time on her own behalf. She had long wanted to learn how to sew, -and watched and waited for a seamstress to come to the prison. At last -one came, and Little Dorrit went to call upon her. - -"I beg your pardon, ma'am," she said, looking timidly round the door of -the milliner, whom she found in tears and in bed; "but I was born here." - -Everybody seemed to hear of her as soon as they arrived; for the -milliner sat up in bed, drying her eyes, and said, just as the -dancing-master had said, - -"Oh! _You_ are the child, are you?" - -"Yes, ma'am." - -"I am sorry I haven't got anything for you," said the milliner, shaking -her head. - -"It's not that, ma'am. If you please I want to learn needlework." - -"Why should you do that," returned the milliner, "with me before you? -It has not done me much good." - -"Nothing--whatever it is--seems to have done anybody much good who comes -here," she returned in all simplicity; "but I want to learn, just the -same." - -"I am afraid you are so weak, you see," the milliner objected. - -"I don't think I am weak, ma'am." - -"And you are so very, very little, you see," continued the milliner. - -"Yes, I am afraid I am very little indeed," returned the Child of the -Marshalsea; and so began to sob over that unfortunate defect of hers, -which came so often in her way. The milliner--who was not morose or -hard-hearted, only newly insolvent--was touched, took her in hand with -good-will, found her the most patient and earnest of pupils, and made -her a cunning workwoman in course of time. - -And so, presently, Little Dorrit had the immense satisfaction of going -out to work by the day, and of supplying her father with many little -comforts which otherwise he would not have enjoyed. - -But her hardest task was in getting her brother out of prison and into -some useful employment. The life there had been anything but good for -him; and at eighteen he was idle and shiftless, not caring to lift a -finger for himself. In her dilemma, Little Dorrit went to her old -friend, the turnkey. - -"Dear Bob," said she, "what is to become of poor Tip?" - -The turnkey scratched his head. Privately he had a poor opinion of the -young man. - -"Well, my dear," he answered, "something ought to be done with him. -Suppose I try to get him into the law?" - -"That would be so good of you, Bob!" - -The turnkey was as good as his word, and by dint of buttonholing every -lawyer who came through the gate on business, he found Tip a place as -clerk, where the pay was not large, but the prospects good. - -Tip idled away in the law office for six months, then came back to the -prison one evening with his hands in his pockets and told his sister he -was not going back again. - -"Not going back!" she exclaimed. - -"I am so tired of it," said Tip, "that I have cut it." - -Tip tired of everything. With intervals of Marshalsea lounging, his -small second mother, aided by her trusty friend, got him into a variety -of situations. But whatever Tip went into, he came out of tired, -announcing that he had cut it. - -Nevertheless, the brave little creature did so fix her heart on her -brother's rescue, that while he was ringing out these doleful changes, -she pinched and scraped enough together to ship him for Canada. When he -was tired of nothing to do, and disposed in its turn to cut even that, -he graciously consented to go to Canada. And there was grief in her -bosom over parting with him, and joy in the hope of his being put in a -straight course at last. - -"God bless you, dear Tip. Don't be too proud to come and see us, when -you have made your fortune." - -"All right!" said Tip, and went. - -But not all the way to Canada; in fact, not farther than Liverpool. -After making the voyage to that port from London, he found himself so -strongly impelled to cut the vessel, that he resolved to walk back -again. Carrying out which intention, he presented himself before her at -the expiration of a month, in rags, without shoes, and much more tired -than ever. - -At length he found a situation for himself, and disappeared for months. -She never heard from him but once in that time, though it was as well -for her peace of mind that she did not. He was making trades for a -tricky horse dealer. - -One evening she was alone at work--standing up at the window, to save -the twilight lingering above the wall--when he opened the door and -walked in. - -She kissed and welcomed him; but was afraid to ask him any question. He -saw how anxious and timid she was, and appeared sorry. - -"I am afraid, Amy, you'll be vexed this time. Upon my life I am!" - -"I am very sorry to hear you say so, Tip. Have you come back?" - -"Why--yes. But that's not the worst of it." - -"Not the worst of it?" - -"Don't look so startled, Amy. I've come back in a new way. I'm one of -the prisoners now. I owe forty pounds." - -For the first time in all those years, she sank under her cares. She -cried, with her clasped hands lifted above her head, that it would kill -their father if he ever knew it; and fell down at Tip's graceless feet. - -It was easier for Tip to bring her to her senses, than for her to bring -_him_ to understand what a pitiable thing he had done. But he agreed to -help keep it a secret from their father; and Little Dorrit toiled harder -than ever, in the hope of one day getting him out again. - -Thus passed the life of the Child of the Marshalsea until she became a -young woman. - - - - - *II. HOW THE PRISON GATES WERE OPENED* - - -Among the ladies for whom Little Dorrit sewed by the day was a Mrs. -Clennam, a cold, stern person who lived in a cold, stern house. Yet she -gave the child plenty of work and paid her fairly well. So Little -Dorrit was often to be found in some gloomy corner there, sewing away -busily and adding nothing at all to the few far-away sounds of the quiet -old rooms. - -Mrs. Clennam lived alone, except for a dried-up servant or two, and she -herself had lost the use of her limbs. So it is no wonder that the -house was gloomy, and that Mrs. Clennam's son Arthur found it so, when -he returned from a long visit in India. Arthur Clennam was a young man -who had ideas of his own, and who had disappointed his mother by -refusing to continue his father's business. They were not in -sympathy--which made the house seem all the colder. But he was kind, -open-hearted, and impulsive. - -Though timid Little Dorrit kept as much in the dark corners as possible, -Arthur soon noticed her, and asked one of the old servants who she was. -He could learn nothing except that she was a seamstress who came by the -day to sew, and who went away every night, no one knew where. The child -interested him, and he resolved to follow her one evening and learn -where she lived. He did so, and was amazed to see her enter the gate of -a large forbidding building,--he did not know what building, as he had -been long abroad. - -Just then he saw an old man, in a threadbare coat, once blue, come -tottering along, carrying a clarinet in a limp, worn-out case. As this -old man was about to enter the same gate, Arthur stopped him with a -question. - -"Pray, sir," said he, "what is this place?" - -"Ay! This place?" returned the old man, staying a pinch of snuff on its -road, and pointing at the place without looking at it. "This is the -Marshalsea, sir." - -"The debtors' prison?" - -"Sir," said the old man, with the air of deeming it not quite necessary -to insist upon that name, "the debtors' prison." - -He turned himself about, and went on. - -"I beg your pardon," said Arthur, stopping him once more, "but will you -allow me to ask you another question? Can any one go in here?" - -"Any one can _go in_," replied the old man; "but it is not every one who -can go out." - -"Pardon me once more. Are you familiar with the place?" - -"Sir," returned the old man, squeezing his little packet of snuff in his -hand, and turning upon his interrogator as if such questions hurt him, -"I am." - -"I beg you to excuse me. I am not impertinently curious, but have a -good object. Do you know the name of Dorrit here?" - -"My name, sir," replied the old man most unexpectedly, "is Dorrit." - -Arthur pulled off his hat to him. "Grant me the favor of half a dozen -words. I have recently come home to England after a long absence. I -have seen at my mother's--Mrs. Clennam in the city--a young woman -working at her needle, whom I have only heard addressed or spoken of as -Little Dorrit. I have felt sincerely interested in her, and have had a -great desire to know something more about her. I saw her, not a minute -before you came up, pass in at that door." - -The old man looked at him attentively. "Are you in earnest, sir?" - -"I do assure you that I am." - -"I know very little of the world, sir," returned the other, who had a -weak and quavering voice. "I am merely passing on, like the shadow over -the sun-dial. It would be worth no man's while to mislead me; it would -really be too easy--too poor a success, to yield any satisfaction. The -young woman whom you saw go in here is my brother's child. My brother -is William Dorrit; I am Frederick. You say you have seen her at your -mother's (I know your mother befriends her), you have felt an interest -in her, and you wish to know what she does here. Come and see." - -He went on again, and Arthur accompanied him. - -"My brother," said the old man, pausing on the step, and slowly facing -round again, "has been here many years; and much that happens even among -ourselves, out of doors, is kept from him for reasons that I needn't -enter upon now. Be so good as to say nothing of my niece's working at -her needle. If you keep within our bounds, you cannot well be wrong. -Now! Come and see." - -Arthur followed him down a narrow entry, at the end of which a key was -turned, and a strong door was opened from within. It admitted them into -a lodge, or lobby, across which they passed, and so through another door -and a grating into the prison. The old man always plodding on before, -turned round, in his slow, stiff, stooping manner, when they came to the -turnkey on duty, as if to present his companion. The turnkey nodded; and -the companion passed in without being asked whom he wanted. - -The night was dark; and the prison lamps in the yard, and the candles in -the prison windows faintly shining behind many sorts of wry old curtain -and blind, had not the air of making it lighter. A few people loitered -about, but the greater part of the population was within doors. The old -man taking the right-hand side of the yard, turned in at the third or -fourth doorway, and began to ascend the stairs. - -"They are rather dark, sir, but you will not find anything in the way," -he said. - -He paused for a moment before opening the door on the second story. He -had no sooner turned the handle, than the visitor saw Little Dorrit, and -understood the reason of her dining alone, as she always preferred to -do. - -She had brought the meat home that she should have eaten herself, and -was already warming it on a gridiron over the fire, for her father, who, -clad in an old gray gown and a black cap, was awaiting his supper at the -table. A clean cloth was spread before him, with knife, fork, and spoon, -salt-cellar, pepper-box, glass, and pewter ale-pot. Such zests as his -cayenne pepper and pickles in a saucer were not wanting. - -She started, colored deeply, and turned white. The visitor, more with -his eyes than by the slight impulsive motion of his hand, entreated her -to be reassured and to trust him. - -"I found this gentleman," said the uncle--"Mr. Clennam, William, son of -Amy's friend--at the outer gate, wishful, as he was going by, of paying -his respects, but hesitating whether to come in or not. This is my -brother William, sir." - -"I hope," said Arthur, very doubtful what to say, "that my respect for -your daughter may explain and justify my desire to be presented to you, -sir." - -"Mr. Clennam," returned the other, rising, taking his cap off in the -flat of his hand, and so holding it, ready to put on again, "you do me -honor. You are welcome, sir." With a low bow. "Frederick, a chair. -Pray sit down, Mr. Clennam." - -He put his black cap on again as he had taken it off, and resumed his -own seat. There was a wonderful air of benignity and patronage in his -manner. - -These were the ceremonies with which he received all visitors. - -"You are welcome to the Marshalsea, sir. I have welcomed many gentlemen -to these walls. Perhaps you are aware--my daughter Amy may have -mentioned--that I am the Father of this place." - -"I--so I have understood," said Arthur, dashing at the assertion. - -"You know, I dare say, that my daughter Amy was born here. A good girl, -sir, a dear girl, and long a comfort and support to me. Amy, my dear, -put the dish on; Mr. Clennam will excuse the primitive customs to which -we are reduced here. Is it a compliment to ask you if you would do me -the honor, sir, to--" - -"Thank you," returned Arthur. "I have dined." - -She filled her father's glass, put all the little matters on the table -ready to his hand, and then sat beside him while he ate his supper. She -put some bread before herself, and touched his glass with her lips; but -Arthur saw she was troubled and took nothing. Her look at her father, -half admiring him and proud of him, half-ashamed for him, all devoted -and loving, went to his inmost heart. - -The Father of the Marshalsea condescended towards his brother as an -amiable, well-meaning man; a private character, who had not arrived at -distinction. - -"Frederick," said he, "you and Fanny sup at your lodgings to-night, I -know. What have you done with Fanny, Frederick?" - -"She is walking with Tip." - -"Tip--as you may know--is my son, Mr. Clennam. He has been a little -wild, and difficult to settle, but his introduction to the world was -rather"--he shrugged his shoulders with a faint sigh, and looked round -the room--"a little adverse. Your first visit here, sir?" - -"My first." - -"You could hardly have been here since your boyhood without my -knowledge. It very seldom happens that anybody--of any pretensions--any -pretensions--comes here without being presented to me." - -"As many as forty or fifty in a day have been introduced to my brother," -said Frederick, faintly lighting up with a ray of pride. - -"Yes!" the Father of the Marshalsea assented. "We have even exceeded -that number. On a fine Sunday in term time, it is quite a reception!" - -Thus the old man prattled on, proud of his queer distinction, and yet -showing traces of the fine gentleman he once was. And while he -listened, Arthur felt his heart throb with sympathy for the brave girl, -sitting silent across the table, who had so long borne the burdens of -this ruined family upon her frail shoulders. - -He could not say anything to her, here, but when he rose to take his -leave, he asked her by a look to come with him to the gate. He felt he -must make some explanation for thus intruding and learning her secret. - -"Pray forgive me," he said, when they paused alone at the gate. "I -followed you to-night from my mother's. I should not have done so, but, -believe me, it was only in the hope of doing you some service. What I -have seen here, in this short time, has increased ten-fold my heartfelt -wish to be a friend to you." - -She seemed to take courage while he spoke to her. - -"You are very good, sir. You speak very earnestly to me. But I--but I -wish you had not watched me." - -He understood the emotion with which she said it to arise in her -father's behalf; and he respected it, and was silent. - -"Mrs. Clennam has been of great service to me. I don't know what we -should have done without the employment she has given me. I am afraid -it may not be a good return to become secret with her. I can say no -more to-night, sir. I am sure you mean to be kind to us. Thank you, -thank you." - -She was so agitated, and he was so moved by compassion for her, and by -deep interest in her story as it dawned upon him, that he could scarcely -tear himself away. But the stoppage of the bell, and the quiet in the -prison, were a warning to depart; and with a few hurried words of -kindness he left her gliding back to her father. - -The next day, Arthur missed Little Dorrit at his home, and wondered if -she might be ill. The weather was stormy, but she was not usually -hindered by that. So he walked out toward the prison to look for her; -and was presently rewarded by seeing her hurrying along in the face of -the gale. - -She had just reached the iron bridge, some distance from the gates, when -his voice caused her to stop short. The wind blew roughly, the wet -squalls came rattling past them, skimming the pools on the road and -pavement, and raining them down into the river. The clouds raced on -furiously in the lead-colored sky, the smoke and mist raced after them, -the dark tide ran fierce and strong in the same direction. Little -Dorrit seemed the least, the quietest, and weakest of Heaven's -creatures. - -"Let me put you in a coach," said Arthur Clennam, very nearly adding, -"my poor child." - -She hurriedly declined, thanking him, and saying that wet or dry made -little difference to her; she was used to go about in all weathers. He -knew it to be so, and was touched with more pity, thinking of the slight -figure at his side, making its nightly way through the damp, dark, -boisterous streets, to such a place of rest. - -"But I am glad to have seen you, sir," she added shyly. "I did not want -you to think that we were ungrateful for your interest and kindness, -last night. And, besides, I had something else to say--" - -She paused as if unable to go on. - -"To say to me--" he prompted. - -"That I hope you will not misunderstand my father. Don't judge him, -sir, as you would judge others outside the gates. He has been there so -long! I never saw him outside, but I can understand that he must have -grown different in some things since." - -"My thoughts will never be unjust or harsh towards him, believe me." - -"Not," she said, with a prouder air, as the misgiving evidently crept -upon her that she might seem to be abandoning him, "not that he has -anything to be ashamed of for himself, or that I have anything to be -ashamed of for him. He only requires to be understood. I only ask for -him that his life may be fairly remembered. All that he said was quite -true. He is very much respected. Everybody who comes in is glad to know -him. He is more courted than any one else. He is far more thought of -than the Marshal is." If ever pride were innocent, it was innocent in -Little Dorrit when she grew boastful of her father. - -"It is often said that his manners are a true gentleman's, and quite a -study. He is not to be blamed for being in need, poor love. Who could -be in prison a quarter of a century, and be prosperous!" - -What affection in her words, what compassion in her repressed tears, -what a great soul of fidelity within her, how true the light that shed -false brightness round him! - -"If I have found it best to conceal where my home is, it is not because -I am ashamed of him. God forbid! Nor am I so much ashamed of the place -itself as might be supposed. People are not bad because they come -there. I have known many good friends there, and have spent many happy -hours." - -She had relieved the faithful fulness of her heart, and modestly said, -raising her eyes appealingly to her new friend's, "I did not mean to say -so much, nor have I ever but once spoken about this before. But it -seems to set it more right than it was last night. I said I wished you -had not followed me, sir. I don't wish it so much now, unless you -should think--indeed I don't wish it at all, unless I should have spoken -so confusedly, that--that you can scarcely understand me, which I am -afraid may be the case." - -He told her with perfect truth that it was not the case; and putting -himself between her and the sharp wind and rain, sheltered her as well -as he could. - -"I feel permitted now," he said, "to ask you a little more concerning -your father. Has he many creditors?" - -"Oh! a great number." - -"I mean detaining creditors who keep him where he is?" - -"Oh, yes! a great number." - -"Can you tell me--I can get the information, no doubt, elsewhere, if you -cannot--who is the most influential of them?" - -Little Dorrit was not sure of any names, but she had heard her father -mention several people with whom he said he once had dealings. She told -him these names, and Clennam made a careful note of them. - -"It can do no harm," he thought, "to see some of these people." - -The thought did not come so quietly but that she quickly guessed it. - -"Ah," said Little Dorrit, shaking her head with the mild despair of a -lifetime. "Many people used to think once of getting my poor father -out, but you don't know how hopeless it is." - -She forgot to be shy at the moment, in honestly warning him away from -the sunken wreck he had a dream of raising; and looked at him with eyes -which assuredly, in association with her patient face, her fragile -figure, her spare dress, and the wind and rain, did not turn him from -his purpose of helping her. - -But presently an incident happened which showed him a new side to her -life--still of helpfulness and service. - -They were come into the High Street, where the prison stood, when a -voice cried, "Little mother, little mother!" - -Little Dorrit stopped, looking back, when an excited figure of a strange -kind bounced against them, fell down, and scattered the contents of a -large basket, filled with potatoes, in the mud. - -"Oh, Maggy," said Little Dorrit, "what a clumsy child you are!" - -Maggy was not hurt, but picked herself up immediately, and began to pick -up the potatoes, in which both the others helped. Maggy picked up very -few potatoes, and a great quantity of mud. She was a curious, overgrown -creature of about eight-and-twenty, with a vacant smiling face and a -tattered shawl. She seemed twice as large as the child to whom she -evidently looked for protection and called "little mother." - -Arthur Clennam looked with the expression of one saying, "May I ask who -this is?" Little Dorrit, whose hand Maggy had begun to fondle, answered -in words. They were under a gateway into which the majority of the -potatoes had rolled. - -"This is Maggy, sir." - -"Maggy, sir," echoed the personage presented. "Little mother!" - -"She is the granddaughter--" - -"Granddaughter," echoed Maggy. - -"Of my old nurse, who has been dead a long time. Maggy, how old are -you?" - -"Ten, mother," said Maggy. - -"You can't think how good she is, sir," said Little Dorrit, with -infinite tenderness. - -"Good _she_ is," echoed Maggy, transferring the pronoun in a most -expressive way from herself to her little mother. - -"Or how clever," said Little Dorrit. "She goes on errands as well as -any one." Maggy laughed. "And is as trustworthy as the Bank of -England." Maggy laughed. "She earns her own living entirely. -Entirely, sir!" in a lower and triumphant tone. "Really does!" - -"What is her history!" asked Clennam. - -"Think of that, Maggy!" said Little Dorrit, taking Maggy's two large -hands and clapping them together. "A gentleman from thousands of miles -away, wanting to know your history!" - -"_My_ history?" cried Maggy. "Little mother." - -"She means me," said Little Dorrit, rather confused; "she is very much -attached to me. Her old grandmother was not so kind to her as she should -have been; was she, Maggy? When Maggy was ten years old," she -continued, "she had a bad fever, sir, and has never grown any older -since." - -"Ten years old," said Maggy, nodding her head. "But what a nice -hospital! So comfortable, wasn't it? Oh, so nice it was. Such a Ev'nly -place!" - -"She had never been at peace before, sir," continued the young girl, -turning towards Arthur for an instant and speaking low, "and she always -runs off upon that." - -"Such beds there is there!" cried Maggy. "Such lemonades! Such oranges! -Such d'licious broth and wine! Such Chicking! Oh, _ain't_ it a -delightful place to go and stop at!" - -"So Maggy stopped there as long as she could," said Little Dorrit, in -her former tone of telling a child's story, the tone designed for -Maggy's ear; "and at last, when she could stop there no longer, she came -out. Then, because she was never to be more than ten years old, however -long she lived--" - -"However long she lived," echoed Maggy. - -"And because she was very weak--indeed, was so weak that when she began -to laugh she couldn't stop herself--which was a great pity--" - -Maggy grew mighty grave of a sudden. - -"Her grandmother did not know what to do with her, and for some years -was very unkind to her indeed. At length, in course of time, Maggy -began to take pains to improve herself, and to be very attentive and -very industrious; and by degrees was allowed to come in and out as often -as she liked, and got enough to do to support herself, and does support -herself. And that," said Little Dorrit, clapping the two great hands -together again, "is Maggy's history, as Maggy knows!" - -Ah! that was all the history, as Little Dorrit told it. But Arthur, -reading between the lines, saw in Maggy's absolute love and devotion the -weeks and months of toil and care on the part of a pitying faithful -child whose own burden seemed great enough without carrying others. The -dirty gateway with the wind and rain whistling through it, and the -basket of muddy potatoes waiting to be spilt again or taken up, never -seemed the common hole it really was, when he looked back to it by these -lights. Never, never! - - -Thereafter, Arthur Clennam, who was a man of some means, devoted a great -part of his time to tracing out the Dorrit records. He went from one -government office to another--a long, weary round of them--before he -could get any light on the matter. He employed an agent whose specialty -was to search out lost estates. And at last, after several months, their -combined efforts were rewarded. - -Mr. Dorrit was found to be heir-at-law to a large estate that had long -lain unknown, unclaimed, and growing greater. His right to it was -cleared up by this skilful agent; so that all Mr. Dorrit had to do, now, -would be to discharge his debts, and he would be a free man. - -When Arthur was convinced of this surprising fortune, he hastened first -to Little Dorrit, whom he wished to see alone. But before he could say -a word, his face told her that something unusual was afoot. - -Hastily dropping her sewing, she cried, "Mr. Clennam! What's the -matter?" - -"Nothing, nothing! That is--nothing bad. I have come to tell you good -news." - -"Good fortune?" - -"Wonderful fortune!" - -Her lips seemed to repeat the words, but no sound came. - -"Dear Little Dorrit," he said, "your father--" - -The ice of the pale face broke at the word, and little lights of -expression passed all over it. They were all expressions of pain. Her -breath was faint and hurried. Her heart beat fast, but he saw that the -eyes appealed to him to go on. - -"Your father can be free within this week. He does not know it; we must -go to him from here, to tell him of it. Your father will be free within -a few days. Remember we must go to him, from here, to tell him of it!" - -That brought her back. Her eyes were closing, but they opened again. - -"This is not all the good fortune. This is not all the wonderful good -fortune, Little Dorrit. Shall I tell you more?" - -Her lips shaped "Yes." - -"He will be a rich man: A great sum of money is waiting to be paid over -to him as his inheritance; you are all henceforth very wealthy. Bravest -and best of children, I thank Heaven that you are rewarded!" - -She turned her head towards his shoulder, and raised her arm towards his -neck; then cried out, "Father! Father! Father!" and swooned away. - -The housekeeper came running in at this, and Little Dorrit was soon -revived, smiling bravely at her own weakness. But the news had been too -much for her. It was the dream of her lifetime--come true! - -"Come!" she exclaimed, "we must not lose a moment, but must hasten to my -father!" - -When the turnkey, who was on duty, admitted them into the lodge, he saw -something in their faces which filled him with astonishment. He stood -looking after them, when they hurried into the prison, as though he -perceived that they had come back accompanied by a ghost apiece. Two or -three debtors whom they passed, looked after them too, and presently -joining the turnkey, formed a little group on the lodge steps, in the -midst of which there originated a whisper that the Father was going to -get his discharge. Within a few minutes it was heard in the remotest -room in the prison. - -Little Dorrit opened the door from without, and they both entered. Her -father was sitting in his old gray gown, and his old black cap, in the -sunlight by the window, reading his newspaper. His glasses were in his -hand, and he had just looked round; surprised at first, no doubt, by her -step upon the stairs, not expecting her until night; surprised again, by -seeing Arthur Clennam in her company. As they came in, the same -unwonted look in both of them, which had already caught attention in the -yard below, struck him. He did not rise or speak, but laid down his -glasses and his newspaper on the table beside him, and looked at them -with his mouth a little open, and his lips trembling. When Arthur put -out his hand, he touched it, but not with his usual state; and then he -turned to his daughter, who had sat down close beside him with her hands -upon his shoulder, and looked attentively in her face. - -"Father! I have been made so happy this morning!" - -"You have been made so happy, my dear?" - -"By Mr. Clennam, father. He brought me such joyful and wonderful -intelligence about you!" - -Her agitation was great, and the tears rolled down her face. He put his -hand suddenly to his heart, and looked at Clennam. - -"Compose yourself, sir," said Clennam, "and take a little time to think. -To think of the brightest and most fortunate accidents of life. We have -all heard of great surprises of joy. They are not at an end." - -"Mr. Clennam? Not at an end? Not at an end for--" He touched himself -upon the breast, instead of saying "me." - -"No," returned Clennam. - -He looked at Clennam, and, so looking at him, seemed to change into a -very old haggard man. The sun was bright upon the wall beyond the -window, and on the spikes at the top. He slowly stretched out the hand -that had been upon his heart, and pointed at the wall. - -"It is down," said Clennam. "Gone!" - -He remained in the same attitude, looking steadfastly at him. - -"And in its place," said Clennam, slowly and distinctly, "are the means -to possess and enjoy the utmost that they have so long shut out. Mr. -Dorrit, there is not the smallest doubt that within a few days you will -be free, and highly prosperous. I congratulate you with all my soul on -this change of fortune, and on the happy future into which you are soon -to carry the treasure you have been blessed with here--the best of all -the riches you can have elsewhere--the treasure in the dear child at -your side." - -With those words, he pressed Mr. Dorrit's hand and released it; and his -daughter, laying her face against his, encircled him in the hour of his -prosperity with her arms, as she had in the long years of his adversity -encircled him with her love and toil and truth; and poured out her full -heart in gratitude, hope, joy, blissful ecstasy, and all for him. - -"I shall see him, as I never saw him yet. I shall see my dear father, -with the dark cloud cleared away. I shall see him, as my poor mother -saw him long ago. Oh, my dear, my dear! Oh, father, father! Oh, thank -God, thank God!" - -Mr. Dorrit came slowly out of the daze into which he had seemed to fall. -To divert his mind, Arthur told him how the good fortune had been found -through the skill of an agent. - -"He shall be rewarded!" he exclaimed, starting up. "Every one shall -be--ha!--handsomely rewarded! Every cent I owe shall be paid. Oh! can -this be true? A freeman, and all my debts paid! Give me my purse, -Amy!" - -He clutched it as if it were already overflowing with gold, and paced -rapidly up and down the room. Just then a great cheering arose in the -prison yard. - -"The news has spread already," said Clennam, looking down from the -window. "Will you show yourself to them, Mr. Dorrit? They are very -earnest, and evidently wish it." - -"I--hum--ha--I confess I could have desired, Amy, my dear," he said, -jogging about in a more feverish flutter than before, "to have made some -change in my dress first, and to have bought a--hum--a watch and chain. -But if it must be done as it is, it---ha--it must be done. Fasten the -collar of my shirt, my dear. Mr. Clennam, would you oblige me--hum--with -a blue neckcloth you will find in that drawer at your elbow. Button my -coat across at the chest, my love. It looks--ha--it looks broader, -buttoned." - -With his trembling hand he pushed his gray hair up, and then, taking -Clennam and his daughter for supporters, appeared at the window leaning -on an arm of each. The inmates cheered him very heartily, and he kissed -his hand to them with great urbanity and protection. When he withdrew -into the room again, he said "Poor creatures!" in a tone of much pity -for their miserable condition. - -Presently he said, unexpectedly: - -"Mr. Clennam, I beg your pardon. Am I to understand, my dear sir, that -I could--ha--could pass through the lodge at this moment, and--hum--take -a walk?" - -"I think not, Mr. Dorrit," was the unwilling reply. "There are certain -forms to be completed; and although your detention here is now in itself -a form, I fear it has to be observed for a few hours longer." - -"A few hours, sir," he returned in a sudden passion. "You talk very -easily of hours, sir! How long do you suppose, sir, that an hour is to -a man who is choking for want of air?" - -It was the cry of a man who had been imprisoned for nearly a quarter of -a century. - -Little Dorrit had been thinking too. After softly putting his gray hair -aside, and touching his forehead with her lips, she looked towards -Arthur, who came nearer to her, and pursued in a low whisper the subject -of her thoughts. - -"Mr. Clennam, will he pay all his debts before he leaves here?" - -"No doubt. All." - -"All the debts for which he has been imprisoned here, all my life and -longer?" - -"No doubt." - -There was something of uncertainty and remonstrance in her look; -something that was not all satisfaction. He wondered to detect it, and -said: - -"Are you not glad?" - -"It seems to me hard," said Little Dorrit, "that he should have lost so -many years and suffered so much, and at last pay all the debts as well. -It seems to me hard that he should pay in life and money both." - -"My dear child--" Clennam was beginning. - -"Yes, I know I am wrong," she pleaded timidly, "don't think any worse of -me; it has grown up with me here." - -The prison, which could spoil so many things, had tainted Little -Dorrit's mind no more than this. It was the first speck Clennam had -ever seen, it was the last speck Clennam ever saw, of the prison -atmosphere upon her. - -He thought this, and forebore to say another word. With the thought, -her purity and goodness came before him in their brightest light. The -little spot made them the more beautiful. - - - - - *THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELD* - - - - *I. MY EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS* - - -The first things that I seem to remember are the figure of my mother -with her pretty hair and youthful face, and Peggotty, our faithful -servant, large of figure, black of eye, and with cheeks and arms so hard -and red that I wondered the birds didn't peck them in preference to -apples. I believe I can remember these two at a little distance apart, -dwarfed to my sight by stooping down or kneeling on the floor, and I -going unsteadily from the one to the other. My father I never saw, for -he died before I was born. - -What else do I remember? Let me see. There comes to me a vision of our -quaint cosy little home, the "Rookery." On the ground floor is -Peggotty's kitchen, opening into a back yard; with a pigeon-house on a -pole, in the centre, without any pigeons in it; a great dog-kennel in a -corner, without any dog; and a quantity of fowls that look terribly tall -to me, walking about, in a ferocious manner. There is one cock who gets -upon a post to crow, and seems to take particular notice of me as I look -at him through the kitchen window, who makes me shiver, he is so fierce. -Of the geese outside the gate who come waddling after me with their long -necks stretched out when I go that way, I dream fearfully at night. - -Here is a long passage leading from Peggotty's kitchen to the front -door. A dark storeroom opens out of it, and that is a place to be run -past at night; for I don't know what may be among those tubs and jars -and old tea-chests, in which there is the smell of soap, pickles, -pepper, candles, and coffee, all at one whiff. Then there are the two -parlors: the parlor in which we sit of an evening, my mother and I and -Peggotty--for Peggotty is quite our companion, when her work is done and -we are alone--and the best parlor where we sit on a Sunday; grandly but -not so comfortably. - -And now I see the outside of our house, with the latticed bedroom -windows standing open to let in the sweet-smelling air, and the ragged -old rooks'-nests still dangling in the elm trees at the bottom of the -front garden. Now I am in the garden at the back, beyond the yard where -the empty pigeon-house and dog-kennel are--a very preserve of -butterflies, as I remember it, with a high fence, and a gate and -padlock; where the fruit clusters on the trees, riper and richer than -fruit has ever been since, in any other garden, and where my mother -gathers some in a basket, while I stand by, bolting gooseberries slyly, -and trying to look unmoved. - -A great wind rises, and the summer is gone in a moment. We are playing -in the winter twilight, dancing about the parlor. When my mother is out -of breath and rests herself in an elbow-chair, I watch her winding her -bright curls round her fingers and straightening her waist, and nobody -knows better than I do that she likes to look so well, and is proud of -being so pretty. - -That is among my very earliest impressions,--that, and a sense that we -were both a little afraid of Peggotty, and submit ourselves in most -things to her direction. - -Peggotty and I were sitting one night by the parlor fire, alone. I had -been reading to Peggotty about crocodiles. I must not have read very -clearly, for I remember she had a cloudy impression that they were a -sort of vegetable. I was tired of reading, and sleepy; but having leave, -as a high treat, to sit up until my mother came home from spending the -evening at a neighbor's, I would rather have died upon my post than have -gone to bed. - -We had exhausted the crocodiles, and begun with alligators, when the -bell rang. We went out to the door; and there was my mother looking -unusually pretty, I thought, and with her a gentleman with beautiful -black hair and whiskers, who had walked home with us from church last -Sunday. - -As my mother stooped down on the threshold to take me in her arms and -kiss me, the gentleman said I was a more highly privileged little fellow -than a monarch--or something like that. - -"What does that mean?" I asked him, over her shoulder. - -He patted me on the head; but somehow, I didn't like him or his deep -voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch my mother's in -touching me--which it did. I put it away as well as I could. My mother -gently chid me for being rude; and, keeping me close to her shawl, -turned to thank the gentleman for bringing her home. - -From the moment that I first saw the gentleman with the black whiskers, -I held a deep instinctive dislike to him. And I am sure Peggotty agreed -with me, from some remarks I chanced to hear her utter to my mother. -But Mr. Murdstone--that was his name--began coming often to the Rookery, -and exerted himself always to be agreeable to me, calling me a fine boy -and patting me on the head; so I tried to think myself very ungrateful. -But still I could not make myself like him. The sight of him made me -fear that something was going to happen--I didn't know what. - -Not long after that, when Peggotty and I were sitting alone, she darning -and I reading farther in the crocodile book,--for my mother was out, as -she often was, with Mr. Murdstone,--she bit off a thread and asked: - -"Master Davy, how should you like to go along with me and spend a -fortnight at my brother's at Yarmouth? Wouldn't that be a treat?" - -"Is your brother an agreeable man, Peggotty?" I inquired doubtfully. - -"Oh, what an agreeable man he is!" cried Peggotty, holding up her hands. -"Then there's the sea; and the boats and ships; and the fishermen; and -the beach; and 'Am to play with--" - -Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, but she spoke of him as a morsel of -English Grammar. - -I was flushed by her summary of delights, and replied that it would -indeed be a treat, but what would my mother say? - -"Why, then, I'll as good as bet a guinea," said Peggotty, intent upon my -face, "that she'll let us go. I'll ask her, if you like, as soon as -ever she comes home. There now!" - -"But what's she to do while we're away?" said I, putting my small elbows -on the table to argue the point. "She can't live by herself." - -If Peggotty were looking for a hole, all of a sudden, in the heel of -that stocking, it must have been a very little one indeed, and not worth -darning. - -"I say! Peggotty! She can't live by herself, you know." - -"Oh, bless you!" said Peggotty, looking at me again at last. "Don't you -know? She's going to stay for a fortnight with Mrs. Grayper. Mrs. -Grayper's going to have a lot of company." - -Oh! If that was it, I was quite ready to go. I waited, in the utmost -impatience, until my mother came home from Mrs. Grayper's (for it was -that identical neighbor), to ascertain if we could get leave to carry -out this great idea. Without being nearly so much surprised as I had -expected, my mother entered into it readily; and it was all arranged -that night, and my board and lodging during the visit were to be paid -for. - -The day soon came for our going. It was such an early day that it came -soon, even to me, who was in a fever of expectation, and half afraid -that an earthquake or a fiery mountain, or some other accident might -stop the expedition. We were to go in a carrier's cart, which departed -in the morning after breakfast. I would have given any money to have -been allowed to wrap myself up over-night, and sleep in my hat and -boots. - -It touches me nearly now, although I tell it lightly, to recollect how -eager I was to leave my happy home; to think how little I suspected what -I did leave for ever. - -I am glad to recollect that when the carrier began to move, my mother -ran out at the gate, and called to him to stop, that she might kiss me -once more. I am glad to dwell upon the earnestness and love with which -she lifted up her face to mine. - -As we left her standing in the road, Mr. Murdstone came up to where she -was, and chided her for being so moved. I was looking back round the -awning of the cart, and wondered what business it was of his. Peggotty, -who was also looking back on the other side, seemed anything but -satisfied, as the face she brought back into the cart denoted. - -The carrier's horse was the laziest horse in the world, I thought, as he -shuffled along with his head down. But Peggotty had brought along a -basket of refreshments which would have lasted us handsomely for a -journey three times as long. And at last we drove up to the Yarmouth -tavern, where we found Ham awaiting us. He was a huge, strong fellow, -about six feet high, with a simple, good-natured face. - -He put me upon his shoulder, and my box under his arm, and trudged away -easily down a lane littered with shipbuilders' odds and ends, past -forges, yards and gas works, till we came out upon an open waste of -sand, with the sea pounding upon it and eating away at it. Then Ham -said, - -"Yon's our house, Mas'r Davy!" - -I looked in all directions, as far as I could, and away at the sea, but -no house could _I_ make out. There was a black barge, or some other -kind of boat, not far off, high and dry on the ground, with an iron -funnel sticking out of it for a chimney and smoking very cosily; but -nothing else in the way of a house that was visible to me. - -"That's not it?" said I. "That ship-looking thing?" - -"That's it, Mas'r Davy," returned Ham. - -If it had been Aladdin's palace, roc's egg and all, I suppose I could -not have been more charmed with the idea of living in it. There was a -delightful door cut in the side, and it was roofed in, and there were -little windows in it; but the charm of it was that it was a _real boat_ -which had no doubt been upon the water hundreds of times, and which had -never been intended to be lived in on dry land. - -It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy as possible. There was a -table, and a Dutch clock, and a chest of drawers, and a tea-tray with a -painting on it. The tray was kept from tumbling down by a Bible; and -the tray, if it had tumbled down, would have smashed a quantity of cups -and saucers and a tea-pot around the book. On the walls there were some -colored pictures, framed and glazed, of scripture subjects. There were -some hooks in the beams of the ceiling whose use I did not know; and -some lockers and boxes scattered around, which served for seats. - -One thing I particularly noticed in this delightful house was the smell -of fish, which was so searching that when I took out my -pocket-handkerchief to wipe my nose, I found it smelt exactly as if it -had wrapped up a lobster. On my whispering this to Peggotty, she -informed me that her brother dealt in lobsters, crabs, and crawfish; and -I afterwards found that a heap of these creatures, in a state of -wonderful confusion with one another, and never leaving off pinching -whatever they laid hold of, were usually to be found in a little wooden -lean-to where the pots and kettles were kept. - -We were welcomed by a very civil woman in a white apron, whom I had seen -courtesying at the door when I was on Ham's back, about a quarter of a -mile off; likewise by a most beautiful little girl with a necklace of -blue beads, who wouldn't let me kiss her when I offered to, but ran away -and hid herself. - -By and by, when we had dined in a sumptuous manner off boiled fish, -melted butter, and potatoes, with a chop for me, a hairy man with a very -good-natured face came home. As he called Peggotty "Lass," and gave her -a hearty smack on the cheek, I had no doubt that he was her brother; and -so he turned out--being presently introduced to me as Mr. Peggotty, the -master of the house. - -"Glad to see you, sir," said Mr. Peggotty. "You'll find us rough, sir, -but you'll find us ready." - -I thanked him and replied that I was sure I should be happy in such a -delightful place. - -The civil woman with the white apron was Mrs. Gummidge, an old widowed -lady who kept the boat-house in fine order. The little girl was Emily, -a niece of Mr. Peggotty's. She had never seen her father, just as I had -never seen mine--which was our first bond of sympathy. She had lost her -mother, too; and as we played together happily in the sand, I told her -all about my mother and how we had only each other and I was going to -grow up right away to take care of her. - -Of course I was quite in love with little Emily. I am sure I loved her -quite as truly as one could possibly love. And I made her confess that -she loved me. So when the golden days flew by and the time of parting -drew near, our agony of mind was intense. The farewells were very -tearful; and if ever in my life I had a void in my heart, I had one that -day. - -I am ashamed to confess that the delightful fortnight by the sea had -driven out all thoughts of home. But no sooner were we on the return -journey, than the home longing came crowding in upon me tenfold. I grew -so excited to see my mother, that it seemed as if I couldn't wait for -that blundering old cart. But Peggotty, instead of sharing in these -transports, tried to check them, though very kindly, and looked confused -and out of sorts. - -The Rookery would come, however, in spite of her, when the carrier's -horse pleased--and did. How well I recollect it, on a cold, gray -afternoon, with a dull sky threatening rain! - -The door opened, and I sprang in, half laughing and half crying as I -looked for my mother. It was not she who met me, but a strange servant. - -"Why, Peggotty!" I said, ruefully, "isn't she come home?" - -"Yes, yes, Master Davy," said Peggotty. "She's come home. Wait a bit, -Master Davy, and I'll--I'll tell you something." - -"Peggotty!" said I, quite frightened. "What's the matter?" - -"Nothing's the matter, bless you, Master Davy dear!" she answered, with -an air of cheerfulness. - -"Something's the matter, I'm sure. Where's mamma?" - -"Master Davy," said Peggotty, untying her bonnet with a shaking hand, -and speaking in a breathless sort of way; "what do you think? You have -got a Pa!" - -I trembled, and turned white. Something--I don't know what, or -how--connected with my father's grave in the churchyard, and the raising -of the dead, seemed to strike me like an unwholesome wind. - -"A new one," said Peggotty. - -"A new one?" I repeated. - -Peggotty gave a gasp, as if she were swallowing something that was very -hard, and, putting out her hand, said, - -"Come and see him." - -"I don't want to see him." - -"And your mamma," said Peggotty. - -I ceased to draw back, and we went straight to the best parlor, where -she left me. On one side of the fire, sat my mother; on the other, Mr. -Murdstone. My mother dropped her work, and arose hurriedly but timidly, -I thought. "Now, Clara, my dear," said Mr. Murdstone, "recollect! -control yourself. Davy boy, how do you do?" - -I gave him my hand. Then I went and kissed my mother; she kissed me, -patted me gently on the shoulder, and sat down again to her work. I -could not look at her, I could not look at him. I knew quite well that -he was looking at us both; and I turned to the window and looked out -there, at some shrubs that were drooping their heads in the cold. - -As soon as I could, I crept upstairs. My old dear bedroom was changed, -and I was to lie a long way off. I rambled downstairs to find anything -that was like itself, so altered it all seemed; and roamed into the -yard. I very soon started back from there, for the empty dog-kennel was -filled up with a great dog--deep-mouthed and black-haired like Him--and -he was very angry at the sight of me, and sprang out to get at me. - - - - - *II. I FALL INTO DISGRACE* - - -That first lonely evening when I crept off alone, feeling that no one -wanted me, was the most miserable of my life. I rolled up in a corner -of my bed and cried myself to sleep. - -Presently I was awakened by somebody saying, "Here he is!" and -uncovering my hot head. My mother and Peggotty had come to look for me, -and it was one of them who had done it. - -"Davy," said my mother, "what's the matter?" - -I thought it very strange that she should ask me, and answered, -"Nothing." I turned over on my face, I recollect, to hide my trembling -lip, which answered her with greater truth. - -"Davy," said my mother. "Davy, my child!" - -I dare say, no words she could have uttered would have affected me so -much, then, as her calling me her child. I hid my tears in the -bedclothes, and pressed her from me with my hand, when she would have -raised me up. - -Then I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither hers nor -Peggotty's, and slipped to my feet at the bedside. It was Mr. -Murdstone's hand, and he kept it on my arm as he said: - -"What's this? Clara, my love, have you forgotten? Firmness, my dear!" - -"I am very sorry, Edward," said my mother. "I meant to be very good." - -"Go below, my dear," he answered. "David and I will come down -together." - -When we two were left alone, he shut the door, and sitting on a chair, -and holding me standing before him, looked steadily into my eyes. - -"David," he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them together, "if I -have an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do?" - -"I don't know." - -"I beat him. I make him wince and smart. I say to myself, 'I'll conquer -that fellow'; and if it were to cost him all the blood he had, I should -do it. What is that upon your face?" - -"Dirt," I said. - -He knew it was the mark of tears as well as I. But if he had asked the -question twenty times, each time with twenty blows, I believe my baby -heart would have burst before I would have told him so. - -"You have a good deal of intelligence for a little fellow," he said, -with a grave smile that belonged to him, "and you understood me very -well, I see. Wash that face, sir, and come down with me." - -"Clara, my dear," he said, when I had done his bidding, and he walked me -into the parlor, with his hand still on my arm; "you will not be made -uncomfortable any more, I hope. We shall soon improve our youthful -humors." - -What a little thing will change the current of our lives! I might have -been made another creature perhaps by a kind word just then. A word of -welcome home, of assurance that it _was_ home, might have made me -respect my new father instead of hate him. But the word was not spoken, -and the time for it was gone. - -From that time my life was a lonely one. My mother petted me in secret, -but plainly stood in awe of Mr. Murdstone; and even the dauntless -Peggotty must needs keep her peace. His word alone was law. - -After a time his sister, Miss Murdstone, came to live with us. And from -the second day of her arrival she took charge of the household keys, and -managed things with a firmness second only to her brother himself. - -There had been some talk of my going to boarding-school. Mr. and Miss -Murdstone had originated it, and my mother had of course agreed with -them. Nothing, however, was concluded on the subject yet, and in the -meantime I learned my lessons at home. - -Shall I ever forget those lessons! They were presided over nominally by -my mother, but really by Mr. Murdstone and his sister, who were always -present, and found them a favorable occasion for giving my mother -lessons in that miscalled firmness which was the bane of both our lives. -I believe I was kept at home for that purpose. I had been apt enough to -learn, and willing enough, when my mother and I had lived alone -together. I can faintly remember learning the alphabet at her knee. To -this day, when I look upon the fat black letters in the primer, the -puzzling novelty of their shapes and the easy good-nature of O and Q and -S seem to present themselves again before me as they used to do. But -they recall no feeling of disgust or reluctance. On the contrary, I -seem to have walked along a path of flowers as far as the -crocodile-book, and to have been cheered by the gentleness of my -mother's voice and manner all the way. - -But these solemn lessons which succeeded I remember as the death-blow to -my peace, and a grievous daily drudgery and misery. They were very -long, very numerous, very hard,--and I was generally as much bewildered -by them as I believe my poor mother was herself. - -Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morning back again. - -I come into the second-best parlor after breakfast with my books and an -exercise-book and a slate. My mother is ready for me at her -writing-desk, but not half so ready as Mr. Murdstone in his easy-chair -by the window, though he pretends to be reading a book, or as Miss -Murdstone, sitting near my mother, stringing steel beads. The very -sight of these two has such an influence over me that I begin to feel -the words I have been at infinite pains to get into my head all sliding -away and going I don't know where. I wonder where they do go, by the -bye? - -I hand the first book to my mother. Perhaps it is a grammar, perhaps a -history or geography. I take a last drowning look at the page as I give -it into her hand, and start off aloud at a racing pace while I have got -it fresh. I trip over a word. Mr. Murdstone looks up. I trip over -another word. Miss Murdstone looks up. I redden, tumble over -half-a-dozen words, and stop. I think my mother would show me the book -if she dared, but she does not dare, and she says softly: - -"Oh, Davy! Davy!" - -"Now, Clara," says Mr. Murdstone, "be firm with the boy. Don't say 'Oh, -Davy, Davy!' That's childish. He knows his lesson, or he does not know -it." - -"He does _not_ know it," Miss Murdstone interposes, awfully. - -"I am really afraid he does not," says my mother. - -"Then you see, Clara," returns Miss Murdstone, "you should just give him -the book back and make him know it." - -"Yes, certainly," says my mother; "that is what I intend to do, my dear -Jane. Now, Davy, try once more, and don't be stupid." - -The natural result of this treatment was to make me sullen, dull, and -dogged; and my temper was not improved by the sense that I was daily -shut out from my mother. - -One morning, after about six months of these lessons, when I went into -the parlor with my books, I found my mother looking anxious, Miss -Murdstone looking firm, and Mr. Murdstone binding something round the -bottom of a cane,--a lithe and limber cane, which he left off binding -when I came in, and poised and switched in the air. - -"Now, David," he said, "you must be far more careful to-day than usual." -He gave the cane another poise and another switch, and laid it down -beside him with an expressive look and took up his book. - -This was a good freshener to my presence of mind as a beginning. I felt -the words of my lessons slipping off, not one by one, or line by line, -but by the entire page. I tried to lay hold of them; but they seemed, -if I may so express it, to have put skates on and to skim away from me -with a smoothness there was no checking. - -We began badly, and went on worse. I had come in, with an idea that I -was very well prepared, but it turned out to be quite a mistake. Book -after book was added to the heap of failures, Miss Murdstone being -firmly watchful of us all the time. And when we came to the last, my -mother burst out crying. - -"Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning voice. - -Mr. Murdstone laid down his book and stood up, cane in hand. - -"David, you and I will go upstairs," he said. - -He walked me up to my room slowly and gravely, and when we got there, -suddenly twisted my head under his arm. - -"Mr. Murdstone! Sir!" I cried to him. "Don't! Pray don't beat me! I -have tried to learn, sir, but I can't learn while you and Miss Murdstone -are by. I can't indeed!" - -"Can't you, indeed, David?" he said. "We'll try that." - -He had my head as in a vice, but I twined round him somehow, and stopped -him for a moment, entreating him not to beat me. It was only for a -moment that I stopped him, for he cut me heavily an instant afterwards, -and in the same instant I caught his hand in my mouth, and bit it -through. It sets my teeth on edge to think of it! - -He beat me then, as if he would have beaten me to death. Above all the -noise we made, I heard them running up the stairs, and crying out--I -heard my mother crying out--and Peggotty. Then he was gone; and the -door was locked outside; and I was lying, torn and sore and raging, upon -the floor. - -How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnatural stillness -seemed to reign through the whole house! How well I remember, when my -smart and passion began to cool, how wicked I began to feel! - -I sat listening for a long while, but there was not a sound. I crawled -up from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, and -ugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, and -made me cry afresh, when I moved; but they were nothing to the guilt I -felt. It lay like lead upon my breast. - -For five days I was imprisoned thus within my room, seeing no one except -Miss Murdstone, who came to bring me food. They live like years in my -remembrance. On the fifth night I heard my name softly whispered -through the keyhole. - -I groped my way to the door, and, putting my own lips to the keyhole, -whispered, - -"Is that you, Peggotty, dear?" - -"Yes, my own precious Davy," she replied. "Be as soft as a mouse, or the -Cat'll hear us." - -I understood this to mean Miss Murdstone, her room being close by. - -"How's mamma, dear Peggotty? Is she very angry with me?" - -I could hear Peggotty crying softly on her side of the keyhole, as I was -doing on mine, before she answered, "No. Not very." - -"What is going to be done with me, Peggotty, dear? Do you know?" - -"School. Near London." - -"When, Peggotty?" - -"To-morrow." - -"Sha'n't I see mamma?" - -"Yes," said Peggotty. "Morning." - -Then she stole away, fearful of surprises. In the morning Miss Murdstone -appeared as usual, and told me I was going to school, which was not -altogether such news to me as she supposed. She also informed me that -when I was dressed, I was to come down stairs into the parlor, and have -my breakfast. There I found my mother, very pale and with red eyes, -into whose arms I ran, and begged her pardon from my suffering soul. - -"Oh, Davy!" she said. "That you could hurt any one I love! Try to be -better, pray to be better! I forgive you; but I am so grieved, Davy, -that you should have such bad passions in your heart." - -They had persuaded her that I was a wicked fellow, and she was more -sorry for that than for my going away. I felt it sorely. I tried to -eat my parting breakfast, but my tears dropped upon my bread and butter, -and trickled into my tea. I saw my mother look at me sometimes, and -then glance at the watchful Miss Murdstone, and then look down, or look -away. - -"Master Copperfield's box there?" said Miss Murdstone, when wheels were -heard at the gate. - -I looked for Peggotty, but it was not she; neither she nor Mr. Murdstone -appeared. My former acquaintance, the carrier, was at the door; the box -was taken out to his cart and lifted in. - -"Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning note. - -"Yes, my dear Jane," returned my mother. "Good-bye, Davy. You are going -for your own good. Good-bye, my child. You will come home in the -holidays, and be a better boy. God bless you!" - -Miss Murdstone was good enough to take me out to the cart, and to say on -the way that she hoped I would repent, before I came to a bad end; and -then I got into the cart, and the lazy horse walked off with it. - -We had not gone half a mile when I was astonished to see Peggotty burst -from a hedge and climb into the cart. Not a word did she say, but she -squeezed me tight, crammed a bag of cakes into my pockets, and put a -purse into my hand. After a final squeeze she got down from the cart -and ran away as quickly as she had come. - -My pocket-handkerchief was now so wet that the carrier proposed -spreading it out upon the horse's back to dry. We did so, and I then -had leisure to look at the purse. It had three bright shillings in it -from Peggotty, and--more precious still--two half-crowns folded together -in a bit of paper, on which was written, in my mother's hand, "For Davy. -With my love." - -I was so overcome by this that I asked the carrier to reach me my -handkerchief again, but he said I had better let it dry first. I -thought so too, and wiped my eyes on my sleeve this time. - -Then the cakes came in for consideration. I offered the carrier one -which he ate at a gulp, without the slightest change of expression. - -"Did _she_ make 'em?" asked the carrier, whose name, by the way, was -Barkis. - -"Peggotty, you mean, sir?" - -"Ah!" said Mr. Barkis. "Her." - -"Yes, she makes all our pastry, and does all our cooking." - -Mr. Barkis said nothing for some moments. Then-- - -"Perhaps you might be writin' to her, later on?" - -"Yes, indeed," I said. - -"Then you just say to her that Barkis is willin'. Would you?" - -"Yes, sir," I replied, considerably puzzled by the message. And I did -deliver it the very first time I wrote to Peggotty. I did not then know -that the carrier meant, by being "willing," he wanted to marry my good -Peggotty and was too shy to say so for himself. - -At Yarmouth I changed to the coach for London; and at London, to still -another coach for Salem, the school. And so, after a long, wearisome -journey, I reached my new destination. Another leaf of my life was -turned over, and a fresh one begun. - - - - - *III. SCHOOL. STEERFORTH AND TRADDLES* - - -Salem House was a square brick building with wings. The schoolroom was -very long, with three rows of desks running the length of it and -bristling all around with pegs for hats and slates. Scraps of -copy-books and exercises littered the floor. The other students had not -yet returned from their holidays when I took my first peep into this -room, in company with Mr. Mell, one of the tutors. - -Presently I chanced to see a pasteboard sign lying upon a desk and -bearing these words: - - "TAKE CARE OF HIM. - HE BITES." - - -I hurriedly climbed upon the desk, fearful of a dog underneath; but saw -none. - -"What are you doing there?" asked Mr. Mell. - -"I beg your pardon, sir," I replied. "If you please, I'm looking for -the dog." - -"Dog? What dog?" - -I pointed to the sign. - -"No, Copperfield," he said gravely. "That's not a dog; that's a boy. -My instructions are to put this sign on your back. I'm sorry to do so, -but must do it." - -With that, he took me down, and tied the placard, which was neatly -constructed for the purpose, on my shoulders like a knapsack; and -wherever I went, afterwards, I had the consolation of carrying it. - -What I suffered nobody can imagine. Whether it was possible for people -to see me or not, I always fancied that somebody was reading it. It was -no relief to turn round and find nobody; for wherever my back was, there -I imagined somebody always to be, until at last I positively began to -have a dread of myself as the boy who _did_ bite. - -Mr. Creakle, the master of the school, was a short, thick-set man, and -bald on the top of his head. He had a little nose and large chin. He -had lost his voice and spoke almost in a whisper, which surprised me -greatly, for his face always looked angry, and the exertion of talking -made his thick veins stick out so that he looked angrier still. - -When the boys began to come back I found my ordeal, on account of the -sign on my back, not quite so great as I had feared; and it was chiefly -on account of the first fellow to arrive, Tommy Traddles. Dear Tommy -Traddles! You made a friend of a poor, lonesome, frightened boy that -day, who will always be loyal to you so long as he lives. - -Traddles was a jolly looking boy who laughed heartily when he first saw -the card, as at a great joke; and he saved me from any further shyness -by introducing me to every boy and saying gaily, "Look here! Here's a -game!" Happily, too, most of the boys came back low-spirited, and were -not very boisterous at my expense. Some of them certainly did dance -about me like wild Indians and could not resist patting me, lest I -should bite, and saying, "Lie down, sir!" and calling me Towzer. But on -the whole I got through rather easily. - -I was not considered as being formally received into the school, -however, until J. Steerforth arrived. Before this boy, who was reputed -to be a great scholar, and was very good-looking, and at least -half-a-dozen years my senior, I was carried as before a magistrate. He -inquired, under a shed in the playground, into the particulars of my -punishment, and was pleased to express his opinion that it was "a jolly -shame"; for which I became bound to him ever afterwards. - -Then Steerforth asked how much money I had; and when I told him, he -suggested that it was the proper thing for a new boy to stand treat to -the others. I agreed, but felt helpless; whereupon he kindly -volunteered to get the things for me and smuggle them into my room. I -was a little uneasy about spending my mother's half-crowns, but didn't -dare say so. I handed them over to him and he procured the feast and -laid it out on my bed, saying, - -"There you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread you've got!" - -I couldn't think of doing the honors of the feast, at my time of life, -while he was by; my hand shook at the very thought of it. I begged him -to do me the favor of presiding; and my request being seconded by the -other boys he acceded to it, and sat upon my pillow, handing round the -viands with perfect fairness, I must say. As to me, I sat on his left -hand, and the rest were grouped about us, on the nearest beds and on the -floor. - -How well I recollect our sitting there, talking in whispers, or their -talking, and my respectfully listening, I ought rather to say; the -moonlight falling a little way into the room, through the window, -painting a pale window on the floor, and the greater part of us in -shadow, except when Steerforth struck a match, when he wanted to look -for anything on the board, and shed a blue glare over us that was gone -directly. - -I heard all kinds of things about the school. I heard that Mr. Creakle -was a tartar and thrashed the boys unmercifully--all except Steerforth, -upon whom he didn't dare lay his hand. I heard that Mr. Creakle was -very ignorant, and that Mr. Mell, who was not a bad sort of fellow, was -poorly paid. All this and much more I heard in the whispers of that -moonlit room, before we finally betook ourselves to bed. - -From that time on, big handsome Steerforth took me under his protection, -and, for my part, I was his willing slave. I would tell him tales which -I had imbibed from my early reading, while he would help me do my sums -and keep the other boys from tormenting me. Why he, the fine head-boy, -should have taken notice of me at all, I don't know. But I remember I -all but worshipped him with his easy swagger and lordly air. - -The other boy to whom I always owed allegiance was Traddles. Poor jolly -Traddles! In a tight, sky-blue suit that made his arms and legs look -like German sausages, he was at once the merriest and most miserable of -all boys. He was always being caned by that fierce Mr. Creakle, who -made all our backs tingle, except Steerforth's. After Traddles had got -his daily caning he would cheer up somehow and get comfort by drawing -skeletons all over his slate. He was always drawing these skeletons, -just as he was always getting caned. And they did comfort him somehow, -for presently he would begin to laugh again before his tears were dry. - -He was very honorable, Traddles was, and held it as a solemn duty in the -boys to stand by one another. He suffered for this on several -occasions; and particularly once, when Steerforth laughed in church, and -the Beadle thought it was Traddles, and took him out. I see him now, -going away in custody, despised by the congregation. He never said who -was the real offender, though he smarted for it next day, and was -imprisoned so many hours that he came forth with a whole churchyard full -of skeletons swarming all over his Latin Dictionary. But he had his -reward. Steerforth said there was nothing of the sneak in Traddles, and -we all felt that to be the highest praise. For my part, I could have -gone through a good deal to have won such a reward. - -Although Mr. Creakle's school was not noted for scholarship, I can -confess without vanity that I did make good progress. I was naturally -fond of books and a great reader; and now I had the first fair chance at -learning things. In this I found Mr. Mell, the quiet, gentle tutor, a -constant friend to me. I shall always remember him with gratitude. - -But Steerforth, I am sorry to say, did not like the tutor and took no -pains to hide his poor opinion. Since many of the other boys followed -Steerforth's lead, poor Mr. Mell was not popular. Still, nothing -especial came of it until one memorable day when Mr. Creakle was absent. -The boys seized the chance to be uproarious, and Mr. Mell could not -control them. Finally even his patience was exhausted, and he sprang to -his feet and pounded his desk with a book. - -"Silence!" he cried. "This noise must cease! It's maddening! How can -you treat me this way, boys?" - -It was my book that he struck his desk with; and as I stood beside him, -following his eye as it glanced round the room, I saw the boys all stop, -some suddenly surprised, some half afraid, and some sorry perhaps. - -Steerforth's place was at the bottom of the school, at the opposite end -of the long room. He was lounging with his back against the wall, and -his hands in his pockets, and looked at Mr. Mell with his mouth shut up -as if he were whistling, when Mr. Mell looked at him. - -"Silence, Mr. Steerforth!" said Mr. Mell. - -"Silence yourself," said Steerforth, turning red. "Whom are you talking -to?" - -"Sit down," said Mr. Mell. - -"Sit down yourself," said Steerforth, "and mind your business." - -There was a titter, and some applause; but Mr. Mell was so white that -there was silence. - -"If you think, Steerforth," said Mr. Mell, "that you can make use of -your position of favoritism here to disobey rules and insult a -gentleman--" - -"A what?--where is he?" said Steerforth. - -Here somebody cried out, "Shame, J. Steerforth! Too bad!" It was -Traddles, whom Mr. Mell instantly routed by bidding him hold his tongue. - ---"To insult one who is not fortunate in life, sir, and who never gave -you the least offence," continued Mr. Mell, his lip trembling, "you -commit a mean and base action. You can sit down or stand up as you -please, sir. Copperfield, go on." - -"Young Copperfield," said Steerforth, coming forward, "stop a bit. I -tell you what, Mr. Mell, once for all. When you take the liberty of -calling men mean and base, or anything of that sort, you are an impudent -beggar. You are always a beggar, you know; but when you do that, you -are an impudent beggar." - -I am not clear whether he was going to strike Mr. Mell, or Mr. Mell was -going to strike him, or there was any such intention on either side. I -saw a rigidity come upon the whole school as if they had been turned -into stone, and found Mr. Creakle in the midst of us. Mr. Mell, with his -elbows on his desk and his face in his hands, sat for some moments quite -still. - -"Mr. Mell," said Mr. Creakle, shaking him by the arm; and his whisper -was very audible now; "you have not forgotten yourself, I hope?" - -"No, sir," said Mr. Mell. - -Mr. Creakle looked hard at him and then turned to Steerforth. - -"Now, sir, will you tell me what this is about?" - -Steerforth evaded the question for a little while; looking in scorn and -anger on his opponent, and remaining silent. I could not help thinking -what a fine-looking fellow he was, and how homely and plain Mr. Mell -looked opposed to him. - -"What did he mean by talking about favorites, then?" said Steerforth at -length. - -"Favorites?" repeated Mr. Creakle, with the veins in his forehead -swelling quickly. "Who talked about favorites?" - -"He did," said Steerforth. - -"And pray, what did you mean by that, sir?" demanded Mr. Creakle, -turning angrily on his assistant. - -"I meant, Mr. Creakle," he returned, in a low voice, "as I said; that no -pupil had a right to avail himself of his position of favoritism to -degrade me." - -"To degrade _you_?" said Mr. Creakle. "My stars! But give me leave to -ask you, Mr. What's your name, whether, when you talk about favorites, -you showed proper respect to me? To me, sir," said Mr. Creakle, darting -his head at him suddenly and drawing it back again, "the principal of -this establishment and your employer." - -"It was not judicious, sir, I am willing to admit," said Mr. Mell. "I -should not have done so if I had been cool." - -Here Steerforth struck in. - -"Then he said I was mean, and then he said I was base, and then I called -him a beggar. If _I_ had been cool, perhaps I shouldn't have called him -a beggar. But I did, and I am ready to take the consequences of it." - -Without considering, perhaps, whether there were any consequences to be -taken, I felt quite in a glow at this gallant speech. It made an -impression on the boys, too, for there was a low stir among them, though -no one spoke a word. - -"I am surprised, Steerforth,--although your candor does you honor," said -Mr. Creakle, "does you honor, certainly,--I am surprised, Steerforth, I -must say, that you should attach such an epithet to any person employed -and paid in Salem House, sir." - -Steerforth gave a short laugh. - -"That's not an answer, sir," said Mr. Creakle, "to my remark. I expect -more than that from you, Steerforth." - -If Mr. Mell looked homely in my eyes before the handsome boy, it would -be quite impossible to say how homely Mr. Creakle looked. - -"Let him deny it," said Steerforth. - -"Deny that he is a beggar, Steerforth?" cried Mr. Creakle. "Why, where -does he go a begging?" - -"If he is not a beggar himself, his near relation's one," said -Steerforth. "It's all the same." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Since you expect me, Mr. Creakle, to justify myself," said Steerforth, -"and to say what I mean,--what I have to say is, that his mother lives -on charity in an almshouse." - -Mr. Creakle turned to his assistant with a severe frown and labored -politeness: - -"Now you hear what this gentleman says, Mr. Mell. Have the goodness, if -you please, to set him right before the assembled school." - -"He is right, sir, without correction," returned Mr. Mell, in the midst -of a dead silence; "what he has said is true." - -"Be so good then as to declare publicly, will you," said Mr. Creakle, -putting his head on one side and rolling his eyes round the school, -"whether it ever came to my knowledge until this moment?" - -"I believe not directly," he returned. - -"Why, you _know_ not," said Mr. Creakle. "Don't you, man?" - -"Sir, I think you knew my circumstances when I came here, and that a -bare living wage--" - -"I think, if you come to that," said Mr. Creakle, with his veins -swelling again bigger than ever, "that you've been in a wrong position -altogether, and mistook this for a charity school. Mr. Mell, we'll part -if you please. The sooner the better." - -"There is no time," answered Mr. Mell, rising, "like the present." - -"Sir, to you!" said Mr. Creakle. - -"I take my leave of you, Mr. Creakle, and of all of you," said Mr. Mell, -glancing round the room and patting me gently on the shoulder. "James -Steerforth, the best wish I can leave you is that you may come to be -ashamed of what you have done to-day. At present I would prefer to see -you anything rather than a friend to me or to any one in whom I feel an -interest." - -Then Mr. Mell walked out with his property under his arm. - -Mr. Creakle made a speech, in which he thanked Steerforth for asserting -(though perhaps too warmly) the independence and respectability of Salem -House; and which he wound up by shaking hands with Steerforth, while we -gave three cheers,--I did not quite know what for, but I suppose for -Steerforth, and so joined in them ardently, though I felt miserable. Mr. -Creakle then caned Tommy Traddles for being discovered in tears instead -of cheers on account of Mr. Mell's departure: and went back to his sofa -or wherever he had come from. - -When he had gone there was an awkward silence. Somehow we all felt -uncomfortable or ashamed. As for Steerforth, he said he was angry with -Traddles and glad he had caught it. - -Poor Traddles, who was relieving himself as usual with a burst of -skeletons, said he didn't care. Mr. Mell was ill-used. - -"Who has ill-used him, you girl?" said Steerforth. - -"Why, _you_ have," returned Traddles. - -"What have I done?" said Steerforth. - -"What have you done?" retorted Traddles. - -"Hurt his feelings and lost him his situation." - -"His feelings!" repeated Steerforth, disdainfully. "His feelings will -soon get the better of it, I'll be bound. His feelings are not like -yours, Miss Traddles. As to his situation,--which was a precious one, -wasn't it?--do you suppose I am not going to write home and take care -that he gets some money? Polly?" - -We thought this intention very noble in Steerforth, whose mother was a -widow, and rich, and would do almost anything, it was said, that he -asked her. We were all extremely glad to see Traddles so put down, and -exalted Steerforth to the skies. But as I look back at it now, I should -rather have been Traddles that day than any other boy in the room. And -I think the other boys will say so too. - - -I pass over all that happened at school, until the anniversary of my -birthday came round in March. Except that Steerforth was more to be -admired than ever, I remember nothing. He was going away at the end of -the half-year, if not sooner, and was more spirited and independent than -ever; but beyond this I remember nothing. The great event by which that -time is marked in my mind, seems to have swallowed up all lesser -recollections, and to exist alone. - -It was after breakfast, and we had been summoned in from the playground, -when Mr. Creakle entered and said: - -"David Copperfield is to go into the parlor." - -I expected a hamper from Peggotty, and brightened at the order. Some of -the boys about me put in their claim not to be forgotten in the -distribution of the good things, as I got out of my seat with great -alacrity. But when I reached the parlor I saw no one except Mrs. -Creakle, who held an open letter in her hand and looked at me gravely. - -"You are too young to know how the world changes every day," said Mrs. -Creakle, "and how the people in it pass away. But we all have to learn -it, David; some of us when we are young, some of us when we are old, -some of us at all times of our lives." - -I looked at her earnestly. - -"When you came away from home," said Mrs. Creakle, after a pause, "were -they all well?" After another pause, "Was your mamma well?" - -I trembled without distinctly knowing why, and still looked at her -earnestly, making no attempt to answer. - -"Because," said she, "I grieve to tell you that I hear this morning your -mamma is very ill." - -A mist arose between Mrs. Creakle and me, and her figure seemed to move -in it for an instant. Then I felt the burning tears run down my face, -and it was steady again. - -"She is very dangerously ill," she added. - -I knew all now. - -"She is dead." - -There was no need to tell me so. I had already broken out into a -desolate cry, and felt an orphan in the wide world. - -She was very kind to me. She kept me there all day, and left me alone -sometimes; and I cried and wore myself to sleep, and awoke and cried -again. - -The next night I left Salem House, after a tender adieu to Steerforth, -Traddles, and all the rest. I little thought that I left the school -never to return. - -When I reached home I was in Peggotty's arms before I got to the door, -and she took me into the house. Her grief burst out when she first saw -me; but she controlled it soon, and spoke in whispers, and walked -softly, as if the dead could be disturbed. She had not been in bed, I -found, for a long time. She sat up at night still, and watched. As -long as her poor dear pretty was above the ground, she said, she would -never desert her. - -Mr. Murdstone took no heed of me when I went into the parlor where he -was, but sat by the fireside, weeping silently, and pondering in his -elbow-chair. Miss Murdstone, who was busy at her writing-desk, which -was covered with letters and papers, gave me her cold finger-nails, and -asked me, in an iron whisper, if I had been measured for my mourning. - -I will not dwell upon the dull, sorrowful days before and after my dear -mother's funeral. The house had been cold and quiet enough before, but -was now almost terrifying. And had it not been for Peggotty I do not -know how I should have stood it. - -But soon even she was denied me. Miss Murdstone had never liked her, -and now lost no time in dismissing her from our service. The single ray -of light in this gloomy time is a little visit I was allowed to make -with her to Yarmouth, to our old friends, Mr. Peggotty, Ham, and Emily. -The latter was much grown now, but prettier than ever, and shyer about -letting me kiss her. - -And Barkis, the honest carrier, after having been "willing" all this -time, was hugely gratified to gain a favorable answer from Peggotty. -They were married while I was there, and I was glad to leave my faithful -old nurse so well provided for. - -Then I returned home--no, I cannot say that word--to Mr. and Miss -Murdstone. - - - - - *IV. I BEGIN LIFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT* - - -And now I fell into a state of neglect, which I cannot look back upon -without sorrow. I was as one alone--apart from all friendly notice, -apart from the society of all other boys of my own age, apart from all -companionship but my own spiritless thoughts,--which seems to cast its -gloom upon this paper as I write. - -What would I have given to have been sent to the hardest school that -ever was kept--to have been taught something, anyhow, anywhere? No such -hope dawned upon me. They disliked me; and they steadily overlooked me. -I think Mr. Murdstone's means were straitened at about this time; but it -is little to the purpose. He could not bear me; and in putting me from -him he tried, as I believe, to put away the notion that I had any claim -upon him--and succeeded. - -I was not actively ill-used. I was not beaten, or starved; but day by -day I was made to feel that I was in the way, and an altogether useless -member of society. Finally Mr. Murdstone called me to him one day, and -told me that he could not afford to send me to school, but that I must -go to work for myself. He had a partner in the wine trade in London, -and I was to be given a position there. - -Accordingly, Miss Murdstone packed me off without loss of time; and I -went to work--at ten years old--washing bottles in a vile-smelling -warehouse down by the water-side. - -There were three or four of us boys, counting me; and I was shown how to -work by an older lad whose name was Mick Walker, and who wore a ragged -apron and paper cap. He introduced me to another boy by the queer name -of Mealy Potatoes. I discovered, later, that this youth had started out -with another name, but had been given this one on account of a pale, -mealy complexion. - -No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sank into this -companionship; compared these associates with those of my happier -childhood--not to say with Steerforth, Traddles, and the rest of those -boys; and felt my hopes of growing up to be a learned and distinguished -man crushed in my bosom. The feeling of being utterly without hope; of -the shame I felt in my position; of the misery it was to believe that -what I had learned would pass away from me, little by little, never to -be brought back any more; cannot be written. As often as Mick Walker -went away in the course of that forenoon, I mingled my tears with the -water in which I was washing the bottles. But I was careful never to -let the others see me in tears. - -I was given the splendid salary of seven shillings[#] a week for my -services, and out of that I had to feed and clothe myself. My lodgings -were provided for, at the home of a Mr. Micawber, a portly, dignified -man with a large, shiny bald head and rusty, genteel clothes. Mr. -Micawber was perpetually dodging creditors while he waited for -"something to turn up," as he expressed it. But in his way he was kind -to me. - - -[#] About $1.68. - - -Still I had no one upon earth to go to for friendship or advice, I must -needs skimp and save to be sure of having enough bread and cheese to -eat; and no one lifted a finger to help me, a frightened little stranger -in a large, terrifying city. I look back upon it now as a horrible -dream. I know that I worked from morning till night with common men and -boys, a shabby child. I know that I lounged about the streets poorly -clothed and half starved. I know that but for the mercy of God, I might -easily have been--for any other care that was taken of me--a little -thief or vagabond. - -But in these darkest days a bright idea came to me--I don't know when or -how, but come it did, and refused to depart. I remembered having heard -of an aunt, Miss Betsey Trotwood, my dear father's sister. I had heard -both my mother and Peggotty speak of her, with some awe, it is true, as -being a rather eccentric woman, who did not like boys, but still I -resolved to find her. So I wrote to Peggotty and asked the address, and -also for the loan of half a guinea. I had resolved to run away and -appeal to my aunt for protection. - -Peggotty's answer soon came with much love and the half guinea. She -told me that Miss Betsey lived near Dover, but she couldn't say exactly -where. This was vague enough, but didn't deter me in the slightest. I -worked my week out at the warehouse, and, bidding Mick Walker and Mealy -Potatoes good-bye, ran away forthwith. I may have had the notion of -running all the way to Dover when I started. I had a small box of -clothes and the half guinea, but a carter robbed me of both of them the -first day. So, reduced to a few odd pence, I made but slow progress on -foot, and sleeping out in the open by night. - -For six days I trudged my weary way, pawning my coat for food, and not -daring to ask aid from any one, for fear of being seized and sent back -to London. But at last I limped in upon the bare white downs near -Dover, sunburnt and in rags. - -By dint of inquiries I was directed to Miss Betsey Trotwood's house, and -I lost no time in going there--a sorry enough figure, as you may -imagine. It was a neat little cottage looking out from some cliffs upon -the sea. - -As I stood at the gate peeping in and wondering how I had best proceed, -a tall, slim lady came out of the house. She had a handkerchief tied -over her cap, a pair of gardener's gloves on her hands, and carried a -pruning-knife. - -"Go away!" said Miss Betsey (for it was none other), shaking her head -when she saw me, and making a distant chop in the air with her knife. -"Go along! No boys here!" - -I watched her, with my heart at my lips, as she marched to a corner of -her garden, and stooped to dig a root. Then, without a scrap of -courage, but with a great deal of desperation, I went softly in and -stood beside her, touching her with my finger. - -"If you please, ma'am," I began. - -She started and looked up. - -"If you please, aunt." - -"EH?" exclaimed Miss Betsey, in a tone of amazement I have never heard -approached. - -"If you please, aunt, I am your nephew." - -"Oh, Lord!" said my aunt, and sat flat down in the garden-path. - -"I am David Copperfield, of the Rookery. I used to hear my dear mamma -speak of you before she died. I have been neglected and mistreated, and -so I ran away and came to you. I was robbed at first setting out, and -have walked all the way, and have never slept in a bed since I began the -journey." - -Here my self-support gave way all at once; and with a movement of my -hands, intended to show her my ragged state, and call it to witness that -I had suffered something, I broke into a passion of crying, which I -suppose had been pent up within me all the week. - -My aunt, with every sort of expression, sat on the gravel, staring at -me, until I began to cry; when she got up in a great hurry, collared me, -and took me into the parlor. Her first proceeding there was to unlock a -tall press, bring out several bottles, and pour some of the contents of -each into my mouth. I think they must have been taken out at random, -for I am sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing. -Then she rang the bell. - -"Janet," she said, when her servant came in, "go upstairs, give my -compliments to Mr. Dick, and say I wish to speak to him." - -Mr. Dick proved to be a pleasant-faced man of whimsical ways, but upon -whose advice my aunt greatly relied. As he proposed now that I be given -a bath and put to bed, my aunt lost no time in following these ideas. - -Janet had gone away to get the bath ready, when my aunt, to my great -alarm, became in one moment rigid with wrath, and had hardly voice to -cry out, "Janet! Donkeys!" - -Upon which, Janet came running up the stairs as if the house were in -flames, darted out on a little piece of green in front, and warned off -two donkeys that had presumed to set hoof upon it; while my aunt, -rushing out of the house, seized the bridle of a third animal, led him -forth from those sacred precincts, and boxed the ears of the unlucky -urchin in attendance. - -To this hour I don't know whether my aunt had any lawful right of way -over that patch of green; but she had settled it in her own mind that -she had, and it was all the same to her. The one great outrage of her -life, demanding to be constantly avenged, was the passage of a donkey -over that spot. No matter what she was doing or saying, a donkey turned -the current of her ideas in a moment, and she was upon him straight. -Jugs of water and watering-pots were kept in secret places ready to be -discharged on the offending boys; sticks were laid in ambush behind the -door; sallies were made at all hours; and incessant war prevailed. - -Perhaps this was an agreeable excitement to the donkey-boys; or perhaps -the more sagacious of the donkeys, understanding how the case stood, -stubbornly delighted in coming that way. I only know that there were -three alarms before the bath was ready; and that on the occasion of the -last and most desperate of all, I saw my aunt engage, single-handed, -with a sandy-headed lad of fifteen, and bump his sandy head against her -own gate, before he realized what was the matter. These interruptions -were the more ridiculous to me, because she was giving me broth out of a -tablespoon at the time (having firmly persuaded herself that I was -actually starving, and must receive food at first in very small -quantities), and, while my mouth was yet open to receive the spoon, she -would put it back into the basin, cry "Janet! Donkeys!" and go out to -the assault. - -The bath was a great comfort. For I began to be sensible of acute pains -in my limbs from lying out in the fields, and was now so tired and low -that I could hardly keep myself awake for five minutes together. When I -had bathed they enrobed me in a shirt and a pair of trousers belonging -to Mr. Dick, and tied me up in two or three great shawls. What sort of -bundle I looked like, I don't know, but I felt a very hot one. Feeling -also very faint and drowsy, I soon fell asleep. - -The next morning at breakfast my aunt said, with a determined shake of -her head, "Well, I've written to him." - -"To whom?" I ventured. - -"To Mr. Murdstone." - -"Does he know where I am, aunt?" I inquired, alarmed. - -"I have told him," said my aunt, with a nod. - -"Shall I--be--given up to him?" I faltered. - -"I don't know," said my aunt. "We shall see." - -"Oh! I can't think what I shall do," I exclaimed, "if I have to go back -to Mr. Murdstone!" - -"I don't know anything about it," said my aunt, shaking her head. "I -can't say, I am sure. We shall see." - -My spirits sank under these words, and I became very downcast and heavy -of heart. - -For the next few days I felt like a criminal condemned to die; although -my aunt and Mr. Dick both were very kind to me. Finally the day of the -expected visit from Mr. Murdstone arrived, but without bringing him till -late in the afternoon. Our dinner had been postponed; but it was -growing so late that my aunt had ordered it to be got ready, when she -gave a sudden alarm of donkeys, and to my consternation, I beheld Miss -Murdstone, on a side-saddle, ride deliberately over the sacred piece of -green, and stop in front of the house, looking about her. - -"Go along with you!" cried my aunt, shaking her head and her fist out of -the window. "You have no business there. How dare you trespass? Go -along! Oh, you bold-faced thing!" - -My aunt was so exasperated by the coolness with which Miss Murdstone -looked about her, that I really believe she did not know what to do. I -hastened to tell her who it was, and that Mr. Murdstone was following -behind, but it made no difference. She glared at them as they entered -the room in a most terrible way. - -"Oh!" said my aunt, "I was not aware at first to whom I had the pleasure -of objecting. But I don't allow anybody to ride over that turf. I make -no exceptions. I don't allow anybody to do it." - -"Your regulation is rather awkward to strangers," said Miss Murdstone. - -"_Is_ it!" said my aunt. - -Mr. Murdstone here cleared his throat and began, "Miss Trotwood--" - -"I beg your pardon," observed my aunt, with a keen look. "You are the -Mr. Murdstone." - -"I am," said Mr. Murdstone. - -"You'll excuse my saying, sir," returned my aunt, "that I think it would -have been a much better and happier thing if you had left that poor -child alone." - -Mr. Murdstone colored, and Miss Murdstone looked as though she could -bite nails. - -"I received your letter," said Mr. Murdstone, "and thought it best to -see you personally about this unhappy boy who has run away from his -friends and his position. I need not tell you that he has always given -us great trouble and uneasiness. He is sullen and stubborn and has a -violent temper. I thought it best that you should know this." - -"It can hardly be necessary for me to confirm anything stated by my -brother," said Miss Murdstone; "but I beg to observe, that, of all the -boys in the world, I believe this is the worst boy." - -"Strong!" said my aunt, shortly. - -"But not at all too strong for the facts," returned Miss Murdstone. - -"Ha!" said my aunt. "Well, sir?" - -"Upon the death of his mother," continued Mr. Murdstone, scowling, "I -obtained a respectable place for him--" - -"Was it the sort of place you would have put a boy of your own in?" -asked my aunt. - -"If he had been my brother's own boy," returned Miss Murdstone, striking -in, "his character, I trust, would have been altogether different." - -"Or if the poor child, his mother, had been alive, he would still have -gone into the respectable business, would he?" said my aunt. - -"I believe," said Mr. Murdstone, with a nod of his head, "that Clara -would have disputed nothing which myself and my sister were agreed was -for the best." - -"Humph!" said my aunt. "Well, sir, what next?" - -"Merely this, Miss Trotwood," he returned. "I am here to take David -back--to take him back unconditionally, and to deal with him as I think -right. I am not here to make any promise to anybody. You may possibly -have some idea, Miss Trotwood, of abetting him in his running away. -Your manner induces me to think it possible. Now I must caution you -that if you abet him once, you abet him for good and all. I cannot -trifle, or be trifled with. I am here, for the first and last time, to -take him away. Is he ready to go? If he is not, my doors are shut -against him henceforth, and yours, I take it for granted, are opened to -him." - -To this address my aunt had listened with the closest attention, sitting -perfectly upright, with her hands folded on one knee, and looking grimly -on the speaker. When he had finished, she turned her eyes so as to -command Miss Murdstone, and said, - -"Well, ma'am, have you got anything to remark?" - -"Indeed, Miss Trotwood," said Miss Murdstone, "all that I could say has -been so well said by my brother, that I have nothing to add except my -thanks for your politeness." - -This ironical remark, however, was wholly lost. - -"And what does the boy say?" said my aunt. "Are you ready to go, David?" - -I answered no, and entreated her not to let me go. I said that neither -Mr. nor Miss Murdstone had ever liked me, or had ever been kind to me. -That they had made my mamma, who always loved me dearly, unhappy about -me, and that I knew it well, and that Peggotty knew it. And I begged and -prayed my aunt--I forget in what terms now, but I remember that they -affected me very much then--to befriend and protect me, for my father's -sake. - -"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "what shall I do with this child?" - -"Have him measured for a suit of clothes, directly," said Mr. Dick, in -his usual sudden way. - -"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, triumphantly, "give me your hand, for your -common sense is invaluable." - -Having shaken it with great cordiality, she pulled me towards her, and -said to Mr. Murdstone: - -"You can go when you like; I'll take my chance with the boy. If he's -all you say he is, at least I can do as much for him then as you have -done. But I don't believe a word of it." - -"Miss Trotwood," rejoined Mr. Murdstone, shrugging his shoulders, as he -rose, "if you were a gentleman--" - -"Bah! stuff and nonsense!" said my aunt. "Don't talk to me!" - -"How exquisitely polite!" exclaimed Miss Murdstone, rising. -"Overpowering, really!" - -"Do you think I don't know," said my aunt, turning a deaf ear to the -sister, and continuing to address the brother, and to shake her head at -him, "what kind of life you must have led that poor, little woman you -cajoled into marrying you? Do you think I don't know what a woeful day -it was for her and her boy when _you_ first came in her way?" - -And thereupon she read him such a lecture as I warrant he had never -listened to before in his life, nor ever would again. He bit his lip in -silence while she lectured, and all the color left his face. Miss -Murdstone tried to interrupt the flow of words repeatedly, with no -success at all. When she had ended-- - -"Good day, sir," said my aunt, "and good-bye! Good day to you, too, -ma'am," turning suddenly upon his sister. "Let me see you ride a donkey -over _my_ green again, and as sure as you have a head upon your -shoulders, I'll knock your bonnet off, and tread upon it!" - -It would require a painter, and no common painter too, to depict my -aunt's face as she delivered herself of this very unexpected sentiment, -and Miss Murdstone's face as she heard it. But the manner of the -speech, no less than the matter, was so fiery, that Miss Murdstone, -without a word in answer, discreetly put her arm through her brother's, -and walked haughtily out of the cottage; my aunt remaining in the window -looking after them, prepared, I have no doubt, to carry her threat into -instant execution. - -No attempt at defiance being made, however, her face gradually relaxed, -and became so pleasant that I was emboldened to kiss and thank her; -which I did with great heartiness, and with both my arms clasped round -her neck. I then shook hands with Mr. Dick, who shook hands with me a -great many times, and hailed this happy close of the proceedings with -repeated bursts of laughter. - -"You'll consider yourself guardian, jointly with me, of this child, Mr. -Dick," said my aunt. - -"I shall be delighted," said Mr. Dick, "to be the guardian of David's -son." - -"Very good," returned my aunt, "that's settled. I have been thinking, -do you know, Mr. Dick, that I might call him Trotwood?" - -"Yes, to be sure. Trotwood Copperfield," said Mr. Dick. - -My aunt took so kindly to the notion, that some ready-made clothes, -which were purchased for me the next day, were marked "Trotwood -Copperfield," in her own handwriting, and in indelible marking-ink, -before I put them on. - -Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new about -me. Now that the state of doubt was over, I felt, for many days, like -one in a dream. I never thought that I had a curious couple of -guardians in my aunt and Mr. Dick. I never thought of anything about -myself, distinctly. While a remoteness had come upon the old -life--which seemed to lie in the haze of an immeasurable distance. - -In my new life I was to realize some of my youthful ambitions. I was to -struggle, perhaps, but I was to succeed. And I was to find that my -aunt--for all her gruff exterior--had a heart of gold. - -But whatever there was of happiness or of sorrow, of success or of -failure, in my new life, does not belong to these pages. The identity -of the child, and of the boy, David Copperfield, is now forever merged -in the personality of Trotwood Copperfield, Esquire, the Prospective -Man. - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - *THE "SILVER FOX FARM" SERIES* - - - BY JAMES OTIS - - -*THE WIRELESS STATION AT SILVER FOX FARM.* - -Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo. - -A bright, vividly written narrative of the adventures of Paul Simpson -and Ned Bartlett in helping the former's father start a farm for raising -silver foxes on Barren Island, twelve miles off the Maine coast. - - -*THE AEROPLANE AT SILVER FOX FARM.* - -Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo. - -An absorbing story of the building and working of an aeroplane on Barren -Island. - - -*BUILDING AN AIRSHIP AT SILVER FOX FARM.* - -Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo. - -Encouraged by their success in aeroplane-building, the boys of Silver -Fox Farm go in for a full-fledged airship. - - -*AIRSHIP CRUISING FROM SILVER FOX FARM.* - -Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo. - -A further account of the marvels performed by the Silver Fox Farmers, -including the story of the thrilling rescue of a shipwrecked yachting -party by means of their great air-cruiser. - - - - *BOY SCOUT BOOKS* - -*BOY SCOUTS IN THE MAINE WOODS. -BOY SCOUTS IN A LUMBER CAMP.* - - 12mo, illustrated. - - - - OTHER BOOKS BY JAMES OTIS - -*FOUND BY THE CIRCUS.* - - 12mo, illustrated. - - -*Joel Hurford -Joey at the Fair -Two Stowaways* - - 12mo, illustrated. - - -*A Short Cruise -How the Twins Captured a Hessian -Aunt Hannah and Seth -How Tommy Saved the Barn -Our Uncle the Major -Christmas at Deacon Hackett's* - - 8vo, illustrated. - - -*Dorothy's Spy* - - 12mo, illustrated. - - - *THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY - NEW YORK* - - * * * * * - - *THE BAR B SERIES* - - By EDWIN L. SABIN - - - *BAR B BOYS;* - - OR, THE YOUNG COW-PUNCHERS - -A picturesque story of Western ranch life. Illustrated by Charles -Copeland. - - - *RANGE AND TRAIL* - -The Bar B Boys in winter and on the long trail from New Mexico to the -home ranch. Illustrated by Clarence Rowe. - - - *CIRCLE K;* - - OR, FIGHTING FOR THE FLOCK - -The ranchmen are here engaged in the sheep industry, and the story has -the same real Western flavor. Illustrated by Clarence Rowe. - - - *OLD FOUR-TOES;* - - OR, HUNTERS OF THE PEAKS - -The two boys, Phil and Chet, Grizzly Dan and others, figure in this -fascinating account of hunting, trapping, and Indian encounters. -Illustrated by Clarence Rowe. - - - *TREASURE MOUNTAIN;* - - OR, THE YOUNG PROSPECTORS - -Tells of the locating of an old gold mine near the top of a mountain -peak. One of the liveliest books in the series. Illustrated by -Clarence Rowe. - - - *SCARFACE RANCH;* - - OR, THE YOUNG HOMESTEADERS - -Two young heroes here take up some government land and engage most -successfully in cattle raising on their own account. Illustrated by -Clarence Rowe. - - *Each Volume 8vo, cloth.* - - - Also by MR. SABIN - - - *PLUCK ON THE LONG TRAIL;* - - OR, BOY SCOUTS IN THE ROCKIES - -A stirring narrative of packing, trailing, and camping In the West. -Illustrated by Clarence Rowe. 12mo, cloth. - - - - *THOMAS Y. 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