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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75856-0.txt b/75856-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85b1fb5 --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6021 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75856 *** + + + + THE CHILDREN OF DICKENS + + +[Illustration: + +_Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ + +DAVID COPPERFIELD AND PEGGOTTY BY THE PARLOUR FIRE] + + + + + THE CHILDREN + OF DICKENS + + + SAMUEL McCHORD CROTHERS + + + ILLUSTRATED BY + JESSIE WILLCOX SMITH + + + + + NEW YORK + CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + MCMXXVI + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY + CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + + Printed in the United States of America + + + + + CONTENTS + + +PAGE + + I. LONDON ONCE UPON A TIME 1 + + II. DICKENS HIMSELF 9 + + III. PIP 17 + + PIP AT MR. PUMBLECHOOK’S 26 + + IV. DAVID COPPERFIELD 27 + + THE LITTLE BOY AND THE HUNGRY WAITER 36 + + V. WILKINS MICAWBER JUNIOR AND HIS PARENTS 43 + + VI. ON THE ROAD TO DOVER 59 + + VII. JOE THE FAT BOY 69 + + VIII. OLIVER TWIST 77 + + IX. THE JELLYBY CHILDREN 89 + + X. SISSY JUPE 101 + + XI. THE CHILD OF THE MARSHALSEA 109 + + XII. THE CRATCHITS 115 + + XIII. THE DOLL’S DRESSMAKER 123 + + XIV. LITTLE NELL 131 + + THE JOLLY SANDBOYS 135 + + MRS. JARLEY AND HER WAX-WORKS 139 + + XV. THE KENWIGSES 149 + + XVI. THE CHILD’S STORY 155 + + XVII. THE BOY AT TODGERS’S 163 + + XVIII. THE DOMBEY CHILDREN 171 + + HOW FLORENCE DOMBEY WAS LOST IN LONDON 176 + + PAUL DOMBEY AT BRIGHTON 187 + + XIX. JEMMY JACKMAN LIRRIPER’S STORY 193 + + XX. ON THE WAY TO GRETNA GREEN 203 + + XXI. OUR SCHOOL 209 + + XXII. ALICIA IN WONDERLAND 223 + + XXIII. THE INFANT PHENOMENON 241 + + XXIV. A CHRISTMAS TREE 249 + + + + + LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + David Copperfield and Peggotty by the Parlour Fire _Frontispiece_ + FACING PAGE + Pip and Joe Gargery 20 + + Little Em’ly 30 + + Oliver’s First Meeting with the Artful Dodger 80 + + Tiny Tim and Bob Cratchit on Christmas Day 118 + + Jenny Wren, the Little Doll’s Dressmaker 126 + + Little Nell and Her Grandfather at Mrs. Jarley’s 134 + + Mrs. Kenwigs and the Four Little Kenwigses 152 + + Paul Dombey and Florence on the Beach at Brighton 174 + + The Runaway Couple 206 + + The cover lining and title-page decoration designed by Euphame + Mallison. + + + + + LONDON ONCE UPON A TIME + + + + + I + + LONDON ONCE UPON A TIME + + +ONCE there was a city called Bagdad. I know just how it looked, and so +do you. It was very mysterious. It was on a mysterious river called +the Tigris. There were a great many little canals running in every +direction through the city. The drinking water was brought to the +houses in goatskins carried on the backs of men. These water-carriers +often turned out to be very interesting persons. On the banks of the +river were palm-trees, and under every palm-tree was a dervish or two. +The streets of the city were narrow and winding, and dark people in +flowing robes flitted about on secret errands that aroused suspicion. +One could never tell what they were up to. There was Haroun Al Raschid +prowling around with his grand vizier and his executioner. He was full +of curiosity, and had a keen sense of justice. In Bagdad everything +turned out in a most remarkable way. If you were looking for one +mystery, you would find half a dozen. + +I have recently read an article by a gentleman who has lived a number +of years in Bagdad, and it appears that he has not seen any of the +wonderful things that I am interested in. He says that the climate is +very uncomfortable and that the thermometer often stands at 112 degrees +at breakfast-time. That is very hot indeed. He says that many of the +people now go about in Ford cars instead of riding on camels. When +they want excitement they go to the movies. In short, according to his +account, Bagdad must be getting to be very much like other places. + +All this is disappointing, but as I am never likely to go to the modern +Bagdad, anyway, it doesn’t matter so much to me. My Bagdad is in the +_Arabian Nights_, and I can still go to it whenever I feel so +inclined. When I open the book I find everything just as it was “once +upon a time.” + +It is the same with London. When I first crossed the Atlantic and +visited the great city, I was a bit troubled because many parts of it +looked so much like other places. I wanted it to be like the London +I had read about. Of course this wasn’t fair to the people who live +there, who can’t be expected to keep it just for travellers to look at. + +When I think of London as it was once upon a time, that is the time +when Charles Dickens lived in it. This London was as wonderful as +Bagdad, though in different ways. If you want to know what it was like, +you must go to the Dickens books. Dickens was the only one who ever saw +London in that way. When you ask whether it was the real London, you +have to take his word for it. It was real to him and he had the power +to make it real to us. That is what we call genius. + +The London the Dickens people lived in was a big city, so big that one +easily got lost in it. The railroads were just coming in, but they +didn’t get into the stories. There were no telephones or electric +lights or automobiles or radios. People came in from the green country +on gay stage-coaches with prodigious tooting of horns and cracking of +whips. They stopped at inns, where a great deal of eating and drinking +was going on. But when they left the inns to explore the town, they +plunged into a maze of the queerest streets imaginable. The streets +ran in every direction except in the direction one wanted to go. Many +of them were mere alleys, but they were always crowded. One soon got +down to the river, where there were old warehouses that leaned over the +water but never actually fell in. There were old and shabby houses, +and the people were made to match them. That is what made them so +interesting and exciting. Yet, though there were so many people on the +streets that you didn’t know, it was curious to be all the time running +across people you did know, or who knew you. If you were trying to +hide, you were sure to be found out. On the other hand, you could get +lost with no difficulty at all. + +One of the most interesting parts of the city to prowl around in was +down by the water-front. The River Thames flowed through London just +as mysteriously as the River Tigris flowed by Bagdad; and it was the +scene of many adventures. To be sure, there were no palm-trees and no +dervishes. But there were great ships coming from countries as far away +as Arabia and the Spice Islands. On the banks of the river were great +warehouses, with musty, mouldy cellars and strange garrets, and with +all kinds of foreign smells. Back from the river were streets where +people lived who could afford to live nowhere else. Some of them were +dwarfed, with gnarled faces, as if they had not had sunlight enough +when they were growing up. Some of these people were as bad as they +looked, but many of them were much better. When you had time to become +acquainted with them, you couldn’t help but like them. Each person had +some little trick of manner which made it easy to recognize him. They +had a way of doing the same thing over again, just as people have in +real life. This made them amusing even when we could not approve of +them. + +Most of the people we meet live in lodgings--which is a very +interesting way to live in England. You hire a room and the landlady +will go out and buy the food for you and serve it in your room. This +gives opportunity for a good deal of conversation. It’s all very snug +and cosy if you have money to pay for what you order. If you haven’t, +this leads to more conversation. Many of the Dickens people didn’t have +a very regular income and were not sure where the next meal was coming +from. Having a good dinner was quite an event to them, and they made +the most of it. It is wonderful the enjoyment they got out of eating +and drinking. And how they liked to talk on such happy occasions! They +were living in a hand-to-mouth way, but they didn’t seem to mind it as +much as people in the world outside of the Dickens books do. They took +it all as an adventure. + +Down in the city were the offices of the bankers and rich merchants, +where clerks sat on high stools and did their accounts under the eyes +of elderly gentlemen whom they didn’t like. In the suburbs there were +trim little houses where people lived who were beginning to be more +prosperous. + +One doesn’t see much of the great places. Though there were palaces in +London, the people whom Dickens was interested in didn’t live in them, +though they admired them very much and were proud of them in a way. +For they were every-day Englishmen who lived in the days of good Queen +Victoria. + +The great thing about London as Dickens saw it, and as we see it +through his eyes, was that it was queer. The houses were queer, and the +streets were queer, and the people were queer. Each one went about his +business without caring a rap for what other people thought about him. +If they acted in a particular way, it was because they were made that +way. And yet they were friendly--most of them. And those that weren’t +were such villains and hypocrites that we dislike them heartily. We +always know just what to think about them, and so we don’t waste any +sympathy on them. When the characters appear, we know at once which +ones are to be looked upon with suspicion and which are to be trusted. +You get to know the people in Dickens’s London because he is so anxious +to make you see them as plainly as he does. If you don’t see them at +first, he keeps on telling about them till you can’t help yourself. + +Now if I were to tell you that I saw a child with a face like a rosy +apple, you would probably forget all about it in a minute or so. But +Dickens goes at the business of description more thoroughly. He says: + +“Miss Tox escorted a plump rosy-cheeked, apple-faced young woman, +with an infant in her arms, and a younger woman not so plump but +apple-faced also, who led a plump and apple-faced child in each hand, +another plump and apple-faced boy who walked by himself, and finally +a plump and apple-faced man who carried another plump and apple-faced +boy, whom he stood down on the floor and admonished in a husky whisper +to ketch hold of his brother Johnny.” + +When I see the happy apple-faced family together, it makes an +impression on me. It’s the same with the descriptions of the scenery or +the weather. I might say that the London fog is very disagreeable, and +you would answer that you had always heard so. But Dickens takes you +out into the fog and you see it and feel it and taste it: + +“Fog everywhere. Fog up the river where it flows among the green +meadows. Fog down the river where it rolls defiled among the tiers of +shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great and dirty city. Fog +in the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into +the cabooses of collier brigs, fog lying out on the yards and hovering +in the rigging of great ships; fog in the eyes and throats of ancient +Greenwich pensioners wheezing by the firesides in their wards; fog in +the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper down in +the close cabin.” + +By this time you get the London fog into your own throat and feel what +it was like in November, when “the raw afternoon is rawest and the +dense fog is densest and the muddiest streets are muddiest.” When you +feel all this, Dickens is ready to go on with his story. + + + + + DICKENS HIMSELF + + + + + II + + DICKENS HIMSELF + + +I ONCE sat with several thousand people on one summer evening to watch +an historical pageant at Warwick in England. Back of us were the +walls of the great Norman castle, around us were the old trees that +had been there for centuries, and through the trees we could see the +little River Avon. Then the townspeople acted out for us the romantic +scenes that had taken place on that very spot. First we saw the Druids +building their altars; then the Romans came; and after them the Saxons. +After a while we saw Norman knights riding under the greenwood trees. +Warwick the king-maker rode up to his castle. Then there was a stir on +the river, and we saw Queen Elizabeth in her barge. When she had been +received in state, the officers of the neighboring towns were presented +to her. Among them was Mr. Shakespeare from Stratford, who brought with +him his young son, William. Then came Cromwell’s soldiers and the men +who have made history since Queen Elizabeth’s day. + +It was all very picturesque, and we felt that we were really watching +the events that had taken place on that spot through the centuries of +English history. But when the Druids and the Saxons and the Normans and +the great personages of every degree had passed out of our sight, there +was only one person left. It was the little boy from Stratford. He +stood there all alone, thinking it all over. Then he walked away. + +Now the thing that made the most impression upon us was this boy who +had the gift of seeing all we saw and more in his imagination. For, +after all, the great thing about the River Avon is that this boy once +played upon its banks. And the pleasant Warwickshire country has for +its chief charm the fact that William Shakespeare knew it and loved it. + +Now and then a person is born who has the gift not only of seeing +things more clearly than we do, but of making us see them more vividly +than we could without his help. Such a person we call a genius. He +gives us the use of his mind. When such a person writes a book, it is +as if he had created an interesting country and filled it with all +sorts of things for our amusement. He invites us to visit him and make +ourselves at home. And the best of it is that we are not invited for a +particular day. The invitation is open to us for a lifetime. Whenever +we feel inclined, we may visit Shakespeare’s country and meet all the +Shakespearian people and listen to their talk. And the more often we go +on such visits, the more enjoyment we find. + +Now it is the same with Dickens. To be sure, his hospitality is not +on so grand a scale as Shakespeare’s. He does not show us kings, or +knights in armor, or vast parks and lordly castles. But he opens to +us a world of imagination that is his own. It is filled with common +people, but they are uncommonly amusing. We see not only what they +are doing, but also what they think they are doing, which is often +absurdly different. We see their “tricks and their manners” as they +cannot possibly see them. That is where we have the advantage of +them. Some of them strut about as if they owned the earth, while some +that wear poor clothes and endure hard knocks turn out to be the real +heroes. Dickens is not like some writers who pride themselves on not +telling what they think of their characters. He has his likes and his +dislikes, and he doesn’t care who knows it. He hates a bully, whether +he is a man or boy, and he loves the people who knock the bully down. +That is because he suffered so much from bullies when he was a boy. + +When he was twelve years old, his father lost his money and was thrown +into a debtors’ prison. It was a queer way they had then of treating a +person who couldn’t pay his debts. They shut him up where he couldn’t +earn anything. Charles had to visit pawn-shops to try to borrow money +for the family. Then he was put to work in a big, gloomy establishment +where they made blacking for shoes. His work was to sit all day on a +bench pasting labels on the boxes. Then he would have to find ways of +keeping alive on a few pennies he got each day. + +But though he had a very hard time for a year or two, he spent his time +greatly to his own and our advantage. Before he was thirteen, he had +accumulated a great deal of experience. He had kept his eyes open and +had seen a side of life that most people never see at all. + +When I think of Dickens and of his way of finding out obscure people, +and making them interesting, I remember the advice I once read in +a newspaper as to how to find a collar-button. When a collar-button +rolls off the dressing-table, it seems to have an uncanny way of +rolling out of sight. The gentleman who is in need of it feels himself +greatly aggrieved over the collar-button’s easy way of getting lost. +Now the newspaper man said that the reason the man doesn’t see the +collar-button is that he stands too high above it. If he will forget +all about his dignity and lie down on the floor, he can’t help but see +what he is looking for. In order to see it he must get down to the +level where the collar-button is. There he will see it shining like a +little mountain of gold. + +I think that explains why Dickens sees so much more in his characters +than other persons would who did not have his advantages. He does not +look down on his characters. He meets them on their own level, because +he has been there. And so he makes us see them. + +He learned very early that, no matter where a person is, he is always +the centre of his little world. He always has something that he is +afraid of and always has something that he hopes for. And he learned to +sympathize not only with the big hopes and fears but with the little +hopes and fears. They are the things which wise people often overlook, +but they are really very important, for there are so many of them. + +Dickens did not write children’s stories, that is, stories about +children who stayed as children. Of course there are children in his +novels just as there are in the London streets--plenty of them. But +they are all mixed up with the older people. And then they are all the +time growing up just as they do in real life. You get acquainted with +a small boy in one chapter; and the next time you meet him he is at +boarding-school, and before the end of the book he is out walking with +children of his own. + +This is the reason why it would not be worth while to try to tell the +stories of the children in the novels of Dickens. The moment you got to +the most exciting part of the story you would find that they weren’t +children at all. They are quite grown up. The fact is that Dickens was +not very much of a story-teller. We do not read him for the plot, which +is often hard to follow. He gives us scenes, one after another, each +one really complete in itself. + +When we sit down by the fire on a winter evening, some one says: “What +shall we read? We haven’t time to read a book through--only a chapter.” +Now the chances are that we choose a chapter from Dickens. And it’s +very likely that we will choose some scene which we all are most +familiar with. + +We come into an inn. The coach has just arrived, and there is a +cheerful bustle. We hear the blowing of the horns and the cracking of +the whips, and if Mr. Weller happens to be driver, or if Mr. Pickwick +and his friends happen to be on board, we are sure that we will be left +in a state of great good humor. + +Or we drop into a shabby little house, and climb the stairs till +we come to a room where some of our friends are having a little +dinner. They are making speeches to one another, and acting in a most +extraordinary manner. It’s their way of having a good time, and we are +glad that they can enjoy themselves over so little. + +We hear people quarrelling and crying and laughing, and we are curious +to know what it is all about. The best of it is that Dickens always +tells us. If a man is a villain, we see it at once; and if he is a +good-hearted person, we give him credit for it. We do not have to read +the book through to get the flavor of it. We go at once to the scenes +that please us best. + +The scenes that are selected for this book are those in which children +appear, and we want to see them as Dickens did. + + + + + PIP + + + + + III + + PIP + + +AS I have said, almost all the Dickens people lived in London or went +up to it sometimes. But all were not born there, and many of them, as +children, lived in little villages. When they got to be seventeen or +eighteen, they went to the great city to seek their fortunes. + +There was Pip. I don’t care so much for him after he grew up. When he +got to London he became very much like other folks. I like him best +when he was a small boy in the country. + +His name was Philip Pirrip. This was hard to pronounce, and puckered up +the lips like “Peter Piper picked a peck of peppers.” The best he could +make of it was Pip, and so everybody called him that for short. + +His father and mother had died, and he was brought up by his older +sister, who had married Joe Gargery, the blacksmith. She was twenty +years older than Pip and had forgotten how she felt when she was his +age. This made trouble for them both. + +Pip had a hard time with Mrs. Gargery, and so had Joe, and so they +became great chums. Joe was a big man, and his arms were strong, as all +blacksmiths’ are, but he had never learned to read and write, though he +knew some of the letters of the alphabet and was very proud over that. + +The house where the Gargerys lived was in the marsh country near a +river. One could look out on a dark flat country with little ditches +running through it in every direction. It was a place where one could +easily get lost, and where robbers could hide. There was a prison +ship down near the mouth of the river, and now and then some of the +prisoners would escape and get into the marsh. Pip met two of them once +and had an exciting adventure. Down by the river there was a battery, +and Pip used to go down with Joe Gargery sometimes and sit on the old +cannon, while Joe would tell what fine things they would do if Mrs. Joe +would let them. But she never did let them do what they wanted to do if +she could prevent it. + +[Illustration: + +_Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ + +PIP AND JOE GARGERY] + +Pip went to an evening school taught by an old lady who also kept a +little store in the same room. He didn’t learn very much, for the old +lady used to go to sleep most of the time. But as she only charged four +cents a week, Mrs. Joe thought it was cheap enough. It was in this +school that Pip learned the alphabet, and he was very proud when he +found that he could put the letters together to make words. He wanted +to know whether Joe had learned to read, and Joe did not want him to +find out. One night they were sitting in the chimney corner, and with +great effort Pip printed a letter which he handed to Joe. He tells how +the letter was received. + + WHY JOE DID NOT KNOW HOW TO READ + + “mI deEr JO i opE U r krWitE wEll i opE i shAl soN B haBelL 4 2 teeDge + U JO aN theN wE shOrl b sO glOdd aN wEn i M preNgtD 2 u JO woT larX an + blEvE ME inF xn PiP.” + +There was no indispensable necessity for my communicating with Joe +by letter, inasmuch as he sat beside me and we were alone. But, I +delivered this written communication (slate and all) with my own hand, +and Joe received it, as a miracle of erudition. + +“I say, Pip, old chap!” cried Joe, opening his blue eyes wide, “what a +scholar you are! Ain’t you?” + +“I should like to be,” said I, glancing at the slate as he held it: +with a misgiving that the writing was rather hilly. + +“Why, here’s a J,” said Joe, “and an O equal to anythink! Here’s a J +and an O, Pip, and a J-O, Joe.” + +I had never heard Joe read aloud to any greater extent than this +monosyllable, and I had observed at church last Sunday, when I +accidentally held our Prayer-Book upside down, that it seemed to suit +his convenience quite as well as if it had been all right. Wishing to +embrace the present occasion of finding out whether in teaching Joe, I +should have to begin quite at the beginning, I said, “Ah! But read the +rest, Joe.” + +“The rest, eh, Pip?” said Joe, looking at it with a slowly searching +eye. “One, two, three. Why, here’s three J’s, and three O’s, and three +J-O, Joes, in it, Pip!” + +I leaned over Joe, and, with the aid of my forefinger, read him the +whole letter. + +“Astonishing!” said Joe, when I had finished. “You ARE a scholar.” + +“How do you spell Gargery, Joe?” I asked him, with a modest patronage. + +“I don’t spell it at all,” said Joe. + +“But supposing you did?” + +“It _can’t_ be supposed,” said Joe. “Tho’ I’m uncommon fond of +reading, too.” + +“Are you, Joe?” + +“On-common. Give me,” said Joe, “a good book, or a good newspaper, +and sit me down afore a good fire, and I ask no better. Lord!” he +continued, after rubbing his knees a little. “When you _do_ come +to a J and a O, and says you, ‘Here, at last, is a J-O, Joe,’ how +interesting reading is!” + +I derived from this last, that Joe’s education, like Steam, was yet in +its infancy. Pursuing the subject, I inquired: + +“Didn’t you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me?” + +“No, Pip.” + +“Why didn’t you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me?” + +“Well, Pip,” said Joe, taking up the poker, and settling himself to +his usual occupation when he was thoughtful, of slowly raking the fire +between the lower bars: “I’ll tell you. My father, Pip, he were given +to drink, and when he were overtook with drink, he hammered away at +my mother most onmerciful. It were a’most the only hammering he did, +indeed, ’xcepting at myself. And he hammered at me with a wigor only +to be equalled by the wigor with which he didn’t hammer at his anwil. +You’re a-listening and understanding, Pip?” + +“Yes, Joe.” + +“’Consequence, my mother and me we ran away from my father several +times; and then my mother she’d go out to work, and she’d say, ‘Joe,’ +she’d say, ‘now, please God, you shall have some schooling, child,’ +and she’d put me to school. But my father were that good in his heart +that he couldn’t abear to be without us. So, he’d come with a most +tremenjous crowd and make such a row at the doors of the houses where +we was, that they used to be obligated to have no more to do with us +and to give us up to him. And then he took us home and hammered us. +Which, you see, Pip,” said Joe, pausing in his meditative raking of +the fire, and looking at me, “were a drawback on my learning.” + +“Certainly, poor Joe!” + +“Though mind you, Pip,” said Joe, with a judicial touch or two of the +poker on the top bar, “rendering unto all their doo, and maintaining +equal justice betwixt man and man, my father were that good in his +heart, don’t you see?” + +I didn’t see; but I didn’t say so. + +“Well!” Joe pursued, “somebody must keep the pot a-biling, Pip, or the +pot won’t bile, don’t you know?” + +I saw that, and said so. + +“’Consequence, my father didn’t make objections to my going to work; so +I went to work at my present calling, which were his too, if he would +have followed it, and I worked tolerable hard, I assure _you_, +Pip. In time I were able to keep him, and I kep him till he went off in +a purple leptic fit. And it were my intentions to have had put upon his +tombstone that Whatsume’er the failings on his part, Remember reader +he were that good in his hart.” + +Joe recited this couplet with such manifest pride and careful +perspicuity, that I asked him if he had made it himself. + +“I made it,” said Joe, “my own self. I made it in a moment. It was like +striking out a horseshoe complete, in a single blow. I never was so +much surprised in all my life--couldn’t credit my own ed--to tell you +the truth, hardly believed it were _my_ own ed. As I was saying, +Pip, it were my intentions to have had it cut over him; but poetry +costs money, cut it how you will, small or large, and it were not done. +Not to mention bearers, all the money that could be spared were wanted +for my mother. She were in poor elth, and quite broke. She waren’t long +of following, poor soul, and her share of peace come round at last.” + +Joe’s blue eyes turned a little watery; he rubbed, first one of them, +and then the other, in a most uncongenial and uncomfortable manner, +with the round knob on the top of the poker. + +“It were but lonesome then,” said Joe, “living here alone, and I got +acquainted with your sister. Now, Pip”; Joe looked firmly at me, as +if he knew I was not going to agree with him; “your sister is a fine +figure of a woman.” + +I could not help looking at the fire, in an obvious state of doubt. + +“Whatever family opinions, or whatever the world’s opinions, on that +subject may be, Pip, your sister is,” Joe tapped the top bar with the +poker after every word following, “a--fine--figure--of--a--woman!” + +I could think of nothing better to say than “I am glad you think so, +Joe.” + +“So am I,” returned Joe, catching me up. “_I_ am glad I think so, +Pip. A little redness, or a little matter of Bone, here or there, what +does it signify to Me?” + +I sagaciously observed, if it didn’t signify to him, to whom did it +signify? + +“Certainly!” assented Joe. “That’s it. You’re right, old chap! When I +got acquainted with your sister, it were the talk how she was bringing +you up by hand. Very kind of her too, all the folks said, and I said, +along with all the folks. As to you,” Joe pursued, with a countenance +expressive of saying something very nasty indeed: “if you could have +been aware how small and flabby and mean you was, dear me, you’d have +formed the most contemptible opinions of yourself!” + +Not exactly relishing this, I said, “Never mind me, Joe.” + +“But I did mind you, Pip. And when I married your sister, I said, +‘Bring the poor little child. There’s room for him at the forge.’ And +now when you take me in hand for learning, Mrs. Joe mustn’t see too +much of what we are up to. It must be done, as I may say, on the sly. +Well you see, Pip, here we are. That’s about where it lights--here we +are. And we are ever the best friends; ain’t us?” + + + PIP AT MR. PUMBLECHOOK’S + + +THE first time Pip was away from home was when he went to Mr. +Pumblechook’s. Mr. Pumblechook lived in a near-by town, where he kept +a seed-store in the High Street. He was a big, solemn-looking man and +he had an idea that small boys ought to be instructed at all hours. He +thought it was good for them. So he kept at mental arithmetic all the +time, firing one question after another at poor Pip. When he got up in +the morning, Pip said politely, “Good morning, Mr. Pumblechook.” + +Mr. Pumblechook answered, “Boy, what is seven times nine?” At the +breakfast-table he would say, “Seven? and four? and eight? and six? +and two? and ten?” All the time Mr. Pumblechook was eating bacon and +hot rolls, while Pip was scared for fear he couldn’t answer the next +question. The hardest thing was to remember about shillings and pence. +Mr. Pumblechook would begin with twelve pence make one shilling, and +keep on to forty pence make three and four pence. No wonder that Pip +was glad to get back to the blacksmith-shop! + + + + + DAVID COPPERFIELD + + + + + IV + + DAVID COPPERFIELD + + +DICKENS makes David Copperfield tell the story of his life. He begins +at the beginning and tells everything that happened to him as a boy, +the places where he lived, and the people whom he met. There are few +persons whom we can know as thoroughly as David Copperfield. It is all +the more lifelike because many of the scenes are taken from the life of +Dickens himself. + +David’s father had died and his mother had married again. His +stepfather, Mr. Murdstone, a gentleman with very black hair and +whiskers, was all that a stepfather ought not to be, so that David was +happiest when he was away from home. + +Happily he had a nurse, who was big and good-natured and really +loved David. Her name was Clara Peggotty, but they always called her +Peggotty. Her home was in a town by the sea. Mr. Peggotty and his +nephew Ham and a despondent old lady named Mrs. Gummidge lived in a +houseboat on the shore. David was about seven years old when he went +with Clara on a carrier’s cart to visit the Peggottys. + +Ham met them as they got off the cart. He was a great big fellow, six +feet tall, and he carried David’s box under his arm, while Peggotty +trudged along through the sand at his side. There was a fishy smell +about everything. There were boats and fishermen’s nets scattered +about, and an air of pleasant disorder. Everybody seemed to have all +the time there was in the world, and nobody was hurried. Evidently +Yarmouth was a very pleasant place for a boy on his vacation. There was +plenty of room to play in, and no Mr. Murdstone to make him afraid. + +[Illustration: + + _Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ + +LITTLE EM’LY] + +“Yon’s our house, Master Davy,” said Ham. + +David looked out and saw a barge high and dry on the beach, with a +snug little house built upon it. There was a stovepipe out of which +the smoke was coming. When they came up, they found everything was as +pleasant as could be. There was a door on one side and tiny little +windows. On the mantelpiece was a Dutch clock, and the table had all +the tea-things on it. + +Peggotty opened a door to show David his bedroom. It was in the stern +of the boat where the rudder used to be. There was a little window and +a little looking-glass framed with oyster-shells and a tiny bed, and +there was a blue mug filled with fresh seaweed. + +Pretty soon Mr. Peggotty, Peggotty’s older brother and the master of +the house, came in. “Glad to see you, sir,” said Mr. Peggotty. “How’s +your ma? Did you leave her pretty jolly?” + +David gave him to understand that she was as jolly as could be wished. + +“Well,” said Mr. Peggotty, “if you can make out here for a fortnut, +’long with her,” pointing to his sister, “and Ham, and little Em’ly, we +shall be proud of your company.” + +When I spoke of the people who lived on the old boat, I had +forgotten to mention little Em’ly, who turned out to be the most +important member of the family in David’s eyes. She was a very pretty +little girl, who wore a necklace of blue beads, and thought that she +would like to be a lady and marry a prince, or even an earl. + +“If I was ever a lady,” said Em’ly, “I’d give Uncle Dan,” that was Mr. +Peggotty, “a sky-blue coat with diamond buttons, nankeen trousers, a +red velvet waistcoat, a cocked hat, a large gold watch, a silver pipe, +and a box of money.” + +David thought that was very fine, though it was easier for him to think +of Em’ly as dressed like a princess in the fairy books than it was to +think of big Mr. Peggotty walking about in a red velvet waistcoat and +a cocked hat. As for little Em’ly marrying a prince, that seemed all +right if David could be the prince. + +All of the Peggotty family were so healthy and cheerful that even +Mrs. Gummidge, who lived with them, could not make them unhappy. Mrs. +Gummidge was a person who felt that it was necessary to have some one +to pity, and as she couldn’t pity the Peggottys she got into the habit +of pitying herself. She would sit by the fire, and take out an old +black handkerchief, and wipe her eyes, and tell her troubles, and then +tell how wrong it was in her to tell them. + +Mr. Peggotty had just come in from his work, having stopped a few +moments at the public house, which was called The Willing Mind. Mrs. +Gummidge was wiping her eyes. + +“What’s amiss, dame?” said Mr. Peggotty. + +“Nothing,” returned Mrs. Gummidge. “You’ve come from The Willing Mind, +Dan’l?” + +“Why yes, I’ve took a short spell at The Willing Mind to-night,” said +Mr. Peggotty. + +“I’m sorry I should have drove you there.” + +“Drive! I don’t want no driving,” returned Mr. Peggotty. “I only go too +ready.” + +“Very ready,” said Mrs. Gummidge. “I am sorry that it should be along +of me that you’re so ready.” + +“Along of you! It ain’t along of you! Don’t you believe a bit of it.” + +“Yes, it is,” cried Mrs. Gummidge. “I know what I am. I know I’m a lone +lorn creetur’, and not only that everythink goes contrairy with me, but +that I go contrairy with everybody. Yes, I feel more than other people +do, and I know it more. It’s my misfortune. I feel my troubles, and +they make me contrairy. I wish I didn’t feel ’em, but I do. I wish I +could be hardened to ’em, but I ain’t. I make the house uncomfortable. +I don’t wonder at it. It’s far from right. It ain’t a fit return. I’m +a lone lorn creetur’, I’d better not make myself contrairy here. If +things must go contrairy with me, and I must go contrairy with myself, +let me go away.” + +But Mrs. Gummidge had no idea of going away to the poorhouse, as she +always threatened; and the Peggottys had no idea of letting her leave +their cheerful little home. It was Mrs. Gummidge’s way of carrying on +conversation, and they had got used to it. + +The delightful visit to Yarmouth came to an end, and after a time Mr. +Murdstone sent David to a school near London. We can see the shy little +boy starting off for his first journey alone in the big world. The +first part of the journey was easy, because it was in a carrier’s cart +and the driver was a nice Mr. Barkis, who was in love with Peggotty +and liked to talk about her in a very mysterious way, and gave David a +message to her, saying that “Barkis is willin’.” + +David tells of his conversation with Barkis in the cart. He first +looked at the purse which his mother had given him. + + * * * * * + +It was a stiff leather purse, with a snap, and had three bright +shillings in it, which Peggotty had evidently polished up with +whitening for my greater delight. But its most precious contents +were 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 be so good as reach me +my pocket-handkerchief again; but he said he thought I had better do +without it; and I thought I really had; so I wiped my eyes on my sleeve +and stopped myself. + +For good, too; though, in consequence of my previous emotions, I was +still occasionally seized with a stormy sob. After we had jogged on for +some little time, I asked the carrier if he was going all the way. + +“All the way where?” inquired the carrier. + +“There,” I said. + +“Where’s there?” inquired the carrier. + +“Near London,” I said. + +“Why that horse,” said the carrier, jerking the rein to point him out, +“would be deader than pork afore he got over half the ground.” + +“Are you only going to Yarmouth, then?” I asked. + +“That’s about it,” said the carrier. “And there I shall take you to the +stage-cutch, and the stage-cutch that’ll take you to--wherever it is.” + +As this was a great deal for the carrier (whose name was Mr. Barkis) +to say--he being, as I observed in a former chapter, of a phlegmatic +temperament, and not at all conversational--I offered him a cake as a +mark of attention, which he ate at one gulp, exactly like an elephant, +and which made no more impression on his big face than it would have +done on an elephant’s. + +“Did _she_ make ’em, now?” said Mr. Barkis, always leaning +forward, in his slouching way, on the footboard of the cart with an arm +on each knee. + +“Peggotty, do you mean, sir?” + +“Ah!” said Mr. Barkis. “Her.” + +“Yes. She makes all our pastry, and does all our cooking.” + +“Do she though?” said Mr. Barkis. + +He made up his mouth as if to whistle, but he didn’t whistle. He sat +looking at the horse’s ears, as if he saw something new there; and sat +so, for a considerable time. By-and-by, he said: + +“No sweethearts, I b’lieve?” + +“Sweetmeats did you say, Mr. Barkis?” For I thought he wanted +something else to eat, and had pointedly alluded to that description of +refreshment. + +“Hearts,” said Mr. Barkis. “Sweethearts; no person walks with her!” + +“With Peggotty?” + +“Ah!” he said. “Her.” + +“Oh, no. She never had a sweetheart.” + +“Didn’t she though!” said Mr. Barkis. + +Again he made up his mouth to whistle, and again he didn’t whistle, but +sat looking at the horse’s ears. + +“So she makes,” said Mr. Barkis, after a long interval of reflection, +“all the apple parsties, and doos all the cooking, do she?” + +I replied that such was the fact. + +“Well. I’ll tell you what,” said Mr. Barkis. “P’raps you might be +writin’ to her?” + +“I shall certainly write to her,” I rejoined. + +“Ah!” he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. “Well! If you was +writin’ to her, p’raps you’d recollect to say that Barkis was willin’; +would you?” + +“That Barkis is willing,” I repeated, innocently. “Is that all the +message?” + +“Ye-es,” he said, considering. “Ye-es. Barkis is willin’.” + +“But you will be at Blunderstone again to-morrow, Mr. Barkis,” I said, +faltering a little at the idea of my being far away from it then, “and +could give your own message so much better.” + +As he repudiated this suggestion, however, with a jerk of his head, +and once more confirmed his previous request by saying, with profound +gravity, “Barkis is willin’. That’s the message,” I readily undertook +its transmission. While I was waiting for the coach in the hotel at +Yarmouth that very afternoon, I procured a sheet of paper and an +inkstand, and wrote a note to Peggotty, which ran thus: “My dear +Peggotty. I have come here safe. Barkis is willing. My love to mama. +Yours affectionately. P. S. He says he particularly wants you to +know--_Barkis is willing_.” + +When I had taken this commission on myself prospectively, Mr. Barkis +relapsed into perfect silence; and I, feeling quite worn out by all +that had happened lately, lay down on a sack in the cart and fell +asleep. + +It was in the inn at Yarmouth that David fell in with a jolly waiter +who ate up his dinner for him. David was very much afraid of doing +something which he ought not to do. Everything seemed so big and +strange. + + + THE LITTLE BOY AND THE HUNGRY WAITER + + +THE waiter brought me some chops, and vegetables, and took the covers +off in such a bouncing manner that I was afraid I must have given him +some offence. But he greatly relieved my mind by putting a chair for me +at the table, and saying, very affably, “Now, six-foot! come on!” + +I thanked him, and took my seat at the board; but found it extremely +difficult to handle my knife and fork with anything like dexterity, +or to avoid splashing myself with the gravy, while he was standing +opposite, staring so hard, and making me blush in the most dreadful +manner every time I caught his eye. After watching me into the second +chop, he said: + +“There’s half a pint of ale for you. Will you have it now?” + +I thanked him and said “Yes.” Upon which he poured it out of a jug into +a large tumbler, and held it up against the light, and made it look +beautiful. + +“My eye!” he said. “It seems a good deal, don’t it?” + +“It does seem a good deal,” I answered with a smile. For it was quite +delightful to me to find him so pleasant. He was a twinkling-eyed, +pimple-faced man, with his hair standing upright all over his head; and +as he stood with one arm akimbo, holding up the glass to the light with +the other hand, he looked quite friendly. + +“There was a gentleman here, yesterday,” he said, “a stout gentleman, +by the name of Topsawyer--perhaps you know him!” + +“No,” I said, “I don’t think----” + +“In breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat, gray coat, speckled +choker,” said the waiter. + +“No,” I said bashfully, “I haven’t the pleasure----” + +“He came in here,” said the waiter, looking at the light through the +tumbler, “ordered a glass of this ale--_would_ order it--I told +him not--drank it, and fell dead. It was too old for him. It oughtn’t +to be drawn; that’s the fact.” + +I was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy accident, and said I +thought I had better have some water. + +“Why you see,” said the waiter, still looking at the light through the +tumbler, with one of his eyes shut up, “our people don’t like things +being ordered and left. It offends ’em. But _I’ll_ drink it, if +you like. I’m used to it, and use is everything. I don’t think it’ll +hurt me, if I throw my head back, and take it off quick. Shall I?” + +I replied that he would much oblige me by drinking it, if he thought he +could do it safely, but by no means otherwise. When he did throw his +head back, and take it off quickly, I had a horrible fear, I confess, +of seeing him meet the fate of the lamented Mr. Topsawyer, and fall +lifeless on the carpet. But it didn’t hurt him. On the contrary, I +thought he seemed the fresher for it. + +“What have we got here?” he said, putting a fork into my dish. “Not +chops?” + +“Chops,” I said. + +“Lord bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know they were chops. +Why, a chop’s the very thing to take off the bad effects of that beer! +Ain’t it lucky?” + +So he took a chop by the bone in one hand, and a potato in the other, +and ate away with a very good appetite, to my extreme satisfaction. +He afterwards took another chop, and another potato; and after that +another chop and another potato. When he had done, he brought me a +pudding, and having set it before me, seemed to ruminate, and to become +absent in his mind for some moments. + +“How’s the pie?” he said, rousing himself. + +“It’s a pudding,” I made answer. + +“Pudding!” he exclaimed. “Why, bless me, so it is! What!” looking at it +nearer. “You don’t mean to say it’s a batter-pudding!” + +“Yes, it is indeed.” + +“Why, a batter-pudding,” he said, taking up a tablespoon, “is my +favorite pudding! Ain’t that lucky? Come on, little ’un, and let’s see +who’ll get most.” + +The waiter certainly got most. He entreated me more than once to come +in and win, but what with his tablespoon to my teaspoon, his despatch +to my despatch, and his appetite to my appetite, I was left far behind +at the first mouthful, and had no chance with him. I never saw any one +enjoy a pudding so much, I think; and he laughed, when it was all gone, +as if his enjoyment of it lasted still. + +Finding him so very friendly and companionable, it was then that I +asked for the pen and ink and paper to write to Peggotty. He not only +brought it immediately, but was good enough to look over me while I +wrote the letter. When I had finished it, he asked me where I was going +to school. + +I said, “Near London,” which was all I knew. + +“Oh! my eye!” he said, looking very low-spirited. “I am sorry for that.” + +“Why?” I asked him. + +“Oh, Lord!” he said, shaking his head, “that’s the school where they +broke the boy’s ribs--two ribs--a little boy he was. I should say he +was--let me see--how old are you, about?” + +I told him between eight and nine. + +“That’s just his age,” he said. “He was eight years and six months old +when they broke his first rib; eight years and eight months old when +they broke his second, and did for him.” + +I could not disguise from myself, or from the waiter, that this was an +uncomfortable coincidence, and inquired how it was done. His answer was +not cheering to my spirits, for it consisted of two dismal words: “With +whopping.” + +The blowing of the coach horn in the yard was a seasonable diversion, +which made me get up and hesitatingly inquire, in the mingled pride and +diffidence of having a purse (which I took out of my pocket), if there +were anything to pay. + +“There’s a sheet of letter-paper,” he returned. “Did you ever buy a +sheet of letter-paper?” + +I could not remember that I ever had. + +“It’s dear,” he said, “on account of the duty. Three-pence. That’s +the way we’re taxed in this country. There’s nothing else, except the +waiter. Never mind the ink. _I_ lose by that.” + +“What should you--what should I--how much ought I to--what would it be +right to pay the waiter, if you please?” I stammered, blushing. + +“If I hadn’t a family, and that family hadn’t the cowpock,” said the +waiter, “I wouldn’t take a sixpence. If I didn’t support an aged +pairint and a lovely sister,”--here the waiter was greatly agitated--“I +wouldn’t take a farthing. If I had a good place, and was treated well +here, I should beg acceptance of a trifle, instead of taking of it. +But I live on broken wittles--and I sleep on the coals”--here the +waiter burst into tears. + +I was very much concerned for his misfortunes, and felt that any +recognition short of ninepence would be mere brutality and hardness of +heart. Therefore I gave him one of my three bright shillings, which he +received with much humility and veneration, and spun up with his thumb, +directly afterwards, to try the goodness of. + + + + + WILKINS MICAWBER JUNIOR AND HIS PARENTS + + + + + V + + WILKINS MICAWBER JUNIOR AND HIS PARENTS + + +I DO not think that I should devote a chapter in _The Children of +Dickens_ to Wilkins Micawber Junior if it were not for his parents, +who were very amusing persons whom everybody ought to know. Wilkins +Micawber Junior never did anything or said anything in particular. He +was a child who was seen and not heard. He was always standing around +listening to his father and mother, and he had to do a good deal of +listening, for they talked incessantly, chiefly about themselves. +And then he was always pointed at, when they wanted to tell of their +troubles. He was about four years old when we first see him pointed at, +and he had a sister who was a year younger. Then there were the twins, +who were always in their mother’s arms. + +The Micawbers lived in a shabby house on Windsor Terrace, where they +took David Copperfield to board. That is, they lived there when Mr. +Micawber was not in the Debtors’ Prison. David Copperfield found it a +great relief to get away from the company of Mealy Potatoes, the boy +he worked with in Murdstone’s establishment, and get into the friendly +company of the Micawbers. + + * * * * * + +The Micawbers were always in trouble, but they enjoyed their troubles +and were willing to share their enjoyment with anybody who would +listen to them. Though David Copperfield was only twelve years old, Mr. +Micawber always treated him as an equal, and used the largest words he +could think of. David liked to be talked to that way, so they became +great friends. Wilkins Micawber Junior stood by and listened, and +thought his father was the most wonderful talker in the world. When he +grew up and had a family to support and couldn’t do it, he would talk +that way. + +David Copperfield tells how he first met Mr. Micawber at the office of +Murdstone and Grinby and went home with him to Windsor Terrace. + + * * * * * + +The counting-house clock was at half-past twelve, and there was +general preparation for going to dinner, when Mr. Quinion tapped at +the counting-house window, and beckoned to me to go in. I went in, and +found there a stoutish, middle-aged person, in a brown surtout and +black tights and shoes, with no more hair upon his head (which was a +large one, and very shining) than there is upon an egg, and with a very +extensive face, which he turned full upon me. His clothes were shabby, +but he had an imposing shirt-collar on. He carried a jaunty sort of a +stick, with a large pair of rusty tassels to it; and a quizzing-glass +hung outside his coat,--for ornament, I afterwards found, as he very +seldom looked through it, and couldn’t see anything when he did. + +“This,” said Mr. Quinion, in allusion to myself, “is he.” + +“This,” said the stranger, with a certain condescending roll in his +voice, and a certain indescribable air of doing something genteel, +which impressed me very much “is Master Copperfield. I hope I see you +well, Sir?” + +I said I was very well, and hoped he was. I was sufficiently ill at +ease, Heaven knows; but it was not in my nature to complain much at +that time of my life, so I said I was very well, and hoped he was. + +“I am,” said the stranger, “thank Heaven, quite well. I have received +a letter from Mr. Murdstone, in which he mentions that he would desire +me to receive into an apartment in the rear of my house, which is +at present unoccupied--and is, in short, to be let as a--in short,” +said the stranger, with a smile and in a burst of confidence, “as a +bedroom--the young beginner whom I have now the pleasure to--” and the +stranger waved his hand, and settled his chin in his shirt-collar. + +“This is Mr. Micawber,” said Mr. Quinion to me. + +“Ahem!” said the stranger, “that is my name.” + +“Mr. Micawber,” said Mr. Quinion, “is known to Mr. Murdstone. He takes +orders for us on commission, when he can get any. He has been written +to by Mr. Murdstone, on the subject of your lodgings, and he will +receive you as a lodger.” + +“My address,” said Mr. Micawber, “is Windsor Terrace, City Road. I--in +short,” said Mr. Micawber, with the same genteel air, and in another +burst of confidence--“I live there.” + +I made him a bow. + +“Under the impression,” said Mr. Micawber, “that your peregrinations +in this metropolis have not as yet been extensive, and that you might +have some difficulty in penetrating the arcana of the Modern Babylon +in the direction of the City Road--in short,” said Mr. Micawber, in +another burst of confidence, “that you might lose yourself--I shall be +happy to call this evening, and install you in the knowledge of the +nearest way.” + +I thanked him with all my heart, for it was friendly in him to offer to +take that trouble. + +“At what hour,” said Mr. Micawber, “shall I----” + +“At about eight,” said Mr. Quinion. + +“At about eight,” said Mr. Micawber. “I beg to wish you good day, Mr. +Quinion. I will intrude no longer.” + +So he put on his hat, and went out with his cane under his arm: very +upright, and humming a tune when he was clear of the counting-house. + +Mr. Quinion then formally engaged me to be as useful as I could in +the warehouse of Murdstone and Grinby, at a salary, I think, of six +shillings a week. I am not clear whether it was six or seven. I am +inclined to believe, from my uncertainty on this head, that it was +six at first and seven afterwards. He paid me a week down (from his +own pocket, I believe), and I gave Mealy sixpence out of it to get my +trunk carried to Windsor Terrace at night: it being too heavy for my +strength, small as it was. I paid sixpence more for my dinner, which +was a meat pie and a turn at a neighboring pump; and passed the hour +which was allowed for that meal, in walking about the streets. + +At the appointed time in the evening, Mr. Micawber reappeared. I washed +my hands and face, to do the greater honor to his gentility, and we +walked to our house, as I suppose I must now call it, together; Mr. +Micawber impressing the names of streets, and the shapes of corner +houses upon me, as we went along, that I might find my way back, +easily, in the morning. + +Arrived at his house in Windsor Terrace (which I noticed was shabby +like himself, but also, like himself, made all the show it could), +he presented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin and faded lady, not at all +young, who was sitting in the parlor (the first floor was altogether +unfurnished, and the blinds were kept down to delude the neighbors), +with a baby at her breast. This baby was one of twins; and I may remark +here that I hardly ever, in all my experience of the family, saw both +the twins detached from Mrs. Micawber at the same time. One of them was +always taking refreshment. + +There were two other children; Master Micawber, aged about four, and +Miss Micawber, aged about three. These, and a dark-complexioned young +woman, with a habit of snorting, who was servant to the family, and +informed me, before half-an-hour had expired, that she was “a Orfling,” +and came from St. Luke’s workhouse, in the neighborhood, completed +the establishment. My room was at the top of the house, at the back: +a close chamber; stencilled all over with an ornament which my young +imagination represented as a blue muffin; and very scantily furnished. + +“I never thought,” said Mrs. Micawber, when she came up, twin and all, +to show me the apartment, and sat down to take breath, “before I was +married, when I lived with papa and mama, that I should ever find it +necessary to take a lodger. But Mr. Micawber being in difficulties, all +considerations of private feelings must give way.” + +I said: “Yes, ma’am.” + +“Mr. Micawber’s difficulties are almost overwhelming just at present,” +said Mrs. Micawber, “and whether it is possible to bring him through +them, I don’t know. When I lived at home with papa and mama, I really +should have hardly understood what the word meant, in the sense in +which I now employ it, but experientia does it--as papa used to say.” + +I cannot satisfy myself whether she told me that Mr. Micawber had been +an officer in the Marines, or whether I have imagined it. I only know +that I believe to this hour that he _was_ in the Marines once upon +a time, without knowing why. He was a sort of town traveller for a +number of miscellaneous houses, now; but made little or nothing of it, +I am afraid. + +“If Mr. Micawber’s creditors _will not_ give him time,” said Mrs. +Micawber, “they must take the consequences; and the sooner they bring +it to an issue the better. Blood cannot be obtained from a stone, +neither can anything on account be obtained at present (not to mention +law expenses) from Mr. Micawber.” + +I never can quite understand whether my precocious self-dependence +confused Mrs. Micawber in reference to my age, or whether she was so +full of the subject that she would have talked about it to the very +twins if there had been nobody else to communicate with, but this was +the strain in which she began, and she went on accordingly all the time +I knew her. + +Poor Mrs. Micawber! She said she had tried to exert herself; and so, +I have no doubt, she had. The centre of the street door was perfectly +covered with a great brass plate, on which was engraved, “Mrs. +Micawber’s Boarding Establishment for Young Ladies,” but I never found +that any young lady had ever been to school there; or that any young +lady ever came, or proposed to come; or that the least preparation was +ever made to receive any young lady. The only visitors I ever saw or +heard of, were creditors. _They_ used to come at all hours, and +some of them were quite ferocious. One dirty-faced man, I think he was +a bootmaker, used to edge himself into the passage as early as seven +o’clock in the morning, and call up the stairs to Mr. Micawber--“Come! +You ain’t out yet, you know. Pay us, will you? Don’t hide, you know; +that’s mean. I wouldn’t be mean if I was you. Pay us, will you? You +just pay us, d’ye hear? Come!” Receiving no answer to these taunts, +he would mount in his wrath to the words “swindlers” and “robbers”; +and these being ineffectual, too, would sometimes go to the extremity +of crossing the street, and roaring up at the windows of the second +floor, where he knew Mr. Micawber was. At these times, Mr. Micawber +would be transported with grief and mortification, even to the length +(as I was once made aware by a scream from his wife) of making motions +at himself with a razor; but within half an hour afterwards, he would +polish up his shoes with extraordinary pains, and go out, humming a +tune with a greater air of gentility than ever. Mrs. Micawber was +quite as elastic. I have known her to be thrown into fainting fits by +the King’s taxes at three o’clock, and to eat lamb chops, breaded, +and drink warm ale (paid for with two teaspoons that had gone to the +pawnbroker’s) at four. On one occasion, when an execution had just been +put in, coming home through some chance as early as six o’clock, I saw +her lying (of course with a twin) under the grate in a swoon, with her +hair all torn about her face; but I never knew her more cheerful than +she was, that very same night, over a veal cutlet before the kitchen +fire, telling me stories about her papa and mama, and the company they +used to keep. + + * * * * * + +The Micawbers’ affairs went from bad to worse, and Mrs. Micawber called +David into consultation. + + * * * * * + +“Master Copperfield,” said Mrs. Micawber, “I make no stranger of you, +and therefore do not hesitate to say that Mr. Micawber’s difficulties +are coming to a crisis.” + +It made me very miserable to hear it, and I looked at Mrs. Micawber’s +red eyes with the utmost sympathy. + +“With the exception of the heel of a Dutch cheese--which is not adapted +to the wants of a young family,” said Mrs. Micawber--“there is really +not a scrap of anything in the larder. I was accustomed to speak of +the larder when I lived with papa and mama, and I use the word almost +unconsciously. What I mean to express is, that there is nothing to eat +in the house.” + +“Dear me!” I said, in great concern. + +I had two or three shillings of my week’s money in my pocket--from +which I presume that it must have been on a Wednesday night when we +held this conversation--and I hastily produced them, and with heartfelt +emotion begged Mrs. Micawber to accept of them as a loan. But that +lady, kissing me, and making me put them back in my pocket, replied +that she couldn’t think of it. + +“No, my dear Master Copperfield,” said she, “far be it from my +thoughts! But you have a discretion beyond your years, and can +render me another kind of service, if you will; and a service I will +thankfully accept of.” + +I begged Mrs. Micawber to name it. + +“I have parted with the plate myself,” said Mrs. Micawber. “Six tea, +two salt, and a pair of sugars, I have at different times borrowed +money on, in secret, with my own hands. But the twins are a great tie; +and to me, with my recollections of papa and mama, these transactions +are very painful. There are still a few trifles that we could part +with. Mr. Micawber’s feelings would never allow _him_ to dispose +of them; and Clickett”--this was the girl from the workhouse--“being of +a vulgar mind, would take painful liberties if so much confidence was +reposed in her. Master Copperfield, if I might ask you----” + +I understood Mrs. Micawber now, and begged her to make use of me +to any extent. I began to dispose of the more portable articles of +property that very evening; and went out on a similar expedition almost +every morning, before I went to Murdstone and Grinby’s. + + * * * * * + +At last Mr. Micawber’s affairs got into such a bad state that he had to +leave London. David tells of the parting. + + * * * * * + +I passed my evenings with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, during the remaining +term of our residence under the same roof; and I think we became fonder +of one another as the time went on. On the last Sunday, they invited me +to dinner; and we had a loin of pork and apple sauce, and a pudding. I +had bought a spotted wooden horse overnight as a parting gift to little +Wilkins Micawber--that was the boy--and a doll for little Emma. I had +also bestowed a shilling on the Orfling, who was about to be disbanded. + +We had a very pleasant day, though we were all in a tender state about +our approaching separation. + +“I shall never, Master Copperfield,” said Mrs. Micawber, “revert to +the period when Mr. Micawber was in difficulties without thinking of +you. Your conduct has always been of the most delicate and obliging +description. You have never been a lodger. You have been a friend.” + +“My dear,” said Mr. Micawber, “Copperfield,” for so he had been +accustomed to call me of late, “has a heart to feel for the distresses +of his fellow-creatures when they are behind a cloud, and a head to +plan, and a hand to--in short, a general ability to dispose of such +available property as could be made away with.” + +I expressed my sense of this commendation, and said I was very sorry we +were going to lose one another. + +“My dear young friend,” said Mr. Micawber, “I am older than you; a man +of some experience in life, and--and of some experience, in short, in +difficulties, generally speaking. At present, and until something turns +up (which I am, I may say, hourly expecting), I have nothing to bestow +but advice. Still, my advice is so far worth taking, that--in short, +that I have never taken it myself, and am the”--here Mr. Micawber, who +had been beaming and smiling, all over his head and face, up to the +present moment, checked himself and frowned--“the miserable wretch you +behold.” + +“My dear Micawber!” urged his wife. + +“I say,” returned Mr. Micawber, quite forgetting himself, and smiling +again, “the miserable wretch you behold. My advice is, never do +to-morrow what you can do to-day. Procrastination is the thief of time. +Collar him!” + +“My poor papa’s maxim,” Mrs. Micawber observed. + +“My dear,” said Mr. Micawber, “your papa was very well in his way, and +Heaven forbid that I should disparage him. Take him for all in all, we +ne’er shall--in short, make the acquaintance, probably, of anybody else +possessing, at his time of life, the same legs for gaiters, and able to +read the same description of print without spectacles. But he applied +that maxim to our marriage, my dear; and that was so far prematurely +entered into, in consequence, that I never recovered the expense.” + +Mr. Micawber looked aside at Mrs. Micawber, and added: “Not that I am +sorry for it. Quite the contrary, my love.” After which he was grave +for a minute or so. + +“My other piece of advice, Copperfield,” said Mr. Micawber, “you know. +Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen ought and +six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure +twenty pounds ought and six, result misery. The blossom is blighted, +the leaf is withered, the God of day goes down upon the dreary scene, +and--and in short you are for ever floored. As I am!” + +To make his example the more impressive, Mr. Micawber drank a glass of +punch with an air of great enjoyment and satisfaction and whistled the +College Hornpipe. + +I did not fail to assure him that I would store these precepts in my +mind, though indeed I had no need to do so, for, at the time, they +affected me visibly. Next morning I met the whole family at the coach +office, and saw them, with a desolate heart, take their places outside, +at the back. + +“Master Copperfield,” said Mrs. Micawber, “God bless you! I never can +forget all that, you know, and I never would if I could.” + +“Copperfield,” said Mr. Micawber, “farewell. Every happiness and +prosperity. If, in the progress of revolving years, I could persuade +myself that my blighted destiny had been a warning to you, I should +feel that I had not occupied another man’s place in existence +altogether in vain. In case of anything turning up (of which I am +rather confident), I shall be extremely happy if it should be in my +power to improve your prospects.” + +I think, as Mrs. Micawber sat at the back of the coach, with the +children, and I stood in the road looking wistfully at them, a mist +cleared from her eyes, and she saw what a little creature I really was. +I think so, because she beckoned to me to climb up, with quite a new +and motherly expression in her face, and put her arm round my neck, and +gave me just such a kiss as she might have given to her own boy. I had +barely time to get down again before the coach started, and I could +hardly see the family for the handkerchiefs they waved. It was gone in +a minute. + + + + + ON THE ROAD TO DOVER + + + + + VI + + ON THE ROAD TO DOVER + + +AFTER his friends the Micawbers had left London David Copperfield was +very lonesome and decided to set out on a journey and find his aunt, +Miss Betsy Trotwood. He had a box which he intended to send to the +coach office in Dover, and he had a half-guinea in his pocket. + +Unfortunately he met a long-legged young man who was driving a donkey +cart, who robbed him of his box and his money. David followed the young +man as long as he could and then sat down by the side of the road. He +searched his pockets and found only three halfpence. But his experience +with Mr. Micawber had taught him that he could borrow money at a +pawn-shop. He tells the story of what happened. + + * * * * * + +I went to the next street and took off my waistcoat, rolled it neatly +under my arm, and came to the shop door. Mr. Dolloby was the name over +the door. + +Mr. Dolloby took the waistcoat, spread it on the counter, held it up +against the light, and at last said: + +“What do you call a price for this here little weskit?” + +“Oh, you know best, sir,” I returned modestly. + +“I can’t be buyer and seller too,” said Mr. Dolloby. “Put a price on +this little weskit.” + +“Would eighteen pence be--” I hinted. + +Mr. Dolloby rolled it up again and gave it back to me. + +“I should rob my family if I was to offer ninepence for it.” + +This was a disagreeable way of putting it, for I did not want to ask +Mr. Dolloby to rob his family on my account. I would have to make the +best of my way to Dover in a shirt and a pair of trousers. + +That night I lay behind a wall. Never shall I forget the feeling of +loneliness as I lay down without a roof over my head. But soon I was +asleep, and slept until the warm beams of the sun awoke me. + +The next day was Sunday. In due time I heard the church bells ringing. +I passed a church or two where the congregations were inside. The peace +and rest of Sunday morning were on everything but me. I felt quite +wicked in my dust and dirt, and my tangled hair. + +I got that Sunday to the bridge at Rochester footsore and tired, and +eating food that I had bought for supper. I toiled on to Chatham and +crept upon a sort of grass-grown battery, where a sentry was walking to +and fro. Here I lay near a cannon, happy in the society of the sentry’s +footsteps, though he knew nothing of my being there. + +Very stiff and sore of foot I was in the morning, and quite dazed by +the beating of drums and marching of troops, which seemed to hem me in +on every side when I went down toward the long, narrow street. Feeling +that I could go but a very little way that day, if I were to reserve my +strength for getting to my journey’s end, I resolved to make the sale +of my jacket its principal business. Accordingly, I took the jacket +off, that I might learn to do without it; and carrying it under my arm, +began a tour of inspection of the various slop-shops. + +It was a likely place to sell a jacket in; for the dealers in +second-hand clothes were numerous, and were, generally speaking, on the +lookout for customers at their shop doors. But, as most of them had, +hanging up among their stock, an officer’s coat or two, epaulets and +all, I was rendered timid by the costly nature of their dealings, and +walked about for a long time without offering my merchandise to any one. + +This modesty of mine directed my attention to the marine-store shops, +and such shops as Mr. Dolloby’s, in preference to the regular dealers. +At last I found one that I thought looked promising, at the corner of +a dirty lane, ending in an inclosure full of stinging nettles, against +the palings of which some second-hand sailors’ clothes, that seemed to +have overflown the shop, were fluttering among some cots, and rusty +guns, and oilskin hats, and certain trays full of so many old rusty +keys of so many sizes that they seemed various enough to open all the +doors in the world. + +Into this shop, which was low and small, and which was darkened rather +than lighted by a little window, overhung with clothes, and was +descended into by some steps, I went with a palpitating heart; which +was not relieved when an ugly old man, with the lower part of his face +all covered with a stubby gray beard, rushed out of a dirty den behind +it, and seized me by the hair of my head. He was a dreadful old man to +look at, in a filthy flannel waistcoat, and smelling terribly of rum. +His bedstead, covered with a tumbled and ragged piece of patchwork, +was in the den he had come from, where another little window showed a +prospect of more stinging nettles, and a lame donkey. + +“Oh, what do you want?” grinned this old man in a fierce, monotonous +whine. “Oh, my eyes and limbs, what do you want? Oh, my lungs and +liver, what do you want? Oh, goroo, goroo!” + +I was so much dismayed by these words, and particularly by the +repetition of the last unknown one, which was a kind of rattle in his +throat, that I could make no answer; whereupon the old man, still +holding me by the hair, repeated: + +“Oh, what do you want? Oh, my lungs and liver, what do you want?” + +“I want to know,” I said trembling, “if you would buy a jacket?” + +“Oh, let’s see the jacket. Bring the jacket out.” + +With that he took his trembling hands, which were like the claws of a +bird, out of my hair. + +“How much for the jacket?” cried the old man. “Oh, goroo, how much for +the jacket?” + +“Half a crown,” I answered. + +“Oh, my lungs and liver, no. Oh, my eyes, no. Eighteen pence. Goroo.” + +Every time he said goroo his eyes seemed in danger of popping out of +his head. + +“Well,” said I, “I’ll take eighteen pence.” + +“Oh, my liver,” cried the old man, throwing the jacket on the shelf. +“Get out of the shop. Don’t ask for money, make it an exchange.” + +He made many attempts to make me consent to an exchange, at one time +coming out with a fishing-rod, at another with a fiddle, at another +with a cocked hat, at another with a flute. But I wanted the money to +buy food. At last he began to pay me in halfpence at a time, and was +full two hours getting by easy stages to a shilling. + +My bed that night was under a haystack, where I rested comfortably, +after having washed my blistered feet in a stream. When I took the road +again next morning it was through hop fields and orchards. The orchards +were ruddy with bright apples, and in a few places the hop-pickers were +already at work. I thought it all extremely beautiful, and I would have +enjoyed it if it had not been for the people I met on the road. + +The trampers were worse than ever that day, and inspired me with a +dread that is yet quite fresh in my mind. Some of them were most +ferocious looking ruffians, who stared at me as I went by; and stopped, +perhaps, and called after me to come back and speak to them; and when +I took to my heels, stoned me. I recollect one young fellow--a tinker, +I suppose, from his wallet and brazier--who had a woman with him, and +who faced about and stared at me thus; and then roared at me in such a +tremendous voice to come back, that I halted and looked round. + +“Come here, when you’re called,” said the tinker, “or I’ll rip your +young body open.” + +I thought it best to go back. As I drew nearer to them, trying to +propitiate the tinker by my looks, I observed that the woman had a +black eye. + +“Where are you going?” said the tinker, gripping the bosom of my shirt +with his blackened hand. + +“I’m going to Dover,” I said. + +“Where do you come from?” asked the tinker, giving his hand another +turn in my shirt to hold me more securely. + +“I come from London,” I said. + +“What lay are you upon?” asked the tinker. “Are you a prig?” + +“N--no,” I said. + +“Ain’t you! If you make a brag of your honesty to me,” said the tinker, +“I’ll knock your brains out.” + +With his disengaged hand he made a menace of striking me, and then +looked at me from head to foot. + +“Have you got the price of a pint of beer about you?” said the tinker. +“If you have, out with it, afore I take it away.” + +I should certainly have produced it, but that I met the woman’s look, +and saw her very slightly shake her head, and form “No” with her lips. + +“I am very poor,” I said, attempting to smile, “and have got no money.” + +“Why, what do you mean?” said the tinker, looking so sternly at me, +that I almost feared he saw the money in my pocket. + +“Sir!” I stammered. + +“What do you mean,” said the tinker, “by wearing my brother’s silk +handkerchief? Give it over here!” And he had mine off my neck in a +moment, and tossed it to the woman. + +The woman burst into a fit of laughter, as if she thought this a joke, +and tossing it back to me, nodded once, as slightly as before, and made +the word “Go!” with her lips. + +It was on the sixth day of my flight that I came to my aunt’s house. My +shoes were by this time in a woeful condition. My hat was crushed and +bent. My shirt and trousers were stained with peat, dew, grass, and the +Kentish soil on which I had slept. My hair had known no comb or brush +since I left London. From head to foot I was powdered with chalk as if +I had come out of a lime kiln. + +There came out of the house a lady with a handkerchief tied over her +cap, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands, and carrying a great +knife. I knew her, immediately, to be my Aunt Betsy. + +“Go away!” said Miss Betsy, shaking her head. “Go along! No boys here!” + +“If you please, ma’am,” I began. She started and looked up. + +“If you please, aunt.” + +“Eh!” exclaimed Miss Betsy 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 on the garden path. + +“I am David Copperfield. I have been very unhappy since my mother died. +I was put to work that was not fit for me. It made me run away to you. +I was robbed when I set out and have walked all the way and have never +slept in a bed since I began the journey.” + +My aunt got up in a great hurry, collared me and took me into the +parlor. Her first proceeding was to unlock a tall cupboard, bring forth +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 put me on +the sofa, with a shawl under my head, and, sitting by my side, repeated +at intervals, “Mercy on us!” + +Then I was given a bath, which was a great comfort. For I began to be +sensitive of pains from lying out in the fields. When I had bathed they +enrobed me in a shirt and a pair of trousers too big for me, and tied +me up in two or three big shawls. What sort of a bundle I looked like I +do not know. Feeling very drowsy, I lay down on the sofa and was soon +fast asleep. + +Then I was put to bed in a pleasant room at the top of the house. It +was overlooking the sea, on which the moon was shining. After I had +said my prayers and the candle had burned out I sat looking at the +moonlight on the water. Then I turned to the white curtained bed. I +remember how I thought of all the solitary places under the night sky +where I had slept, and I prayed that I might never be houseless any +more, and never might forget the houseless. + + + + + JOE THE FAT BOY + + + + + VII + + JOE THE FAT BOY + + +WHEN we think of famous people, we take for granted that they did +something remarkable. But this is not always true. One of the most +famous characters of fiction is the Fat Boy in _The Pickwick +Papers_. Everybody remembers him. But what did he do to earn +his reputation? He did nothing at all but go to sleep under all +circumstances. It was his gift. + +Joe was the footman, or rather the footboy, of Mr. Wardle, a +good-natured gentleman who lived at Dingley Dell. Now four other +good-natured gentlemen had started out from London in search of +adventures. Their names were Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Snodgrass, Mr. Tupman, +and Mr. Winkle. They didn’t know where they were going, but that didn’t +matter. They intended to have a good time and to see the country. When +they returned they were sure that they would have something to tell +about. So when they came to the pleasant city of Rochester, they were +delighted to find that there was to be a great review of the troops. +The soldiers were to take part in a mimic battle. Everything was to be +like real war, except that nobody was to be hurt. This was just what +Mr. Pickwick and his friends wanted to see. + +It was all very fine so long as the soldiers were firing in other +directions. But it was different when Mr. Pickwick saw the muskets +pointed in their direction. This was getting decidedly dangerous. + +“What are they doing now?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. + +“I rather think,” said Mr. Winkle, “that they are going to fire.” + +“Nonsense,” said Mr. Pickwick. + +“I--I--really think they are,” urged Mr. Snodgrass, somewhat alarmed. + +“Impossible,” replied Mr. Pickwick. He had hardly uttered the words +when the whole half-dozen regiments levelled their muskets at Mr. +Pickwick and his friends, and there burst forth the most tremendous +discharge. Mr. Pickwick assured his friends that there was no danger. + +“But suppose,” said Mr. Winkle, “that some of the men should have ball +cartridges by mistake. I heard something whistle in the air just now.” + +“We had better throw ourselves on our faces, hadn’t we?” said Mr. +Snodgrass. + +“No, it’s over now,” said Mr. Pickwick. + +But it wasn’t over. A minute after, the order was given to charge with +fixed bayonets, and Mr. Pickwick and his friends saw the six regiments +charging across the field to the very spot where they were standing. + +“Get out of the way!” cried the officers. + +“Where are we to go to?” screamed Mr. Pickwick. + +There was nothing for Mr. Pickwick and his friends to do but to get +out of the way as fast as they could. There was a gentle wind blowing, +and it carried Mr. Pickwick’s hat across the field. He ran after it +as fast as he could, till it went under the wheels of a carriage from +which the horses had been taken out. In the carriage was a stout old +gentleman in a blue coat and bright buttons, corduroy breeches and top +boots, two young ladies in scarfs and feathers, and an aunt. At the +back of the carriage was a huge hamper with cold chicken, ham, tongue, +and all the materials for a picnic, and on the box sat a very fat and +very red-faced boy, sound asleep. + +The stout gentleman in the blue coat was Mr. Wardle, who instantly +became a warm friend of Mr. Pickwick, and invited him to get into the +carriage and have something to eat. + +“Come along, sir, pray come up. Joe! That boy has gone to sleep again. +Joe, let down the steps.” The fat boy rolled slowly off the box, let +down the steps, and held the carriage door invitingly open. + +“Room for you all, gentlemen,” said the stout man. “Joe, make room for +one of these gentlemen on the box. Now, sir, come along.” And he pulled +Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass in by main force. + +When they were all in the carriage, Mr. Wardle called to Joe, who had +again gone to sleep, to prepare for the lunch. + +“Now Joe, knives and forks.” The knives and forks were handed to the +ladies and gentlemen inside. + +“Plates, Joe, plates!” But Joe had dropped to sleep again. “Now, Joe, +the fowls. Come hand in the eatables!” + +There was something in the last words that roused Joe to the greatest +activity, for he was always ready to eat. + +“That’s right--look sharp. Now the tongue--now the pigeon pie. Take +care of the veal and ham--mind the lobsters--take the salad out of +the cloth--give me the dressing.” The various dishes were placed in +everybody’s hands and on everybody’s knees. + +“Now, ain’t this capital?” inquired Mr. Wardle. + +“Capital!” said Mr. Winkle, who was carving a fowl on the box. + +Everybody was eating and talking at the same time, and they felt that +they had always known each other. All except Joe, who preferred a nap +to conversation. + +“Very extraordinary boy, that,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Does he always +sleep that way?” + +“Sleep!” said the old gentleman, “he’s always asleep. Goes on errands +fast asleep, and snores as he waits at the table.” + +“How very odd,” said Mr. Pickwick. + +“Ah! odd indeed,” returned the old gentleman; “I’m proud of that +boy--wouldn’t part with him on any account--he’s a natural curiosity! +Here, Joe--Joe--take these things away, and open another bottle--d’ye +hear?” + +The fat boy rose, opened his eyes, swallowed the huge piece of pie +he had been in the act of masticating when he last fell asleep, and +slowly obeyed his master’s orders--gloating languidly over the remains +of the feast, as he removed the plates, and deposited them in the +hamper. The fresh bottle was produced, and speedily emptied: the +hamper was made fast in its old place--the fat boy once more mounted +the box--the spectacles and pocket-glass were again adjusted--and the +evolutions of the military recommenced. There was a great fizzing and +banging of guns, and starting of ladies--and then a mine was sprung, +to the gratification of everybody--and when the mine had gone off, the +military and the company followed its example, and went off too. + +“Now, mind,” said the old gentleman, as he shook hands with Mr. +Pickwick at the conclusion of a conversation which had been carried on +at intervals, during the conclusion of the proceedings--“we shall see +you all to-morrow.” + +“Most certainly,” replied Mr. Pickwick. + +“You have got the address?” + +“Manor Farm, Dingley Dell,” said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his +pocket-book. + +“That’s it,” said the old gentleman. “I don’t let you off, mind, under +a week; and undertake that you shall see everything worth seeing. If +you’ve come down for a country life, come to me, and I’ll give you +plenty of it. Joe--he’s gone to sleep again--Joe, help Tom put in the +horses.” + +The horses were put in--the driver mounted--the fat boy clambered up by +his side--farewells were exchanged--and the carriage rattled off. As +the Pickwickians turned round to take a last glimpse of it, the setting +sun cast a rich glow on the faces of their entertainers, and fell upon +the form of the fat boy. His head was sunk upon his bosom; and he +slumbered again. + + + + + OLIVER TWIST + + + + + VIII + + OLIVER TWIST + + +OLIVER TWIST was born in a poorhouse, where his mother died. The +superintendent, Mr. Bumble, was a detestable man, who did all that he +could to make the paupers in his institution even more unhappy than +they were. He fed the boys on very thin gruel and gave them very little +of that. One day when he was particularly hungry, Oliver said: + +“Please, sir, I want some more.” + +Every one was horrified, and poor Oliver was beaten and shut up in a +little room where he could meditate on his sin. Soon after, he was +given into the hands of Mr. Sowerberry, who was as cruel as Mr. Bumble +himself. The upshot of it was that Oliver put a crust of bread, a shirt +and two pairs of stockings in a bundle, and ran away. Of course, there +was only one place to run away to, and that was London. + +Oliver had been six days on the London road when he limped into the +little town of Barnet. There he met a boy of his own age, who was the +queerest-looking creature he had ever seen. His name was Jack Dawkins, +but he was known by all the people who knew him as the Artful Dodger. +He was a snub-nosed boy with a dirty face. His hat was on one side of +his head and was always about to fall off. He wore a ragged coat which +was too large for him, and had turned the coat-sleeves back half-way up +his arms. + +[Illustration: + + _Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ + +OLIVER’S FIRST MEETING WITH THE ARTFUL DODGER] + +“Hullo, what’s the row?” said the Artful Dodger. + +“I am very hungry and tired. I have walked a long way. I have been +walking seven days.” + +“Walking for sivin days! Come, you want grub, and you shall have it.” + +He took Oliver into a little shop and bought some ham and bread, which +was quietly devoured. + +“Going to London?” said the strange boy. + +“Yes.” + +“Got any lodgings?” + +“No.” + +“Money?” + +“No.” + +The strange boy whistled; and put his hands into his pockets, as far as +the big coat-sleeves would let them go. + +“Do you live in London?” inquired Oliver. + +“Yes, I do, when I’m at home,” replied the boy. “I suppose you want +some place to sleep in to-night, don’t you?” + +“Yes, I do,” answered Oliver. “I have not slept under a roof since I +left the country.” + +“Don’t fret your eyelids on that score,” said the boy. “I’ve got to +be in London to-night; and I know a ’spectable old genelman as lives +there, wot’ll give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for the +change; that is, if any genelman he knows interduces you. And don’t he +know me? Oh, no! Not in the least! By no means. Certainly not!” + +So Oliver Twist went with the Artful Dodger through the narrowest and +crookedest streets in London till he came to the house of old Fagin, +who kept a school for pickpockets. Every day the boys would be sent out +on the streets and would come home at night with pocket-handkerchiefs +and purses which they had snatched from people in the crowds. + +Five or six boys were in the room, and Fagin was cooking sausages in a +frying-pan. + +“This is him, Fagin,” said the Artful Dodger; “my friend Oliver Twist.” + +Fagin grinned, and shook hands. “We are glad to see you, Oliver. +Dodger, take off the sausages and draw a tub near the fire for Oliver. +Ah, you’re a-staring at the pocket-handkerchiefs! eh, my dear? We’ve +just looked ’em out, ready for the wash; that’s all, Oliver; that’s +all.” + +Oliver wondered very much why they had so many handkerchiefs. Fagin +employed him in picking out the marks in them, and that kept him busy +for several days. One day he went out with the Artful Dodger and his +friend Charley Bates. Dickens tells the story of their adventure: + +The three boys sallied out; the Dodger with his coat-sleeves tucked up, +and his hat cocked, as usual; Master Bates sauntering along with his +hands in his pockets; and Oliver between them: wondering where they +were going: and what branch of manufacture he would be instructed in, +first. + +The pace at which they went, was such a very lazy, ill-looking saunter, +that Oliver soon began to think his companions were going to deceive +the old gentleman, by not going to work at all. The Dodger had a +vicious propensity, too, of pulling the caps from the heads of small +boys and tossing them down areas; while Charley Bates exhibited some +very loose notions concerning the rights of property, by pilfering +divers apples and onions from the stalls at the kennel sides, and +thrusting them into pockets which were so surprisingly capacious, that +they seemed to undermine his whole suit of clothes in every direction. +These things looked so bad, that Oliver was on the point of declaring +his intention of seeking his way back, in the best way he could; when +his thoughts were suddenly directed into another channel, by a very +mysterious change of behavior on the part of the Dodger. + +They were just emerging from a narrow court not far from the open +square in Clerkenwell, which is yet called, by some strange perversion +of terms, “The Green,” when the Dodger made a sudden stop and, laying +his finger on his lip, drew his companions back again, with the +greatest caution and circumspection. + +“What’s the matter?” demanded Oliver. + +“Hush!” replied the Dodger. “Do you see that old cove at the +book-stall?” + +“The old 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 the greatest 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 +towards whom his attention had been directed. Oliver walked a few paces +after them; and, not knowing whether to advance or retire, stood +looking on in silent amazement. + +The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking personage, with a +powdered head and gold spectacles. He was dressed in a bottle-green +coat with a black velvet collar; wore white trousers; and carried +a smart bamboo cane under his arm. He had taken up a book from the +stall, and there he stood, reading away, as hard as if he were in his +elbow-chair, in his own study. It is very possible that he fancied +himself there, indeed; for it was plain, from his utter abstraction, +that he saw not the book-stall, nor the street, nor the boys, nor, in +short, anything but the book itself; which he was reading straight +through; turning over the leaf when he got to the bottom of a page, +beginning at the top line of the next one, and going regularly on, with +the greatest interest and eagerness. + +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 old 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 around the corner at full +speed! + +In an instant the whole mystery of the handkerchiefs, and the watches, +and the jewels, rushed upon the boy’s mind. He stood, for a moment, +with the blood so tingling through all his veins from terror, that he +felt as if he were in a burning fire; then, confused and frightened, he +took to his heels and, not knowing what he did, made off as fast as he +could lay his feet to the ground. + +This was all done in a minute’s space. In the very instant when Oliver +began to run, the old gentleman, putting his hand to his pocket, and +missing his handkerchief, turned sharp round. Seeing the boy scudding +away at such a rapid pace, he very naturally concluded him to be the +depredator; and, shouting “Stop thief!” with all his might made off +after him, book in hand. + +But the old gentleman was not the only person who raised the +hue-and-cry. The Dodger and Master Bates, unwilling to attract public +attention by running down the open street, had merely retired into the +very first doorway round the corner. They no sooner heard the cry, and +saw Oliver running, than, guessing exactly how the matter stood, they +issued forth with great promptitude and, shouting “Stop thief!” too, +joined in the pursuit like good citizens. + +Although Oliver had been brought up by philosophers, he was +not theoretically acquainted with the beautiful axiom that +self-preservation is the first law of nature. If he had been, perhaps +he would have been prepared for this. Not being prepared, however, +it alarmed him the more; so away he went like the wind, with the old +gentleman and the two boys roaring and shouting behind him. + +“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 schoolboy his marbles; the pavior +his pickaxe; the child his battledore. Away they run, pell-mell, +helter-skelter, slap-dash: tearing, yelling, and screaming: knocking +down the passengers as they turn the corners, rousing up the dogs, and +astonishing the fowls: and streets, squares, and courts re-echo with +the sound. + +“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, onward bear the mob, a whole audience desert Punch +in the very thickest of the plot, and, joining the rushing throng, +swell the shout, and lend fresh vigor to the cry, “Stop thief! Stop +thief!” + +“Stop thief! Stop thief!” There is a passion _for hunting +something_ deeply implanted in the human breast. One wretched +breathless child, panting with exhaustion; terror in his looks; agony +in his eyes; large drops of perspiration streaming down his face; +strains every nerve to make head upon his pursuers; and as they follow +on his track, and gain upon him every instant, they hail his decreasing +strength with still louder shouts, and whoop and scream with joy. “Stop +thief!” Ay, stop him for God’s sake, were it only in mercy! + +Stopped at last. A clever blow. He is down upon the pavement; and the +crowd eagerly gather round him: each newcomer, jostling and struggling +with the others to catch a glimpse. “Stand aside!” “Give him a little +air!” “Nonsense! he don’t deserve it.” “Where’s the gentleman?” “Here +he is, coming down the street.” “Make room there for the gentleman!” +“Is this the boy, sir!” “Yes.” + +Oliver lay, covered with mud and dust, and bleeding from the mouth, +looking wildly round upon the heap of faces that surrounded him, when +the old gentleman was officiously dragged and pushed into the circle by +the foremost of the pursuers. + +“Yes,” said the gentleman, “I am afraid it is.” + +“Afraid!” murmured the crowd. “That’s a good ’un.” + +“Poor fellow!” said the gentleman, “he has hurt himself.” + +“_I_ did that, sir,” said a great lubberly fellow, stepping +forward; “and preciously I cut my knuckle agin his mouth. _I_ +stopped him, sir.” + +The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting something for his +pains; but the old gentleman, eyeing him with an expression of dislike, +looked anxiously round, as if he contemplated running away himself: +which it is very possible he might have attempted to do, and thus +afforded another chase, had not a police officer (who is generally +the last person to arrive in such cases) at that moment made his way +through the crowd, and seized Oliver by the collar. + +“Come, get up,” said the man, roughly. + +“It wasn’t me indeed, sir. Indeed, indeed, it was two other boys,” said +Oliver, clasping his hands passionately, and looking round. “They are +here somewhere.” + +“Oh no, they ain’t,” said the officer. He meant this to be ironical, +but it was true besides; for the Dodger and Charley Bates had filed +off down the first convenient court they came to. “Come, get up!” + +“Don’t hurt him,” said the old gentleman, compassionately. + +“Oh no, I won’t hurt him,” replied the officer, tearing his jacket half +off his back, in proof thereof. “Come, I know you; it won’t do. Will +you stand upon your legs, you young devil?” + +Oliver, who could hardly stand, made a shift to raise himself on his +feet, and was at once lugged along the streets by the jacket-collar, +at a rapid pace. The gentleman walked on with them by the officer’s +side; and as many of the crowd as could achieve the feat, got a little +ahead, and stared back at Oliver from time to time. The boys shouted in +triumph; and on they went. + + * * * * * + +Fortunately this time things turned out for the best for Oliver. The +old gentleman, whose name was Brownlow, believed his story and took him +to his own home, where he treated him as if he were his own son. They +lived in a pleasant house on a quiet street, and Mrs. Brownlow was as +kind as her husband. + +This was only one of the adventures of Oliver Twist. He always seemed +to be falling in with unusually bad people, and then being rescued by +unusually kind people, who lost no time in receiving him as one of +the family. The changes in his fortune were as sudden as those in the +_Arabian Nights_. But then everything came out right in the end. + + + + + THE JELLYBY CHILDREN + + + + + IX + + THE JELLYBY CHILDREN + + +TO know the Jellyby children you must know their mother. Mrs. Jellyby +had a very kind heart and wanted to do good. Unfortunately the +people she wanted to do good to lived a long way off. This was very +inconvenient, as it was very difficult to get at them, especially +as she didn’t know their names or what they looked like. The people +she was particularly interested in lived in Borrioboola-Gha, on the +left bank of the Niger, in Africa. Mrs. Jellyby had to write a great +many letters to all sorts of people about the state of things in +Borrioboola-Gha, and this took up the time she might otherwise have +given to her children. + +What Mrs. Jellyby would have done if she had lived in Africa, we do not +know. But in London she didn’t find much to interest her: everything +was too near. So the little Jellybys were left to grow up as best +they could. There was no one whose business it was to see that they +were properly fed or clothed or taught how to behave. Mrs. Jellyby +couldn’t look after them, because she was too busy making plans for +the Africans. And Mr. Jellyby couldn’t do it, for he had to listen to +Mrs. Jellyby and do errands for her. So nobody did it, and the little +Jellybys got on as best they could, which was not very well. + +In _Bleak House_, Dickens makes Miss Summerson tell of her visit +to Mrs. Jellyby. + + * * * * * + +We were to pass the night, Mr. Kenge told us, at Mrs. Jellyby’s; and +then he turned to me, and said that he took it for granted that I knew +who Mrs. Jellyby was. + +“I really don’t, sir,” I returned. + +“Indeed! Mrs. Jellyby is a lady of great strength of character. She +devotes herself entirely to the public.” + +“And Mr. Jellyby, sir?” + +“Ah! Mr. Jellyby,” said Mr. Kenge, “I do not know that I can describe +Mr. Jellyby better than by saying he is the husband of Mrs. Jellyby.” + +We arrived at our destination and found a crowd of people, mostly +children, about the house at which we stopped, which had a tarnished +brass plate on the door, with the inscription, JELLYBY. + +“Don’t be frightened!” said Mr. Guppy, looking in at the coach-window. +“One of the young Jellybys been and got his head through the area +railings!” + +“Oh, poor child,” said I, “let me out, if you please!” + +“Pray be careful of yourself, miss. The young Jellybys are always up to +something,” said Mr. Guppy. + +I made my way to the poor child, who was one of the dirtiest little +unfortunates I ever saw, and found him very hot and frightened, and +crying loudly, fixed by the neck between two iron railings, while +a milkman and a beadle, with the kindest intentions possible, were +endeavoring to drag him back by the legs, under a general impression +that his skull was compressible by those means. As I found (after +pacifying him) that he was a little boy, with a naturally large head, I +thought that, perhaps, where his head could go, his body could follow, +and mentioned that the best mode of extrication might be to push him +forward. This was so favorably received by the milkman and beadle, that +he would immediately have been pushed into the area, if I had not held +his pinafore, while Richard and Mr. Guppy ran down through the kitchen, +to catch him when he should be released. At last he was happily got +down without any accident, and then he began to beat Mr. Guppy with a +hoop-stick in quite a frantic manner. + +Nobody had appeared belonging to the house, except a person in pattens, +who had been poking at the child from below with a broom; I don’t know +with what object, and I don’t think she did. I therefore supposed that +Mrs. Jellyby was not at home; and was quite surprised when the person +appeared in the passage without the pattens, and going up to the back +room on the first floor, before Ada and me, announced us as, “Them two +young ladies, Missis Jellyby!” We passed several more children on the +way up, whom it was difficult to avoid treading on in the dark; and as +we came into Mrs. Jellyby’s presence, one of the poor little things +fell down-stairs--down a whole flight (as it sounded to me), with a +great noise. + +Mrs. Jellyby, whose face reflected none of the uneasiness which we +could not help showing in our own faces, as the dear child’s head +recorded its passage with a bump on every stair--Richard afterwards +said he counted seven, besides one for the landing--received us with +perfect equanimity. She was a pretty, very diminutive, plump woman, +of from forty to fifty, with handsome eyes, though they had a curious +habit of seeming to look a long way off. As if--I am quoting Richard +again--they could see nothing nearer than Africa! + +“I am very glad indeed,” said Mrs. Jellyby, in an agreeable voice, +“to have the pleasure of receiving you. I have a great respect for +Mr. Jarndyce; and no one in whom he is interested can be an object of +indifference to me.” + +We expressed our acknowledgments, and sat down behind the door, where +there was a lame invalid of a sofa. Mrs. Jellyby had very good hair, +but was too much occupied with her African duties to brush it. The +shawl in which she had been loosely muffled, dropped on to her chair +when she advanced to us; and as she turned to resume her seat, we +could not help noticing that her dress didn’t nearly meet up the back, +and that the open space was railed across with a lattice-work of +stay-lace--like a summer-house. + +The room, which was strewn with papers and nearly filled by a great +writing-table covered with similar litter, was, I must say, not only +very untidy, but very dirty. We were obliged to take notice of that +with our sense of sight, even while, with our sense of hearing, we +followed the poor child who had tumbled down-stairs: I think into the +back kitchen, where somebody seemed to stifle him. + +But what principally struck us was a jaded, and unhealthy-looking, +though by no means plain girl, at the writing-table, who sat biting +the feather of her pen, and staring at us. I suppose nobody ever was +in such a state of ink. And, from her tumbled hair to her pretty feet, +which were disfigured with frayed and broken satin slippers trodden +down at heel, she really seemed to have no article of dress upon her, +from a pin upwards, that was in its proper condition or its right place. + +“You find me, my dears,” said Mrs. Jellyby, snuffing the two great +office candles in tin candlesticks which made the room taste strongly +of hot tallow (the fire had gone out, and there was nothing in +the grate but ashes, a bundle of wood, and a poker), “you find +me, my dears, as usual, very busy; but that you will excuse. The +African project at present employs my whole time. It involves me in +correspondence with public bodies, and with private individuals anxious +for the welfare of their species all over the country. I am happy to +say it is advancing. We hope by this time next year to have from a +hundred and fifty to two hundred healthy families cultivating coffee +and educating the natives of Borrioboola-Gha, on the left bank of the +Niger.” + +As Ada said nothing, but looked at me, I said it must be very +gratifying. + +“It _is_ gratifying,” said Mrs. Jellyby. “It involves the devotion +of all my energies, such as they are; but that is nothing, so that it +succeeds; and I am more confident of success every day. Do you know, +Miss Summerson, I almost wonder that _you_ never turned your +thoughts to Africa.” + +This application of the subject was really so unexpected to me, that I +was quite at a loss how to receive it. I hinted that the climate---- + +“The finest climate in the world!” said Mrs. Jellyby. + +“Indeed, ma’am?” + +“Certainly. With precaution,” said Mrs. Jellyby. “You may go into +Holborn, without precaution, and be run over. You may go into Holborn, +with precaution, and never be run over. Just so with Africa.” + +I said, “No doubt”--I meant as to Holborn. + +“If you would like,” said Mrs. Jellyby, putting a number of papers +towards us, “to look over some remarks on that head, and on the +general subject (which have been extensively circulated), while I +finish a letter I am now dictating--to my eldest daughter, who is my +amanuensis----” + +The girl at the table left off biting her pen, and made a return to our +recognition, which was half bashful and half sulky. + +“I shall then have finished for the present,” proceeded Mrs. Jellyby, +with a sweet smile; “though my work is never done. Where are you, +Caddy?” + +“‘--Presents her compliments to Mr. Swallow, and begs--’” said Caddy. + +“‘And begs,’” said Mrs. Jellyby, dictating, “‘to inform him, in +reference to his letter of inquiry on the African project--’ No, Peepy! +Not on any account!” + +Peepy (so self-named) was the unfortunate child who had fallen +down-stairs, who now interrupted the correspondence by presenting +himself, with a strip of plaster on his forehead, to exhibit his +wounded knees, in which Ada and I did not know which to pity most--the +bruises or the dirt. Mrs. Jellyby merely added, “Go along, you naughty +Peepy!” and fixed her fine eyes on Africa again. + +However, as she at once proceeded with her dictation, and as I +interrupted nothing by doing it, I ventured quietly to stop poor Peepy +as he was going out, and to take him up to nurse. He looked very much +astonished at it, and at Ada’s kissing him; but soon fell fast asleep +in my arms, sobbing at longer and longer intervals, until he was quiet. +I was so occupied with Peepy that I lost the letter in detail, though I +derived such a general impression from it of the momentous importance +of Africa, and the utter insignificance of all other places and things, +that I felt quite ashamed to have thought so little about it. + +“Six o’clock!” said Mrs. Jellyby. “And our dinner hour nominally (for +we dine at all hours) five! Caddy, show Miss Clare and Miss Summerson +their rooms. You will like to make some change, perhaps? You will +excuse me, I know, being so much occupied. Oh, that very bad child! +Pray put him down, Miss Summerson!” + +I begged permission to retain him, truly saying that he was not at all +troublesome; and carried him up-stairs and laid him on my bed. Ada +and I had two upper rooms, with a door of communication between. They +were excessively bare and disorderly, and the curtain to my window was +fastened up with a fork. + +“You would like some hot water, wouldn’t you?” said Miss Jellyby, +looking round for a jug with a handle to it, but looking in vain. + +“If it is not being troublesome,” said we. + +“Oh, it’s not the trouble,” returned Miss Jellyby; “the question is, if +there _is_ any.” + +The evening was so very cold, and the rooms had such a marshy smell, +that I must confess it was a little miserable; and Ada was half crying. +We soon laughed, however, and were busily unpacking, when Miss Jellyby +came back to say, that she was sorry there was no hot water; but they +couldn’t find the kettle, and the boiler was out of order. + +We begged her not to mention it, and made all the haste we could to get +down to the fire again. But all the little children had come up to the +landing outside, to look at the phenomenon of Peepy lying on my bed; +and our attention was distracted by the constant apparition of noses +and fingers in situations of danger between the hinges of the doors. +It was impossible to shut the door of either room; for my lock, with +no knob to it, looked as if it wanted to be wound up; and though the +handle of Ada’s went round and round with the greatest smoothness, it +was attended with no effect whatever on the door. Therefore I proposed +to the children that they should come in and be very good at my table, +and I would tell them the story of Little Red Riding Hood while I +dressed; which they did, and were as quiet as mice, including Peepy, +who awoke opportunely before the appearance of the wolf. + +Soon after seven o’clock, we went down to dinner. The dinner was long, +because of such accidents as the dish of potatoes being mislaid in +the coal scuttle. Mrs. Jellyby paid no attention to such matters +and told us all about the various committees, and the five thousand +circulars that were sent out. After dinner, Mr. Jellyby sat in a corner +in a state of great dejection. I sat in another and told Peepy, in +whispers, the story of Puss in Boots, until Mrs. Jellyby, accidentally +remembering the children, sent them to bed. As Peepy cried for me to +take him, I carried him up-stairs. + +“What a strange house!” said Ada, when we got up-stairs. + +“My love,” said I, “it quite confuses me. I can’t understand it.” + +“What?” asked Ada. + +“All this, my dear,” said I. “It _must_ be very good of Mrs. +Jellyby to take such pains about a scheme for the benefit of +Natives--and yet--Peepy and the housekeeping!” + + + + + SISSY JUPE + + + + + X + + SISSY JUPE + + +DICKENS called the novel in which Sissy Jupe appears _Hard Times_. +It was certainly hard times for children who had to go to the kind of +schools that Mr. Thomas Gradgrind believed in. Mr. Gradgrind was a +big square man, with a square coat and square shoulders, who thought +that he knew all about education. He thought that the children in +the schoolroom were like so many little pitchers, and the teacher’s +business was to fill them with facts. + +“Now, what I want is Facts,” said Mr. Gradgrind. “Teach these boys and +girls nothing but Facts. This is the principle on which I bring up my +own children, and this is the principle for these children. Stick to +Facts.” + +Mr. Gradgrind, with another gentleman, had come to visit the school. +Now Sissy Jupe was a bright little girl who would really enjoy using +her own mind, but she didn’t know how to use Mr. Gradgrind’s mind, and +she was very much upset when the great man pointed his square finger at +her and said: + + * * * * * + +“Girl number twenty. I don’t know that girl. Who is that girl?” + +“Sissy Jupe, sir,” explained number twenty, blushing, standing up, and +courtesying. + +“Sissy is not a name,” said Mr. Gradgrind. “Don’t call yourself Sissy. +Call yourself Cecilia.” + +“It’s father as calls me Sissy, sir,” returned the girl in a trembling +voice, and with another courtesy. + +“Then he has no business to do it,” said Mr. Gradgrind. “Tell him he +mustn’t. Cecilia Jupe. Let me see. What is your father?” + +“He belongs to the horse-riding, if you please, sir.” + +Mr. Gradgrind frowned, and waved off the objectionable calling with his +hand. + +“We don’t want to know anything about that, here. You mustn’t tell us +about that, here. Your father breaks horses, don’t he?” + +“If you please, sir, when they can get any to break, they do break +horses in the ring, sir.” + +“You mustn’t tell us about the ring, here. Very well, then. Describe +your father as a horsebreaker. He doctors sick horses, I dare say?” + +“Oh yes, sir.” + +“Very well, then. He is a veterinary surgeon, a farrier, and +horsebreaker. Give me your definition of a horse.” + +(Sissy Jupe thrown into the greatest alarm by this demand.) + +“Girl number twenty unable to define a horse!” said Mr. Gradgrind, for +the general behoof of all the little pitchers. “Girl number twenty +possessed of no facts, in reference to one of the commonest of animals! +Some boy’s definition of a horse. Bitzer, yours.” + +The square finger, moving here and there, lighted suddenly on Bitzer, +perhaps because he chanced to sit in the same ray of sunlight which, +darting in at one of the bare windows of the intensely whitewashed +room, irradiated Sissy. For the boys and girls sat on the face of +the inclined plane in two compact bodies, divided up the centre by a +narrow interval; and Sissy, being at the corner of a row on the sunny +side, came in for the beginning of a sunbeam, of which Bitzer, being +at corner of a row on the other side, a few rows in advance, caught +the end. But, whereas the girl was so dark-eyed and dark-haired that +she seemed to receive a deeper and more lustrous color from the sun, +when it shone upon her, the boy was so light-eyed and light-haired +that the self-same rays appeared to draw out of him what little color +he ever possessed. His cold eyes would hardly have been eyes, but +for the short ends of lashes which, by bringing them into immediate +contrast with something paler than themselves, expressed their form. +His short-cropped hair might have been a mere continuation of the +sandy freckles on his forehead and face. His skin was so unwholesomely +deficient in the natural tinge that he looked as though, if it were +cut, he would bleed white. + +“Bitzer,” said Thomas Gradgrind. “Your definition of a horse.” + +“Quadruped. Graminivorous. Forty teeth, namely twenty-four grinders, +four eye-teeth, and twelve incisors. Sheds coat in the spring; in +marshy countries, sheds hoofs too. Hoofs hard, but requiring to be shod +with iron. Age known by marks in mouth.” Thus (and much more) Bitzer. + +“Now girl number twenty,” said Mr. Gradgrind. “You know what a horse +is.”... + +The third gentleman now slipped forth, briskly smiling. + +“That’s a horse. Now, let me ask you girls and boys, Would you paper a +room with representations of horses?” + +After a pause, one half of the children cried in chorus, “Yes, sir!” +Upon which the other half, seeing in the gentleman’s face that Yes was +wrong, cried out in chorus, “No, sir!”--as the custom is, in these +examinations. + +“Of course, No. Why wouldn’t you?” + +A pause. One corpulent slow boy, with a wheezy manner of breathing, +ventured the answer, “Because he wouldn’t paper a room at all, but +would paint it.” + +“You _must_ paper it,” said the gentleman, rather warmly. + +“You must paper it,” said Thomas Gradgrind, “whether you like it or +not. Don’t tell _us_ you wouldn’t paper it. What do you mean, boy?” + +“I’ll explain to you, then,” said the gentleman, after another and a +dismal pause, “why you wouldn’t paper a room with representations of +horses. Do you ever see horses walking up and down the sides of rooms +in reality--in fact? Do you?” + +“Yes, sir!” from one half. “No, sir!” from the other. + +“Of course no,” said the gentleman, with an indignant look at the wrong +half. “Why, then, you are not to see anywhere, what you don’t see in +fact; you are not to have anywhere, what you don’t have in fact. What +is called Taste, is only another name for Fact.” + +Thomas Gradgrind nodded his approbation. + +“This is a new principle, a discovery, a great discovery,” said the +gentleman. + +“Now, I’ll try you again. Suppose you were going to carpet a room. +Would you use a carpet having a representation of flowers upon it?” + +There being a general conviction by this time that “No, sir!” was +always the right answer to this gentleman, the chorus of No was very +strong. Only a few feeble stragglers said Yes; among them Sissy Jupe. + +“Girl number twenty,” said the gentleman, smiling in the calm strength +of knowledge. + +Sissy blushed, and stood up. + +“So you would carpet your room--or your husband’s room, if you were a +grown woman, and had a husband--with representations of flowers, would +you,” said the gentleman. “Why would you?” + +“If you please sir, I am very fond of flowers,” returned the girl. + +“And is that why you would put tables and chairs upon them, and have +people walking over them with heavy boots?” + +“It wouldn’t hurt them, sir. They wouldn’t crush and wither, if you +please, sir. They would be the pictures of what was very pretty and +pleasant, and I would fancy----” + +“Ay, ay, ay! But you mustn’t fancy,” cried the gentleman, quite elated +by coming so happily to his point. “That’s it! You are never to fancy.” + +“You are not, Cecilia Jupe,” Thomas Gradgrind solemnly repeated, “to do +anything of that kind.” + +“Fact, fact, fact!” said the gentleman. And “Fact, fact, fact!” +repeated Thomas Gradgrind. + +“You are to be in all things regulated and governed,” said the +gentleman, “by fact. We hope to have, before long, a board of fact, +composed of commissioners of fact, who will force the people to be a +people of fact, and of nothing but fact. You must discard the word +Fancy altogether. You have nothing to do with it. You are not to have, +in any object of use or ornament, what would be a contradiction in +fact. You don’t walk upon flowers in fact; you cannot be allowed to +walk upon flowers in carpets. You don’t find that foreign birds and +butterflies come and perch upon your crockery; you cannot be permitted +to paint foreign birds and butterflies upon your crockery. You never +meet with quadrupeds going up and down walls; you must not have +quadrupeds represented upon walls. You must use,” said the gentleman, +“for all these purposes, combinations and modifications (in primary +colors) of mathematical figures which are susceptible of proof and +demonstration. This is the new discovery. This is fact. This is taste.” + +The girl courtesied, and sat down. She was very young, and she looked +as if she were frightened by the matter-of-fact prospect the world +afforded. + + + + + THE CHILD OF THE MARSHALSEA + + + + + XI + + THE CHILD OF THE MARSHALSEA + + +WHEN Dickens wrote _Little Dorrit_, he must often have thought +of the times when as a boy he went to see his father in the debtors’ +prison. As a shy little boy he had to do all sorts of errands which +took him over the prison and through the narrow streets that were near +it. + +Amy Dorrit, or little Dorrit, as she was called, was born in the great +rambling prison called the Marshalsea. It was the only home she knew. +Her father had got into debt and was sent to prison until the debt was +paid. Of course he couldn’t pay it so long as he was locked up and not +given a chance to earn anything. So there he stayed year after year +till he had become the oldest inhabitant, and rather enjoyed the honor. +But it was hard on little Dorrit. + +She had one good friend, the officer who was called the turnkey, +because he had the keys of the prison and was the one who locked the +prisoners in. When she began to walk and talk, he bought her a little +armchair, and gave her toys. She became very fond of the turnkey, and +was delighted when he dressed and undressed her dolls. + +After a while, little Dorrit began to wonder what the world outside the +prison walls was like. She saw the turnkey turn his great key in the +door and thought, how wonderful it would be to go out through it! + +She sat by the barred window, looking out. “Thinking of the fields?” +the turnkey said, one day. + +“Where are they?” she asked. + +“Why, they are over there, my dear,” said the turnkey with a flourish +of the keys. “Just about there.” + +“Does anybody open them, or shut them? Are they locked?” + +“Well,” he said, “not in general.” + +“Are they pretty, Bob?” She called him Bob because he asked her to. + +“Lovely. Full of flowers. There’s buttercups and there’s daisies, and +there’s--dandelions and all manner of games.” + +“Is it pleasant to be there, Bob?” + +“Prime,” said the turnkey. + +“Was father ever there?” + +“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? Oh, are you quite sure and certain, Bob?” + +Bob changed the subject, but this was the beginning of little Sunday +excursions which these two curious companions took. Every other Sunday +afternoon the turnkey would open the prison doors with his big key and +would go off with little Dorrit into the green fields. He would pick +out some meadow or green lane and light his pipe, while the little girl +would gather grasses and wild flowers to bring home to her father. + +After some years had passed, Mr. Dorrit was released from prison and +his fortune was restored, but little Dorrit always remembered the kind +turnkey who had given her the first happy hours in the green fields. + + + + + THE CRATCHITS + + + + + XII + + THE CRATCHITS + + +EVERYBODY knows the Cratchits. When Christmas comes people take up _A +Christmas Carol_ and turn to the account of the Christmas dinner +which Bob Cratchit and his family enjoyed in their poor little house in +the suburbs of London. Here it is just as Dickens wrote it. + + * * * * * + +Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit’s wife, dressed out but poorly +in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and +make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by +Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while +Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, +and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob’s private +property, conferred upon his son and heir in honor of the day) into +his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned +to show his linen in the fashionable parks. And now two smaller +Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the +baker’s they had smelled the goose and known it for their own; and +basking in luxurious thoughts of sage-and-onion, these young Cratchits +danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, +while he (not proud, although his collar nearly choked him) blew the +fire, until the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the +saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled. + +[Illustration: + + _Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ + +TINY TIM AND BOB CRATCHIT ON CHRISTMAS DAY] + +“What has ever got your precious father then?” said Mrs. Cratchit. “And +your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn’t as late last Christmas Day by +half-an-hour!” + +“Here’s Martha, mother!” said a girl, appearing as she spoke. + +“Here’s Martha, mother!” cried the two young Cratchits. “Hurrah! +There’s _such_ a goose, Martha!” + +“Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!” said Mrs. +Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and +bonnet for her with officious zeal. + +“We’d a deal of work to finish up last night,” replied the girl, “and +had to clear away this morning, mother!” + +“Well! Never mind so long as you are come,” said Mrs. Cratchit. “Sit ye +down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!” + +“No, no! There’s father coming,” cried the two young Cratchits, who +were everywhere at once. “Hide, Martha, hide!” + +So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at +least three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe, hanging down +before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look +seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore +a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame! + +“Why, where’s our Martha?” cried Bob Cratchit, looking round. + +“Not coming,” said Mrs. Cratchit. + +“Not coming!” said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits; +for he had been Tim’s blood horse all the way from church, and had come +home rampant. “Not coming upon Christmas Day!” + +Martha didn’t like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; +so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into +his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him +off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the +copper. + +“And how did little Tim behave?” asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had +rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his +heart’s content. + +“As good as gold,” said Bob, “and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, +sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever +heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the +church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to +remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men +see.” + +Bob’s voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more +when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty. + +His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came +Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother +and sister to his stool before the fire; and while Bob, turning up +his cuffs--as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more +shabby--compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and +stirred it round and round and put it on the hob to simmer, Master +Peter, and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, +with which they soon returned in high procession. + +Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of +all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter +of course--and in truth it was something very like it in that house. +Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) +hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigor; +Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple sauce; Martha dusted the hot +plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; +the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting +themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into +their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came +to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It +was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly +all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but +when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, +one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, +excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle +of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah! + +There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn’t believe there ever was +such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness, +were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by the apple sauce +and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; +indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small +atom of a bone upon the dish) they hadn’t ate it all at last! Yet every +one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits, in particular, were +steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being +changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone--too nervous +to bear witnesses--to take the pudding up and bring it in. + +Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in +turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the +back-yard, and stolen it while they were merry with the goose--a +supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of +horrors were supposed. + +Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. +A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an +eating-house and a pastrycook’s next door to each other, with a +laundress’s next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute +Mrs. Cratchit entered--flushed, but smiling proudly--with the pudding +like a speckled cannon-ball so hard and firm blazing in half of +half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly +stuck into the top. + +Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he +regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since +their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her +mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of +flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or +thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would +have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint +at such a thing. + +At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth +swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and +considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a +shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew +round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a +one; and at Bob Cratchit’s elbow stood the family display of glass. Two +tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle. + +These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden +goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, +while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob +proposed: + +“A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!” + +Which all the family re-echoed. + +“God bless us every one!” said Tiny Tim, the last of all. + + + + + THE DOLL’S DRESSMAKER + + + + + XIII + + THE DOLL’S DRESSMAKER + + +THE fact that Dickens when he was only twelve years old was put to +work and had to make his own living made him feel old when he was +really very young. He had to look after himself as if he had been a +man. In _Our Mutual Friend_ he gives us a picture of an old young +person, Jenny Wren, the Doll’s Dressmaker, who talked as if she were +forty, when she was only twelve and small for her age. Her father was a +drunkard and she had been compelled to act as head of the house. + +She was a queer little person with bright, snapping eyes and a sharp +tongue. She sat in a little old-fashioned armchair which had a little +working-bench before it. She had set up in business as a doll’s +dressmaker and manufacturer of pincushions and pen-wipers. + +If you were in London you would have to go a long way to find the +Doll’s Dressmaker. First you crossed Westminster Bridge, and then you +came to a certain little street called Church Street, and then to an +out-of-the-way square called Smith Square, in the centre of which was a +very ugly church. Then you came to a blacksmith-shop and a lumber-yard, +and a dealer in old iron. There was a rusty portion of an old boiler +that you had to walk around. Beyond that there were several little +quiet houses in a row. In one of these houses was the little Doll’s +Dressmaker. That was the way Bradley Headstone and Charley Hexam found +the house where Jenny Wren lived. + +[Illustration: + + _Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ + +JENNY WREN, THE LITTLE DOLLS’ DRESSMAKER] + +They knocked at the door and saw a queer little figure sitting in an +armchair. + +“I can’t get up,” said the child, “because my back’s bad and my legs +are queer. But I’m the person of the house. What do you want, young +man?” + +“I wanted to see my sister.” + +“Many young men have sisters. Give me your name, young man.” + +“Hexam is my name.” + +“Ah, indeed?” said the person of the house. “I thought it might be. +Your sister will be in, in about a quarter of an hour. I am very fond +of your sister. She’s my particular friend. Take a seat. And this +gentleman’s name?” + +“Mr. Headstone, my schoolmaster.” + +“Take a seat. And would you please to shut the street door first? I +can’t very well do it myself, because my back’s so bad, and my legs are +so queer.” + +They complied in silence, and the little figure went on with its work +of gumming and gluing together with a camel’s-hair brush certain pieces +of cardboard and thin wood, previously cut into various shapes. The +scissors and knives upon the bench showed that the child herself had +cut them; and the bright scraps of velvet and silk and ribbon also +strewn upon the bench showed that when duly stuffed (and stuffing +too was there) she was to cover them smartly. The dexterity of her +nimble fingers was remarkable, and, as she brought two thin edges +accurately together by giving them a little bite, she would glance +at the visitors out of the corners of her gray eyes with a look that +outsharpened all her other sharpness. + +“You can’t tell me the name of my trade, I’ll be bound,” she said, +after taking several of these observations. + +“You make pincushions,” said Charley. + +“What else do I make?” + +“Pen-wipers,” said Bradley Headstone. + +“Ha! ha! What else do I make? You’re a schoolmaster, but you can’t tell +me.” + +“You do something,” he returned, pointing to a corner of the little +bench, “with straw; but I don’t know what.” + +“Well done you!” cried the person of the house. “I only make +pincushions and pen-wipers to use up my waste. But my straw really does +belong to my business. Try again. What do I make with my straw?” + +“Dinner-mats.” + +“A schoolmaster, and says dinner-mats! I’ll give you a clue to my +trade, in a game of forfeits. I love my love with a B because she’s +Beautiful; I hate my love with a B because she is Brazen; I took her to +the sign of the Blue Boar, and I treated her with Bonnets; her name’s +Bouncer, and she lives in Bedlam.--Now, what do I make with my straw?” + +“Ladies’ bonnets?” + +“Fine ladies’,” said the person of the house, nodding assent. “Dolls’. +I’m a Doll’s Dressmaker.” + +“I hope it’s a good business?” + +The person of the house shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. +“No. Poorly paid. And I’m often so pressed for time! I had a doll +married, last week, and was obliged to work all night. And it’s not +good for me, on account of my back being so bad and my legs so queer.” + +They looked at the little creature with a wonder that did not diminish, +and the schoolmaster said: “I am sorry your fine ladies are so +inconsiderate.” + +“It’s the way with them,” said the person of the house, shrugging her +shoulders again. “And they take no care of their clothes, and they +never keep to the same fashions a month. I work for a doll with three +daughters. Bless you, she’s enough to ruin her husband!” + +The person of the house gave a weird little laugh here, and gave them +another look out of the corners of her eyes. She had an elfin chin that +was capable of great expression; and whenever she gave this look, she +hitched this chin up. As if her eyes and her chin worked together on +the same wires. + +“Are you always as busy as you are now?” + +“Busier. I’m slack just now. I finished a large mourning order the day +before yesterday. Doll I work for lost a canary-bird.” The person of +the house gave another little laugh, and then nodded her head several +times, as who should moralize, “Oh this world, this world!” + +“Are you alone all day?” asked Bradley Headstone. “Don’t any of the +neighboring children----?” + +“Ah, lud!” cried the person of the house, with a little scream, as +if the word had pricked her. “Don’t talk of children. I can’t bear +children. _I_ know their tricks and their manners.” She said this +with an angry little shake of her right fist close before her eyes. + +Perhaps it scarcely required the teacher-habit to perceive that the +doll’s dressmaker was inclined to be bitter on the difference between +herself and other children. But both master and pupil understood it so. + +“Always running about and screeching, always playing and fighting, +always skip-skip-skipping on the pavement and chalking it for their +games! Oh! _I_ know their tricks and their manners!” Shaking the +little fist as before. “And that’s not all. Ever so often calling +names in through a person’s keyhole, and imitating a person’s back and +legs. Oh! _I_ know their tricks and their manners. And I’ll tell +you what I’d do to punish ’em. There’s doors under the church in the +Square--black doors, leading into black vaults. Well! I’d open one of +those doors, and I’d cram ’em all in, and then I’d lock the door and +through the keyhole I’d blow in pepper.” + +“What would be the good of blowing in pepper?” asked Charley Hexam. + +“To set ’em sneezing,” said the person of the house, “and make their +eyes water. And when they were all sneezing and inflamed, I’d mock ’em +through the keyhole. Just as they, with their tricks and their manners, +mock a person through a person’s keyhole!” + +An uncommonly emphatic shake of her little fist close before her eyes +seemed to ease the mind of the person of the house; for she added +with recovered composure, “No, no, no. No children for me. Give me +grown-ups.” + + + + + LITTLE NELL + + + + + XIV + + LITTLE NELL + + +ONE of the strange things about London is the number of little shops in +out-of-the-way places, where they sell things that one would suppose +nobody would be looking for. The shops seem hidden away, and the game +is for the customers to find them. And very often the customers don’t +find them. + +In one of these little streets was an old curiosity shop, kept by +a little old man with long gray hair. The shop was full of old and +curious things which the old man had collected and heaped upon the +floor. There were suits of armor, and bits of old china and figures +carved out of wood. The room was dark, and it was hard to walk around +without stepping upon some of the curiosities. + +The one bright spot in the old man’s life was his love for his +granddaughter, little Nell Trent. For her he had been saving everything +he could, but of late he had been losing more than he had gained. It +would have been a rather dull life for little Nell if it had not been +for Kit Nubbles. + +Kit was a shock-headed, awkward boy who lived with his mother not far +away, and he came every day to help Nell’s grandfather in the shop. He +had an uncommonly big mouth, very red cheeks, and an old hat without +any brim. Kit liked to “show off,” especially when Nell was around. He +had a remarkable way of standing sideways as he spoke and thrusting his +head over his shoulders. When he found that it would make Nell laugh, +he did it again and again. + +[Illustration: + + _Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ + +LITTLE NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER AT MRS. JARLEY’S] + +And there was a dwarf named Quilp who was as ugly as he looked, and +delighted in nothing so much as in making everybody afraid of him. He +lived down by the river. He had a business of his own. He bought old +copper and rusty anchors from ships that had been broken up. But his +real occupation was in making everybody who came under him miserable. +At last Nell and her grandfather, in order to escape from Quilp, made +up their minds to leave London, and go off into the country where they +might find peace. They didn’t care where they went so that Quilp could +not follow them. This would have been a very good plan if they had had +money for their journeys, but as they hadn’t they had to depend on the +kindness of the people on the road. + +In their wanderings Nell and her grandfather fell in with some queer +people. While they were resting near a village church, they came upon +two men who were travelling over the country giving Punch and Judy +shows. One of them, a merry-faced man with twinkling eyes and a red +nose, was named Short. His companion, Codlin, was a more courteous and +gloomy person. Mr. Codlin took the figure of Judy out of the box and +said: + +“Look here, here’s all this Judy’s clothes falling to pieces again. You +haven’t got a needle and thread, I suppose?” + +Nell had a needle and thread and soon was at work on Judy’s dress, +and soon they were friends, and Codlin and Short took them to the +wayside inn where they met other travellers who were going to fairs. +The chapter which tells of the talk at the Jolly Sandboys is one which +the lover of Dickens likes to read more than once. + + + THE JOLLY SANDBOYS + + +THE Jolly Sandboys was a small roadside inn with a sign representing +three Sandboys increasing their jollity with as many jugs of ale and +bags of gold, creaking and swinging on its post on the opposite side +of the road. As the travellers had observed that day, there were many +indications of their drawing nearer and nearer to the race town, such +as gypsy camps, carts laden with gambling booths, itinerant showmen of +all kinds, and beggars and trampers of every degree. + +Mr. Codlin entered the inn, where a mighty fire was blazing on the +hearth and roaring up the wide chimney with a cheerful sound. There +was a large iron kettle bubbling and simmering in the heat. And when +the landlord lifted the lid, there was a savory smell. The glow of the +fire was upon the landlord’s bald head and upon his twinkling eyes. Mr. +Codlin drew his sleeve across his lips and said in a murmuring voice, +“What is it?” + +“It’s a stew of tripe,” said the landlord, “and cowheel, and bacon,” +smacking his lips, “and steak, and peas, cauliflowers, new potatoes, +and sparrow-grass, all working together in one delicious gravy.” + +Very soon all the hungry wayfarers were sitting down to supper while +the rain fell in torrents on the roof. + + * * * * * + +Supper was not yet over, when there arrived at the Jolly Sandboys +two more travellers bound for the same haven as the rest, who had +been walking in the rain for some hours, and came in shining and +heavy with water. One of these was the proprieter of a giant, and a +little lady without legs or arms, who had jogged forward in a van; +the other, a silent gentleman who earned his living by showing tricks +upon the cards, and who had rather deranged the natural expression of +his countenance by putting small leaden lozenges into his eyes and +bringing them out at his mouth, which was one of his professional +accomplishments. The name of the first of these newcomers was Vuffin; +the other, probably as a pleasant satire upon his ugliness, was called +Sweet William. To render them as comfortable as he could, the landlord +bestirred himself nimbly, and in a very short time both gentlemen were +perfectly at their ease. + +“How’s the Giant?” said Short, when they all sat smoking round the fire. + +“Rather weak upon his legs,” returned Mr. Vuffin. “I begin to be afraid +he’s going at the knees.” + +“That’s a bad lookout,” said Short. + +“Ay! Bad indeed,” replied Mr. Vuffin, contemplating the fire with a +sigh. “Once get a giant shaky on his legs, and the public care no more +about him than they do for a dead cabbage-stalk.” + +“What becomes of the old giants?” said Short, turning to him again +after a little reflection. + +“They’re usually kept in caravans to wait upon the dwarfs,” said Mr. +Vuffin. + +“The maintaining of ’em must come expensive, when they can’t be shown, +eh?” remarked Short, eyeing him doubtfully. + +“It’s better that, than letting ’em go upon the parish or about the +streets,” said Mr. Vuffin. “Once make a giant common and giants will +never draw again. Look at wooden legs. If there was only one man with a +wooden leg what a property _he’d_ be!” + +“So he would!” observed the landlord and Short both together. “That’s +very true.” + +“Instead of which,” pursued Mr. Vuffin, “if you was to advertise +Shakspeare played entirely by wooden legs, it’s my belief you wouldn’t +draw a sixpence.” + +“I don’t suppose you would,” said Short. And the landlord said so too. + +“This shows, you see,” said Mr. Vuffin, waving his pipe with an +argumentative air, “this shows the policy of keeping the used-up giants +still in the carawans, where they get food and lodging for nothing, +all their lives, and in general very glad they are to stop there. +There was one giant--a black ’un--as left his carawan some years ago +and took to carrying coach-bills about London, making himself as cheap +as crossing-sweepers. He died. I make no insinuation against anybody +in particular,” said Mr. Vuffin, looking solemnly round, “but he was +ruining the trade;--and he died.” + +The landlord drew his breath hard, and looked at the owner of the dogs, +who nodded and said gruffly that _he_ remembered. + +“I know you do, Jerry,” said Mr. Vuffin with profound meaning. “I +know you remember it, Jerry, and the universal opinion was, that it +served him right. Why, I remember the time when old Maunders as had +three-and-twenty wans--I remember the time when old Maunders had in +his cottage in Spa fields in the winter time when the season was over, +eight male and female dwarfs setting down to dinner every day, who was +waited on by eight old giants in green coats, red smalls, blue cotton +stockings, and high-lows: and there was one dwarf as had grown elderly +and wicious who whenever his giant wasn’t quick enough to please him, +used to stick pins in his legs, not being able to reach up any higher. +I know that’s a fact, for Maunders told it me himself.” + +“What about the dwarfs, when _they_ get old?” inquired the +landlord. + +“The older a dwarf is, the better worth he is,” returned Mr. Vuffin; “a +gray-headed dwarf, well wrinkled, is beyond all suspicion. But a giant +weak in the legs and not standing upright--keep him in the carawan, but +never show him, never show him, for any persuasion that can be offered.” + +While Mr. Vuffin and his two friends smoked their pipes and beguiled +the time with such conversation as this, the silent gentleman sat in +a warm corner, swallowing, or seeming to swallow, a sixpennyworth +of halfpence for practice, balancing a feather upon his nose, and +rehearsing other feats of dexterity of that kind, without paying any +regard whatever to the company, who in their turn left him utterly +unnoticed. At length the weary child prevailed upon her grandfather to +retire, and they withdrew, leaving the company yet seated round the +fire, and the dogs fast asleep at a humble distance. + + + MRS. JARLEY AND HER WAX-WORKS + + +OF all the adventures of little Nell, the meeting with Mrs. Jarley was +the most delightful. It happened just at the right time. Nell and her +grandfather were trudging along the road. It was late in the afternoon +and they didn’t know where they were to find a resting-place. They came +to a common and saw what in England is called a caravan. It is not such +a caravan as one would find in Bagdad, made up of camels. It was a +little house on wheels. It had white curtains on the windows, and the +window-shutters were of green, with bright red trimmings. There was a +door with brass knockers and there were two fat horses to draw it. They +all belonged to a stout, good-natured lady named Mrs. Jarley, who was +at the moment arranging her tea things for a comfortable afternoon tea. + +Mrs. Jarley looked up and saw little Nell. “Are you hungry, child?” + +“Not very, but we are tired, and it’s a long way.” + +“Well, hungry or not,” said Mrs. Jarley, “you had better have some tea, +and I suppose the old gentleman is agreeable to that.” + +So they sat down on the grass and had tea and bread and butter and +generous slices of ham. + +Then Mrs. Jarley invited Nell and her grandfather to be her guests +in the little house on wheels. There wasn’t very much room, but Mrs. +Jarley was so hospitable that they at once accepted her invitation +and made themselves at home. Half of the little house had berths for +sleeping, very much as if it were a ship. The other half was a kitchen, +with a little stove in it. It also had several boxes and kettles and +saucepans. + +When they got started after breakfast in the morning, little Nell’s +spirits rose and she forgot her troubles. + +“Well,” said Mrs. Jarley, “how do you like this way of travelling?” + +Nell said she liked it very much. + +“That’s the happiness of you young people,” said Mrs. Jarley. “You +don’t know what it is to be low in your feelings. You always have your +appetites too--and what a comfort it is.” + +Then Mrs. Jarley brought out a large roll of canvas about a yard wide, +and spread it on the floor. + +“There, child,” she said, “read that.” + +Nell walked down it, and read aloud, in enormous black letters, the +inscription, “JARLEY’S WAX-WORK.” + +“Read it again,” said the lady, complacently. + +“Jarley’s Wax-Work,” repeated Nell. + +“That’s me,” said the lady. “I am Mrs. Jarley.” + +Giving the child an encouraging look, intended to reassure her and +let her know that, although she stood in the presence of the original +Jarley, she must not allow herself to be utterly overwhelmed and borne +down, the lady of the caravan unfolded another scroll, whereon was the +inscription, “One hundred figures the full size of life,” and then +another scroll, on which was written, “The only stupendous collection +of real wax-work in the world,” and then several smaller scrolls with +such inscriptions as, “Now exhibiting within”--“The genuine and only +Jarley”--“Jarley’s unrivalled collection”--“Jarley is the delight of +the Nobility and Gentry”--“The Royal Family are the patrons of Jarley.” +When she had exhibited these leviathans of public announcement to the +astonished child, she brought forth specimens of the lesser fry in the +shape of handbills, some of which were couched in the form of parodies +on popular melodies; as, “Believe me if all Jarley’s wax-work so +rare”--“I saw thy show in youthful prime”--“Over the water to Jarley”; +while, to consult all tastes, others were composed with a view to the +lighter and more facetious spirits, as a parody on the favorite air of +“If I had a donkey,” beginning: + + If I know’d a donkey wot wouldn’t go + To see Mrs. JARLEY’S wax-work show, + Do you think I’d acknowledge him? + Oh no no! + Then run to Jarley’s---- + +--besides several compositions in prose, purporting to be dialogues +between the Emperor of China and an oyster, or the Archbishop of +Canterbury and a Dissenter on the subject of church-rates, but all +having the same moral, namely, that the reader must make haste to +Jarley’s, and that children and servants were admitted at half-price. +When she had brought all these testimonials of her important position +in society to bear upon her young companion, Mrs. Jarley rolled them up +and, having put them carefully away, sat down again, and looked at the +child in triumph. + +“Never go into the company of a filthy Punch any more,” said Mrs. +Jarley, “after this.” + +“I never saw any wax-work, ma’am,” said Nell. “Is it funnier than +Punch?” + +“Funnier!” said Mrs. Jarley in a shrill voice. “It is not funny at all.” + +“Oh!” said Nell, with all possible humility. + +“It isn’t funny at all,” repeated Mrs. Jarley. “It’s calm and--what’s +that word again--critical?--no--classical, that’s it--it’s calm +and classical. No low beatings and knockings about, no jokings and +squeakings like your precious Punches, but always the same, with a +constantly unchanging air of coldness and gentility; and so like life, +that if wax-work only spoke and walked about, you’d hardly know the +difference. I won’t go so far as to say, that, as it is, I’ve seen +wax-work quite like life, but I’ve certainly seen some life that was +exactly like wax-work.” + +“Is it here, ma’am?” asked Nell, whose curiosity was awakened by this +description. + +“Is what here, child?” + +“The wax-work, ma’am.” + +“Why, bless you, child, what are you thinking of? How could such a +collection be here, where you see everything except the inside of one +little cupboard and a few boxes? It’s gone on in the other wans to the +assembly-rooms, and there it’ll be exhibited the day after to-morrow. +You are going to the same town, and you’ll see it, I dare say. It’s +natural to expect that you’ll see it, and I’ve no doubt you will. I +suppose you couldn’t stop away if you was to try ever so much.” + +“I shall not be in the town, I think, ma’am,” said the child. + +“Not there!” cried Mrs. Jarley. “Then where will you be?” + +“I--I--don’t quite know. I am not certain.” + +“You don’t mean to say that you’re travelling about the country without +knowing where you’re going to?” said the lady of the caravan. “What +curious people you are! What line are you in? You looked to me at the +races, child, as if you were quite out of your element, and had got +there by accident.” + +“We were there quite by accident,” returned Nell, confused by this +abrupt questioning. “We are poor people, ma’am, and are only wandering +about. We have nothing to do;--I wish we had.” + +“You amaze me more and more,” said Mrs. Jarley, after remaining for +some time as mute as one of her own figures. “Why, what do you call +yourselves? Not beggars?” + +“Indeed, ma’am, I don’t know what else we are,” returned the child. + +“Lord bless me,” said the lady of the caravan. “I never heard of such a +thing. Who’d have thought it!” + +She remained so long silent after this exclamation, that Nell feared +she felt her having been induced to bestow her protection and +conversation upon one so poor, to be an outrage upon her dignity +that nothing could repair. This persuasion was rather confirmed than +otherwise by the tone in which she at length broke silence, and said: + +“And yet you can read. And write too, I shouldn’t wonder?” + +“Yes, ma’am,” said the child, fearful of giving new offense by the +confession. + +“Well, and what a thing that is,” returned Mrs. Jarley. “_I_ +can’t.” + +Mrs. Jarley’s wax-works were carried in other wagons to the town where +they were to be exhibited, and little Nell was engaged to point to each +wax figure, and explain to the audience what it represented. Dozens +of figures of noted persons, all with wax faces, and all dressed in +brilliant clothes, stood stiffly in a row. + +Dickens describes the scene where Mrs. Jarley instructs Nell as to her +duties: + + * * * * * + +When the festoons were all put up as tastily as they might be, the +stupendous collection was uncovered, and there 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, divers +sprightly effigies of 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 +intensely nowhere, and staring with extraordinary earnestness at +nothing. + +When Nell had exhausted her first raptures at this glorious sight, +Mrs. Jarley ordered the room to be cleared of all but herself and the +child, and, sitting herself down in an armchair in the centre, formally +invested her with a willow wand, long used by herself for pointing out +the characters, and was at great pains to instruct her in her duty. + +“That,” said Mrs. Jarley in her exhibition tone, as Nell touched a +figure at the beginning of the platform, “is an unfortunate Maid of +Honor in the Time of Queen Elizabeth, who died from pricking her finger +in consequence of working upon a Sunday. Observe the blood which is +trickling from her finger; also the gold-eyed needle of the period, +with which she is at work.” + +All this Nell repeated twice or thrice, pointing to the finger and the +needle at the right times, and then passed on to the next. + +“That, ladies and gentlemen,” said Mrs. Jarley, “is Jasper Packlemerton +of atrocious memory, who courted and married fourteen wives, and +destroyed them all by tickling the soles of their feet when they were +sleeping in the consciousness of innocence and virtue. On being brought +to the scaffold and asked if he was sorry for what he had done, he +replied yes, he was sorry for having let ’em off so easy, and hoped all +Christian husbands would pardon him the offense. Let this be a warning +to all young ladies to be particular in the character of the gentlemen +of their choice. Observe that his fingers are curled as if in the +act of tickling, and that his face is represented with a wink, as he +appeared when committing his barbarous murders.” + +When Nell knew all about Mr. Packlemerton, and could say it without +faltering, Mrs. Jarley passed on to the fat man, and then to the thin +man, the tall man, the short man, the old lady who died of dancing at +a hundred and thirty-two, the wild boy of the woods, the woman who +poisoned fourteen families with pickled walnuts, and other historical +characters and interesting but misguided individuals. And so well did +Nell profit by her instructions, and so apt was she to remember them, +that by the time they had been shut up together for a couple of hours, +she was in full possession of the history of the whole establishment, +and perfectly competent to the enlightenment of visitors. + +Mrs. Jarley was not slow to express her admiration at this happy +result, and carried her young friend and pupil to inspect the +remaining arrangements within doors, by virtue of which the passage +had been already converted into a grove of green baize hung with the +inscriptions she had already seen (Mr. Slum’s productions), and +a highly ornamented table placed at the upper end for Mrs. Jarley +herself, at which she was to preside and take the money, in company +with his Majesty King George the Third, Mr. Grimaldi as clown, Mary +Queen of Scots, an anonymous gentleman of the Quaker persuasion, and +Mr. Pitt holding in his hand a correct model of the bill for the +imposition of the window duty. The preparations without doors had not +been neglected either; for a nun of great personal attractions was +telling her beads on the little portico over the door; and a brigand +with the blackest possible head of hair, and the clearest possible +complexion, was at that moment going round the town in a cart, +consulting the miniature of a lady. + +It now only remained that the compositions in praise of the wax-works +should be judiciously distributed; that the pathetic effusions should +find their way to all private houses and tradespeople; and that the +parody commencing “If I know’d a donkey,” should be confined to the +taverns, and circulated only among the lawyers’ clerks and choice +spirits of the place. When this had been done, and Mrs. Jarley had +waited upon the boarding-schools in person, with a hand-bill composed +expressly for them, in which it was distinctly proved that wax-work +refined the mind, cultivated the taste, and enlarged the sphere of the +human understanding, that lady sat down to dinner. + + + + + THE KENWIGSES + + + + + XV + + THE KENWIGSES + + +I HAVE always wondered whether I should have liked the Kenwigses if I +had met them in New York or Minneapolis. Probably I should not. But +I like to read about them, and they somehow seem to be amusing and +likeable. That is because they made a part of London once upon a time. +They lived in a tumble-down house, in a tumble-down street. All the +houses had seen better days and seemed to be nodding at each other as +much as to say: “Times are not what they used to be when we were young.” + +But for all their dreary surroundings, the Kenwigses, big and little, +were very cheery people, and had a remarkably good time. The great +thing about them was that they admired each other so much, and told +each other so. That doesn’t seem to be very much. Anybody could do +that, but most people don’t. I have known very nice people to live +together for years without ever telling one another how nice they +are. In that way the niceness often disappears. It wasn’t so with the +Kenwigses. They made the most of each other and got a great deal of +satisfaction out of a very little. They were all proud of the family, +and didn’t care who knew it. + +They lived on the first floor of the house, which was never kept in a +tidy condition. Mrs. Kenwigs put all her time in keeping the little +girls tidy, and I am not sure that any one can blame her for the fact +that the entry was always in disorder. Mr. Kenwigs was very proud of +his wife, and Mrs. Kenwigs was proud of her uncle, Mr. Lillyvick, +whose business it was to collect water-rents in that neighborhood. He +would go about with his bills and knock loudly at the doors of all the +people who hadn’t paid their water-rates, and threaten them in a most +terrifying manner. So every one was afraid of Mr. Lillyvick except Mrs. +Kenwigs, who was proud of him. For she was his niece. + +[Illustration: + + _Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ + +MRS. KENWIGS AND THE FOUR LITTLE KENWIGSES] + +We are introduced to the Kenwigs children at a party, which Mrs. +Kenwigs made in order to show off her uncle to the admiring neighbors. +The reason why the children sat up for the party was because it was +held in the sitting-room, which was also the place where they slept. +It was a very great occasion, and the children were on their good +behavior. Uncle Lillyvick was seated in a large armchair by the +fireside, and the four little Kenwigses sat side by side on a small +bench facing the fire, with their nice little pig-tails tied up with +blue ribbons. + +“They are so beautiful,” said Mrs. Kenwigs, sobbing. It was very easy +for Mrs. Kenwigs to sob. + +“Oh dear,” said all the ladies, “but don’t give way, don’t!” + +“I can’t help it,” sobbed Mrs. Kenwigs. “Oh, they are too beautiful to +live, much too beautiful!” + +On hearing this all the four little girls began to cry, too, and hid +their heads in their mother’s lap. This made a great excitement. +At last the little Kenwigses were distributed among the company, so +that their mother might not be overcome by the sight of their combined +beauty. Then the conversation was taken up again by the older people. +When it threatened to stop, Mrs. Kenwigs turned to Morleena, the oldest +of the little girls. + +“Morleena Kenwigs, kiss your dear uncle.” Morleena obeyed, and then the +three other little girls had to do the same thing, and then they had +to kiss all the other members of the company. Then Morleena, who had +been at the dancing-school, had to dance and be admired again by her +mother. What with kissing, and dancing, and being wept over, the little +Kenwigses had a very busy evening, and were the life of the party. + + + + + THE CHILD’S STORY + + + + + XVI + + THE CHILD’S STORY + + +ONCE upon a time, a good many years ago, there was a traveller, and he +set out upon a journey. It was a magic journey, and was to seem very +long when he began it, and very short when he got half-way through. + +He travelled along a rather dark path for some little time without +meeting anything, until at last he came to a beautiful child. So he +said to the child: “What do you do here?” And the child said: “I am +always at play. Come and play with me!” + +So he played with that child the whole day long, and they were very +merry. The sky was so blue, the sun was so bright, the water was so +sparkling, the leaves were so green, the flowers were so lovely, and +they heard such singing birds, and saw so many butterflies, that +everything was beautiful. This was in fine weather. When it rained, +they loved to watch the falling drops, and to smell the fresh scents. +When it blew, it was delightful to listen to the wind, and fancy +what it said, as it came rushing from its home--where was that, they +wondered!--whistling and howling, driving the clouds before it, bending +the trees, rumbling in the chimneys, shaking the house, and making the +sea roar in fury. But when it snowed, that was best of all; for they +liked nothing so well as to look up at the white flakes falling fast +and thick, like down from the breasts of millions of white birds; and +to see how smooth and deep the drift was; and to listen to the hush +upon the paths and roads. + +They had plenty of the finest toys in the world, and the most +astonishing picture-books: all about scimitars and slippers and +turbans, and dwarfs and giants and genii and fairies, and blue-beards +and bean-stalks and riches and caverns, and forests and Valentines and +Orsons: and all new and all true. + +But one day, of a sudden, the traveller lost the child. He called to +him over and over again, but got no answer. So he went upon his road, +and went on for a little while without meeting anything, until at last +he came to a handsome boy. So he said to the boy, “What do you do +here?” And the boy said: “I am always learning. Come and learn with me.” + +So he learned with that boy about Jupiter and Juno, and the Greeks +and the Romans, and I don’t know what, and learned more than I could +tell--or he either, for he soon forgot a deal of it. But they were not +always learning; they had the merriest games that ever were played. +They rowed upon the river in summer, and skated on the ice in winter; +they were active afoot, and active on horseback; at cricket, and all +games at ball; at prisoners’ base, hare and hounds, follow my leader, +and more sports than I can think of; nobody could beat them. They had +holidays, too, and Twelfth cakes, and parties where they danced till +midnight, and real theatres where they saw palaces of real gold and +silver rise out of the real earth, and saw all the wonders of the +world at once. As to friends, they had such dear friends, and so many +of them, that I want the time to reckon them up. They were all young, +like the handsome boy, and were never to be strange to one another all +their lives through. + +Still, one day, in the midst of all these pleasures, the traveller lost +the boy as he had lost the child, and, after calling to him in vain, +went on upon his journey. So he went on for a little while without +seeing anything, until at last he came to a young man. So he said to +the young man: “What do you do here?” And the young man said: “I am +always in love. Come and love with me?” + +So he went away with that young man, and presently they came to one of +the prettiest girls that ever was seen--just like Fanny in the corner +there--and she had eyes like Fanny, and hair like Fanny, and dimples +like Fanny’s, and she laughed and colored just as Fanny does while I +am talking about her. So the young man fell in love directly--just as +Somebody I won’t mention, the first time he came here, did with Fanny. +Well! he was teased sometimes--just as Somebody used to be by Fanny; +and they quarrelled sometimes--just as Somebody and Fanny used to +quarrel; and they made it up, and sat in the dark, and wrote letters +every day, and never were happy asunder, and were always looking out +for one another and pretending not to, and were engaged at Christmas +time, and sat close to one another by the fire, and were going to be +married very soon--all exactly like Somebody I won’t mention, and +Fanny! + +But the traveller lost them one day, as he had lost the rest of his +friends, and, after calling to them to come back, which they never did, +went on upon his journey. So he went on for a little while without +seeing anything, until at last he came to a middle-aged gentleman. So +he said to the gentleman, “What are you doing here?” And his answer +was: “I am always busy. Come and be busy with me!” + +So he began to be very busy with that gentleman, and they went on +through the wood together. The whole journey was through a wood, only +it had been open and green at first, like a wood in spring; and now +began to be thick and dark, like a wood in summer; some of the little +trees that had come out earliest were even turning brown. The gentleman +was not alone, but had a lady of about the same age with him, who was +his wife; and they had children, who were with them too. So they all +went on together through the wood, cutting down the trees, and making a +path through the branches and the fallen leaves, and carrying burdens, +and working hard. + +Sometimes, they came to a long green avenue that opened into deeper +woods. Then they would hear a very little distant voice crying: +“Father, father, I am another child! Stop for me!” And presently they +would see a very little figure, growing larger as it came along, +running to join them. When it came up, they all crowded round it, and +kissed and welcomed it; and then they all went on together. + +Sometimes, they came to several avenues at once, and then they all +stood still, and one of the children said: “Father, I am going to +sea,” and another said, “Father, I am going to India,” and another, +“Father, I am going to seek my fortune where I can,” and another, +“Father, I am going to Heaven!” So, with many tears at parting, they +went, solitary, down those avenues, each child upon its way; and the +child who went to Heaven rose into the golden air and vanished. + +Whenever these partings happened, the traveller looked at the +gentleman, and saw him glance up at the sky above the trees, where the +day was beginning to decline, and the sunset to come on. He saw, too, +that his hair was turning gray. But they never could rest long, for +they had their journey to perform, and it was necessary for them to be +always busy. + +At last, there had been so many partings that there were no children +left, and only the traveller, the gentleman, and the lady, went upon +their way in company. And now the wood was yellow; and now brown; and +the leaves, even of the forest trees, began to fall. + +So they came to an avenue that was darker than the rest, and were +pressing forward on their journey without looking down it when the lady +stopped. + +“My husband,” said the lady. “I am called.” + +They listened, and they heard a voice a long way down the avenue say: +“Mother, mother!” + +It was the voice of the first child who had said: “I am going to +Heaven!” and the father said, “I pray not yet. The sunset is very near. +I pray not yet!” + +But the voice cried: “Mother, mother!” without minding him, though his +hair was now quite white, and tears were on his face. + +Then the mother, who was already drawn into the shade of the dark +avenue and moving away with her arms still round his neck, kissed him, +and said: “My dearest, I am summoned, and I go!” And she was gone. And +the traveller and he were left alone together. + +And they went on and on together, until they came to very near the end +of the wood: so near, that they could see the sunset shining red before +them through the trees. + +Yet, once more, while he broke his way among the branches, the +traveller lost his friend. He called and called, but there was no +reply, and when he passed out of the wood and saw the peaceful sun +going down upon a wide purple prospect, he came to an old man sitting +on a fallen tree. So he said to the old man: “What do you do here?” And +the old man said with a calm smile: “I am always remembering. Come and +remember with me!” + +So the traveller sat down by the side of that old man, face to face +with the serene sunset; and all his friends came softly back and +stood around him. The beautiful child, the handsome boy, the young +man in love, the father, mother, and children; every one of them was +there, and he had lost nothing. So he loved them all, and was kind and +forbearing with them all, and was always pleased to watch them all, +and they all honored and loved him. And I think the traveller must be +yourself, dear grandfather, because this is what you do to us, and what +we do to you. + + + + + THE BOY AT TODGERS’S + + + + + XVII + + THE BOY AT TODGERS’S + + +WHEN Mr. Pecksniff and his two daughters came to London, they found +their way to Mrs. Todgers’s Boarding House. It was early in the morning +and they rang two or three times without making any impression on +anything but a dog over the way. At last a chain and some bolts were +withdrawn, and a small boy with a large red head, and no nose to speak +of, and a pair of huge boots under his arm, appeared. The boy rubbed +his nose with the back of his shoe brush and said nothing. + +“Still abed, my man?” asked Mr. Pecksniff. + +“Still abed!” replied the boy, “I wish they wos still abed. They’re +very noisy abed, all calling for their boots at once. I thought you +was the Paper and wondered why you didn’t shove yourself through the +grating as usual. What do you want?” + +The boy was called Bailey, and though he was a little cross when the +Pecksniffs came because it was so early in the morning, he was usually +the soul of good humor. Indeed, good humor was about the only thing he +had, for no one had taken the trouble to teach him good manners. + +Bailey would roll up his sleeves to the shoulders and find his way all +over the house, and wherever he went he made things lively. He wore an +apron of coarse green baize. He would answer the door and then make a +bolt for the alley, and in a moment be playing leap-frog, till Mrs. +Todgers followed him and pulled him into the house by the hair of his +head. + +When the two Miss Pecksniffs were sitting primly on the sofa, Bailey +would greet them with such compliments as: “There you are agin! Ain’t +it nice!” This made them feel very much at home. + +“I say,” he whispered, stopping in one of his journeys to and fro, +“young ladies, there’s soup to-morrow. She’s making it now. Ain’t she +putting in the water? Oh! not at all neither!” + +The next time he passed by he called out: + +“I say--there’s fowls to-morrow. Not skinny ones. Oh, no!” + +Presently he called through the keyhole: + +“There’s a fish to-morrow--just come. Don’t eat none of him!” And, with +this warning, he vanished again. + + * * * * * + +By-and-by, he returned to lay the cloth for supper, it having been +arranged between Mrs. Todgers and the young ladies that they should +partake of an exclusive veal-cutlet together in the privacy of that +apartment. He entertained them on this occasion by thrusting the +lighted candle into his mouth, and exhibiting his face in a state of +transparency; after the performance of which feat he went on with his +professional duties; brightening every knife as he laid it on the +table, by breathing on the blade and afterward polishing the same on +the apron already mentioned. When he had completed his preparations, he +grinned at the sisters, and expressed his belief that the approaching +collation would be of “rather a spicy sort.” + +“Will it be long before it’s ready, Bailey?” asked Mercy. + +“No,” said Bailey, “it _is_ cooked. When I come up, she was +dodging among the tender pieces with a fork, and eating of ’em.” + +But he had scarcely achieved the utterance of these words, when he +received a manual compliment on the head, which sent him staggering +against the wall; and Mrs. Todgers, dish in hand, stood indignantly +before him. + +“Oh, you little villain!” said that lady. “Oh, you bad, false boy!” + +“No worse than yerself,” retorted Bailey, guarding his head, in a +principle invented by Mr. Thomas Cribb. “Ah! Come now! Do that agin, +will yer!” + +“He’s the most dreadful child,” said Mrs. Todgers, setting down the +dish, “I ever had to deal with. The gentlemen spoil him to that extent, +and teach him such things, that I’m afraid nothing but hanging will +ever do him any good.” + +“Won’t it?” cried Bailey. “Oh! Yes! Wot do you go a lowerin’ the +table-beer for then, and destroying my constitooshun?” + +“Go down-stairs, you vicious boy,” said Mrs. Todgers, holding the door +open. “Do you hear me? Go along!” + +After two or three dexterous feints, he went, and was seen no more that +night, save once, when he brought up some tumblers and hot water, and +much disturbed the two Miss Pecksniffs by squinting hideously behind +the back of the unconscious Mrs. Todgers. Having done this justice +to his wounded feelings, he returned underground; whence, in company +with a swarm of black beetles and a kitchen candle, he employed his +faculties in cleaning boots and brushing clothes until the night was +far advanced. + + * * * * * + +But it was at the Sunday dinner that Bailey shone in glory. When the +hour drew near, he appeared in a complete suit of cast-off clothes +several times too large for him, and a clean shirt of extraordinary +size. This caused the boarders to call him “Collars.” Then Bailey would +announce joyfully: “The wittles is up.” + +When all were seated, Bailey would stand behind the chair winking and +nodding with the greatest good humor. His idea of waiting on the table +was to stand with his hands in his pockets and his feet wide apart. +This was on the whole the best thing to do, for when a dish passed +through his hands it was quite likely to drop on the floor. + +Mrs. Todgers was always scolding Bailey, who deserved it all, and +Bailey was always threatening to leave and be a soldier boy. + +“There’s something gamey in that, ain’t there? I’d sooner be hit with +a cannon-ball than a rolling-pin, and she’s always a catching up +something of that sort and throwing it at me, when the gentlemen’s +appetites is good. But I ain’t going to have every rise in prices +wisited on me.” + +Mrs. Todgers got rid of Bailey after a while, but the boarders never +got the same amount of amusement from his successor. The house always +seemed a little dull after he left. + + + + + THE DOMBEY CHILDREN + + + + + XVIII + + THE DOMBEY CHILDREN + + +IN London there is a portion of the huge town that is called the City. +People do not live in the City--they do business there. That is where +the big banks are and the offices of the great merchants whose ships go +round the world. In the City the Lord Mayor of London rules, as he did +in the days when the gay apprentice, Dick Whittington, heard the bells +prophesying what he should be. + +On one of the streets of the City was a building that had an ancient +sign, Dombey and Son. It had been there many years, since the time when +the original Dombey had taken his son into partnership. The Dombeys +owned a great many ships that sailed to the West Indies and the East +Indies, and wherever they could make money on their voyages. Up to this +time, each Dombey had been a good business man and had taught his son +how to save and how to venture wisely. So that the Dombeys had become +richer and richer. All had gone well with them; but there had come a +time when there was a Dombey who hadn’t any son. Mr. and Mrs. Dombey +had a daughter named Florence, who was a very nice little girl. Her +mother loved her dearly, but her father thought she didn’t amount to +much, because he couldn’t put on the sign on his office the words, +“Dombey and Daughter.” That wouldn’t have sounded right in the days of +good Queen Victoria. He wanted the name to be always Dombey and Son. + +[Illustration: + + _Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ + +PAUL DOMBEY AND FLORENCE ON THE BEACH AT BRIGHTON] + +When at last a boy was born, Mr. Dombey was delighted. He dreamed of a +time when little Paul would grow up to be a man just like himself, and +would take his place in the office and make everybody afraid of him. He +should be the Prince while his father was King in the Kingdom of Dombey +and Son. All this was very pleasant to think about, and it seemed as +if the business in the City would go on forever. But while Mr. Dombey +dreamed of what his son would do when he was grown up, he didn’t do +anything to help him grow. Paul was a poor little rich boy, who lived +in a big, uncomfortable house, and was sent to school with other poor +little rich boys. I’m sorry for little Paul, but I don’t care to read +about him very much. + +It’s a relief to meet the people who didn’t have any money, for they +seem so much more cheerful than any of the Dombeys. There was Toodles, +the husband of little Paul’s nurse. Mr. Dombey wanted to find out all +about him. + +“Mr. What’s-your-name, you have a son, I believe.” + +“Four on ’em, sir. Four hims and a her. All alive.” + +“Why, it’s as much as you can afford to keep them!” said Mr. Dombey. + +“I couldn’t afford but one thing in the world less, sir.” + +“What is that?” + +“To lose ’em, sir.” + +“Can you read?” asked Mr. Dombey. + +“Why, not partik’ler, sir.” + +“Write?” + +“With chalk, sir?” + +“With anything.” + +“I could make shift to chalk a bit, I think, if I were put to it,” said +Toodles after some reflection. + +“And yet,” said Mr. Dombey, “you are two or three-and-thirty, I +suppose.” + +“Thereabouts, I suppose, sir,” answered Toodles after more reflection. + +“Then why don’t you learn?” asked Mr. Dombey. + +“So I’m agoing to, sir. One of my little boys is agoing to learn me +when he’s old enough, and been to school himself.” + +“Well!” said Mr. Dombey. It was all that he could say. It all seemed +so foolish. It would have surprised Mr. Dombey if he had been told +that Mr. Toodles’s children were more fortunate than his own, and that +they were having a great deal better time. But that was what Dickens +thought, and I agree with him. + +Little Paul was so carefully looked after that he had no adventures. +But his sister Florence had better luck. One of her adventures was +quite exciting, for she was lost in one of the worst parts of London, +and was rescued by a young gentleman who felt the romance of it. At the +time Paul was a baby, and Mrs. Toodles had a longing to see her own +children. So without asking permission she took Paul and Florence with +her. They found their way to the poor part of town where her family +lived, and all the little Toodleses greeted their mother with shouts, +and there was a great celebration. On going home they fell in with a +noisy and pushing crowd. Mrs. Toodles of course looked after little +Paul, who was very important, but she forgot Florence for a moment. +When she looked for her she wasn’t there. What followed let Dickens +tell. + + + HOW FLORENCE DOMBEY WAS LOST IN LONDON + + +AS Susan Nipper and the two children were in the crowd, there came a +wild cry of “Mad bull!” With a wild confusion before her, of people +running up and down, and shouting, and wheels running over them, and +boys fighting, and mad bulls coming up, and the nurse in the midst of +all these dangers being torn to pieces, Florence screamed and ran. +She ran till she was exhausted, urging Susan to do the same; and +then, stopping and wringing her hands as she remembered they had left +the other nurse behind, found, with a sensation of terror not to be +described, that she was quite alone. + +“Susan! Susan!” cried Florence, clapping her hands in the very ecstasy +of her alarm. “Oh, where are they! where are they!” + +“Where are they?” said an old woman, coming hobbling across as fast as +she could from the opposite side of the way. “Why did you run away from +’em?” + +“I was frightened,” answered Florence. “I didn’t know what I did. I +thought they were with me. Where are they?” + +The old woman took her by the wrist, and said: “I’ll show you.” + +She was a very ugly old woman, with red rims round her eyes, and a +mouth that mumbled and chattered of itself when she was not speaking. +She was miserably dressed, and carried some skins over her arm. She +seemed to have followed Florence some little way at all events, for +she had lost her breath; and this made her uglier still, as she stood +trying to regain it: working her shrivelled, yellow face and throat +into all sorts of contortions. + +Florence was afraid of her, and looked, hesitating, up the street, of +which she had almost reached the bottom. It was a solitary place--more +a back road than a street--and there was no one in it but herself and +the old woman. + +“You needn’t be frightened now,” said the old woman, still holding her +tight. “Come along with me.” + +“I--I don’t know you. What’s your name?” asked Florence. + +“Mrs. Brown,” said the old woman. “Good Mrs. Brown.” + +“Are they near here?” asked Florence, beginning to be led away. + +“Susan an’t far off,” said Good Mrs. Brown; “and the others are close +to her.” + +“Is anybody hurt?” cried Florence. + +“Not a bit of it,” said Good Mrs. Brown. + +The child shed tears of delight on hearing this, and accompanied the +old woman willingly; though she could not help glancing at her face as +they went along--particularly at that industrious mouth--and wondering +whether Bad Mrs. Brown, if there were such a person, was at all like +her. + +They had not gone very far, but had gone by some very uncomfortable +places, such as brick-fields and tile-yards, when the old woman turned +down a dirty lane, where the mud lay in deep black ruts in the middle +of the road. She stopped before a shabby little house, as closely shut +up as a house that was full of cracks and crevices could be. Opening +the door with a key she took out of her bonnet, she pushed the child +before her into a back room, where there was a great heap of rags of +different colors lying on the floor; a heap of bones, and a heap of +sifted dust or cinders; but there was no furniture at all, and the +walls and ceiling were quite black. + +The child became so terrified that she was stricken speechless, and +looked as though about to swoon. + +“Now don’t be a young mule,” said Good Mrs. Brown, reviving her with a +shake. “I’m not a going to hurt you. Sit upon the rags.” + +Florence obeyed her, holding out her folded hands, in mute supplication. + +“I’m not a going to keep you, even, above an hour,” said Mrs. Brown. +“D’ye understand what I say?” + +The child answered with great difficulty, “Yes.” + +“Then,” said Good Mrs. Brown, taking her own seat on the bones, “don’t +vex me. If you don’t, I tell you I won’t hurt you. But if you do, I’ll +kill you. I could have you killed at any time--even if you was in your +own bed at home. Now let’s know who you are, and what you are, and all +about it.” + +The old woman’s threats and promises; the dread of giving her offense; +and the habit, unusual to a child, but almost natural to Florence now, +of being quiet, and repressing what she felt, and feared, and hoped, +enabled her to do this bidding, and to tell her little history, or what +she knew of it. Mrs. Brown listened attentively, until she had finished. + +“So your name’s Dombey, eh?” said Mrs. Brown. + +“Yes, ma’am.” + +“I want that pretty frock, Miss Dombey,” said Good Mrs. Brown, “and +that little bonnet, and a petticoat or two, and anything else you can +spare. Come! Take ’em off.” + +Florence obeyed, as fast as her trembling hands would allow; keeping, +all the while, a frightened eye on Mrs. Brown. When she had divested +herself of all the articles of apparel mentioned by that lady, Mrs. +B. examined them at leisure, and seemed tolerably well satisfied with +their quality and value. + +“Humph!” she said, running her eyes over the child’s slight figure. “I +don’t see anything else--except the shoes. I must have the shoes, Miss +Dombey.” + +Poor little Florence took them off with equal alacrity, only too glad +to have any more means of conciliation about her. The old woman then +produced some wretched substitutes from the bottom of the heap of +rags, which she turned up for that purpose; together with a girl’s +cloak, quite worn out and very old; and the crushed remains of a bonnet +that had probably been picked up from some ditch or dunghill. In this +dainty raiment, she instructed Florence to dress herself; and as such +preparation seemed a prelude to her release, the child complied with +increased readiness, if possible. + +In hurriedly putting on the bonnet, if that may be called a bonnet +which was more like a pad to carry loads on, she caught it in her hair +which grew luxuriantly, and could not immediately disentangle it. Good +Mrs. Brown whipped out a large pair of scissors, and fell into an +unaccountable state of excitement. + +“Why couldn’t you let me be!” said Mrs. Brown “when I was contented. +You little fool!” + +“I beg your pardon. I don’t know what I have done,” panted Florence. “I +couldn’t help it.” + +“Couldn’t help it!” cried Mrs. Brown. “How do you expect I can help +it? Why, Lord!” said the old woman, ruffling her curls with a furious +pleasure, “anybody but me would have had ’em off, first of all.” + +Florence was so relieved to find that it was only her hair and not +her head which Mrs. Brown coveted, that she offered no resistance or +entreaty, and merely raised her mild eyes toward the face of that good +soul. + +“If I hadn’t once had a gal of my own--beyond seas now--that was proud +of her hair,” said Mrs. Brown, “I’d have had every lock of it. She’s +far away, she’s far away! Oho! Oho!” + +Mrs. Brown’s was not a melodious cry, but, accompanied with a wild +tossing up of her lean arms, it was full of passionate grief, and +thrilled to the heart of Florence, whom it frightened more than ever. +It had its part, perhaps, in saving her curls; for Mrs. Brown, after +hovering about her with the scissors for some moments, like a new kind +of butterfly, bade her hide them under the bonnet and let no trace +of them escape to tempt her. Having accomplished this victory over +herself, Mrs. Brown resumed her seat on the bones, and smoked a very +short black pipe, moving and mumbling all the time, as if she were +eating the stem. + +When the pipe was smoked out, she gave the child a rabbit-skin to +carry, that she might appear the more like her ordinary companion, and +told her that she was now going to lead her to a public street, whence +she could inquire her way to her friends. But she cautioned her, with +threats of summary and deadly vengeance in case of disobedience, not to +talk to strangers, nor to repair to her own home (which may have been +too near for Mrs. Brown’s convenience), but to her father’s office in +the City; also to wait at the street corner where she would be left, +until the clock struck three. These directions Mrs. Brown enforced with +assurances that there would be potent eyes and ears in her employment +cognizant of all she did; and these directions Florence promised +faithfully and earnestly to observe. + +At length, Mrs. Brown, issuing forth, conducted her changed and ragged +little friend through a labyrinth of narrow streets and lanes and +alleys, which emerged, after a long time, upon a stable-yard, with a +gateway at the end, whence the roar of a great thoroughfare made itself +audible. Pointing out this gateway, and informing Florence that when +the clocks struck three she was to go to the left, Mrs. Brown, after +making a parting grasp at her hair which seemed involuntary and quite +beyond her own control, told her she knew what to do, and bade her go +and do it: remembering that she was watched. + +With a lighter heart, but still sore afraid, Florence felt herself +released, and tripped off to the corner. When she reached it, she +looked back and saw the head of Good Mrs. Brown peeping out of the +low wooden passage, where she had issued her parting injunctions; +likewise the fist of Good Mrs. Brown shaking toward her. But though she +often looked back afterward--every minute, at least, in her nervous +recollection of the old woman--she could not see her again. + +Florence remained there, looking at the bustle in the street, and more +and more bewildered by it; and in the meanwhile the clocks appeared +to have made up their minds never to strike three any more. At last +the steeples rang out three o’clock; there was one close by, so she +couldn’t be mistaken; and--after often looking over her shoulder, and +often going a little way, and as often coming back again, lest the +all-powerful spies of Mrs. Brown should take offense--she hurried off, +as fast as she could in her slipshod shoes, holding the rabbit-skin +tight in her hand. + +All she knew of her father’s offices was that they belonged to Dombey +and Son, and that that was a great power belonging to the City. So +she could only ask the way to Dombey and Son’s in the City; and as +she generally made inquiry of children--being afraid to ask grown +people--she got very little satisfaction indeed. But by dint of asking +her way to the City after a while, and dropping the rest of her inquiry +for the present, she really did advance, by slow degrees, toward the +heart of that great region which is governed by the terrible Lord Mayor. + +Tired of walking, repulsed and pushed about, stunned by the noise and +confusion, anxious for her brother and the nurses, terrified by what +she had undergone, and the prospect of encountering her angry father +in such an altered state; perplexed and frightened alike by what had +passed, and what was passing, and what was yet before her, Florence +went upon her weary way with tearful eyes, and once or twice could not +help stopping to ease her bursting heart by crying bitterly. But few +people noticed her at those times, in the garb she wore; or if they +did, believed that she was tutored to excite compassion, and passed on. +Florence, too, called to her aid all the firmness and self-reliance of +a character that her sad experience had prematurely formed and tried; +and keeping the end she had in view steadily before her, steadily +pursued it. + +It was full two hours later in the afternoon than when she had started +on this strange adventure, when, escaping from the clash and clangor +of a narrow street full of carts and wagons, she peeped into a kind of +wharf or landing-place upon the riverside, where there were a great +many packages, casks, and boxes strewn about; a large pair of wooden +scales; and a little wooden house on wheels, outside of which, looking +at the neighboring masts and boats, a stout man stood whistling, with +his pen behind his ear, and his hands in his pockets, as if his day’s +work were nearly done. + +“Now then!” said this man, happening to turn round. “We haven’t got +anything for you, little girl. Be off!” + +“If you please, is this the City?” asked the trembling daughter of the +Dombeys. + +“Ah! it’s the City. You know that well enough, I dare say. Be off! We +haven’t got anything for you.” + +“I don’t want anything, thank you,” was the timid answer. “Except to +know the way to Dombey and Son’s.” + +The man who had been strolling carelessly toward her, seemed surprised +by this reply, and looking attentively in her face, rejoined: + +“Why, what can _you_ want with Dombey and Son’s?” + +“To know the way there, if you please.” + +The man looked at her yet more curiously, and rubbed the back of his +head so hard in his wonderment that he knocked his own hat off. + +“Joe!” he called to another man--a laborer--as he picked it up and put +it on again. + +“Joe it is!” said Joe. + +“Where’s that young spark of Dombey’s who’s been watching the shipment +of them goods?” + +“Just gone, by the t’other gate,” said Joe. + +“Call him back a minute.” + +Joe ran up an archway, bawling as he went, and very soon returned with +a blithe-looking boy. + +“You’re Dombey’s jockey, an’t you?” said the first man. + +“I’m in Dombey’s House, Mr. Clark,” returned the boy. + +“Look ye here, then,” said Mr. Clark. + +Obedient to the indication of Mr. Clark’s hand, the boy approached +toward Florence, wondering, as well he might, what he had to do with +her. But she, who had heard what passed, and who, besides the relief +of so suddenly considering herself safe at her journey’s end, felt +reassured beyond all measure by his lively youthful face and manner, +ran eagerly up to him, leaving one of the slipshod shoes upon the +ground and caught his hand in both of hers. + +“I am lost, if you please!” said Florence. + +“Lost!” cried the boy. + +“Yes, I was lost this morning, a long way from here--and I have had my +clothes taken away, since--and I am not dressed in my own now--and my +name is Florence Dombey, my little brother’s only sister--and, oh dear, +dear, take care of me, if you please!” sobbed Florence, giving full +vent to the childish feelings she had so long suppressed, and bursting +into tears. At the same time her miserable bonnet falling off, her hair +came tumbling down about her face: moving to speechless admiration +and commiseration, young Walter, nephew of Solomon Gills, ships’ +instrument-maker in general. + +Mr. Clark stood rapt in amazement: observing under his breath, _I_ +never saw such a start on _this_ wharf before. Walter picked up +the shoe, and put it on the little foot as the Prince in the story +might have fitted Cinderella’s slipper on. He hung the rabbit-skin over +his left arm; gave the right to Florence; and felt, not to say like +Richard Whittington--that is a tame comparison--but like Saint George +of England, with the dragon lying dead before him. + +“Don’t cry, Miss Dombey,” said Walter, in a transport of enthusiasm. +“What a wonderful thing for me that I am here. You are as safe now +as if you were guarded by a whole boat’s crew of picked men from a +man-of-war. Oh, don’t cry.” + +“I won’t cry any more,” said Florence. “I am only crying for joy.” + +“Crying for joy!” thought Walter, “and I’m the cause of it! Come along, +Miss Dombey. There’s the other shoe off now! Take mine, Miss Dombey.” + +“No, no, no,” said Florence, checking him in the act of impetuously +pulling off his own. “These do better. These do very well.” + +“Why, to be sure,” said Walter, glancing at her foot, “mine are a +mile too large. What am I thinking about! You never could walk in +_mine_! Come along, Miss Dombey. Let me see the villain who will +dare molest you now.” + +So Walter, looking immensely fierce, led off Florence, looking +very happy; and they went arm in arm along the streets, perfectly +indifferent to any astonishment that their appearance might or did +excite by the way. + + * * * * * + +Then, though it was growing dark and foggy, Florence was perfectly +happy, and Walter felt that he was a knight escorting a princess to her +father’s castle. + + + PAUL DOMBEY AT BRIGHTON + + +LITTLE Paul Dombey was only six and very small for his age, when his +father sent him to a boarding-school at Brighton. The head master’s +name was Blimber, and he prided himself on giving information to his +pupils at all times. Here is a scene at the dinner table. + + * * * * * + +Doctor Blimber was already in his place in the dining-room, at the top +of the table, with Miss Blimber and Mrs. Blimber on either side of him. +Mr. Feeder in a black coat was at the bottom. Paul’s chair was next to +Miss Blimber; but it being found, when he sat in it, that his eyebrows +were not much above the level of the table-cloth, some books were +brought in from the Doctor’s study, on which he was elevated, and on +which he always sat from that time--carrying them in and out himself on +after occasions, like a little elephant and castle. + +Grace having been said by the Doctor, dinner began. There was some +nice soup; also roast meat, boiled meat, vegetables, pie, and cheese. +Every young gentleman had a massive silver fork, and a napkin; and all +the arrangements were stately and handsome. In particular, there was +a butler in a blue coat and bright buttons, who gave quite a winey +flavor to the table beer; he poured it out so superbly. + +Nobody spoke, unless spoken to, except Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, +and Miss Blimber, who conversed occasionally. Whenever a young +gentleman was not actually engaged with his knife and fork or spoon, +his eye, with an irresistible attraction, sought the eye of Doctor +Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, or Miss Blimber, and modestly rested there. +Toots appeared to be the only exception to this rule. He sat next Mr. +Feeder on Paul’s side of the table, and frequently looked behind and +before the intervening boys to catch a glimpse of Paul. + +Only once during dinner was there any conversation that included the +young gentlemen. It happened at the epoch of the cheese, when the +Doctor, having taken a glass of port wine and hemmed twice or thrice, +said: + +“It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder, that the Romans----” + +At the mention of this terrible people, their implacable enemies, every +young gentleman fastened his gaze upon the Doctor, with an assumption +of the deepest interest. One of the number who happened to be drinking, +and who caught the Doctor’s eye glaring at him through the side of his +tumbler, left off so hastily that he was convulsed for some moments, +and in the sequel ruined Doctor Blimber’s point. + +“It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder,” said the Doctor, beginning again +slowly, “that the Romans, in those gorgeous and profuse entertainments +of which we read in the days of the Emperors, when luxury had attained +a height unknown before or since, and when whole provinces were ravaged +to supply the splendid means of one Imperial Banquet----” + +Here the offender, who had been swelling and straining, and waiting in +vain for a full stop, broke out violently. + +“Johnson,” said Mr. Feeder, in a low, reproachful voice, “take some +water.” + +The Doctor, looking very stern, made a pause until the water was +brought, and then resumed: + +“And when, Mr. Feeder----” + +But Mr. Feeder, who saw that Johnson must break out again, and who knew +that the Doctor would never come to a period before the young gentlemen +until he had finished all he meant to say, couldn’t keep his eye off +Johnson; and thus was caught in the act of not looking at the Doctor, +who consequently stopped. + +“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Mr. Feeder, reddening. “I beg your +pardon, Doctor Blimber.” + +“And when,” said the Doctor, raising his voice, “when, sir, as we read, +and have no reason to doubt--incredible as it may appear to the vulgar +of our time--the brother of Vitellius prepared for him a feast, in +which were served, of fish, two thousand dishes----” + +“Take some water, Johnson--dishes, sir,” said Mr. Feeder. + +“Of various sorts of fowl, five thousand dishes.” + +“Or try a crust of bread,” said Mr. Feeder. + +“And one dish,” pursued Doctor Blimber, raising his voice still +higher as he looked all round the table, “called, from its enormous +dimensions, the Shield of Minerva, and made, among other costly +ingredients, of the brains of pheasants----” + +“Ow, ow, ow!” (from Johnson). + +“Woodcocks,----” + +“Ow, ow, ow!” + +“The sounds of the fish called scari,----” + +“You’ll burst some vessel in your head,” said Mr. Feeder. “You had +better let it come.” + +“And the spawn of the lamprey, brought from the Carpathian Sea,” +pursued the Doctor, in his severest voice; “when we read of costly +entertainments such as these, and still remember, that we have a +Titus,----” + +“What would be your mother’s feelings if you died of apoplexy!” said +Mr. Feeder. + +“A Domitian,----” + +“And you’re blue, you know,” said Mr. Feeder. + +“A Nero, a Tiberius, a Caligula, a Heliogabalus, and many more,” +pursued the Doctor; “it is, Mr. Feeder--if you are doing me the honor +to attend--remarkable; VERY remarkable, sir----” + +But Johnson, unable to suppress it any longer, burst at that moment +into such an overwhelming fit of coughing, that, although both his +immediate neighbors thumped him on the back, and Mr. Feeder himself +held a glass of water to his lips, and the butler walked him up and +down several times between his own chair and the sideboard, like a +sentry, it was full five minutes before he was moderately composed. +Then there was a profound silence. + +“Gentlemen,” said Doctor Blimber, “rise for grace! Cornelia, lift +Dombey down”--nothing of whom but his scalp was accordingly seen above +the table-cloth. “Johnson will repeat to me to-morrow morning before +breakfast, without book, and from the Greek Testament, the first +Epistle of Saint Paul to the Ephesians. We will resume our studies, Mr. +Feeder, in half-an-hour.” + + * * * * * + +No wonder that poor little Paul looked forward longingly to the happy +Saturdays, for then Florence always came at noon, and they had long +walks on the great beach, and watched the waves come in. Then Paul +forgot about Doctor Blimber and Nero, and Tiberius and the rest, and +only knew how much he loved his sister. + + + + + JEMMY JACKMAN LIRRIPER’S STORY + + + + + XIX + + JEMMY JACKMAN LIRRIPER’S STORY + + +MRS. LIRRIPER kept a lodging-house at 81 Norfolk Street, London. Major +Jackman was one of the lodgers, and a very kindly gentleman he was. One +day a young woman left Jemmy at the house, and Mrs. Lirriper adopted +him as her grandchild, and when he was christened the Major stood as +godfather. Jemmy grew up to be a fine boy, and was sent to school in +Lincolnshire. Mrs. Lirriper and the Major were very lonely while he was +away, and there was great rejoicing when he came back for the Christmas +holidays. They sat by the Christmas fire and told stories. The Major +afterward repeated Jemmy’s story thus. + + * * * * * + +Our first reunited Christmas Day was the most delightful one we have +ever passed together. Jemmy was never silent for five minutes, except +in church-time. He talked as we sat by the fire, he talked when we +were out walking, he talked as we sat by the fire again, he talked +incessantly at dinner, though he made a dinner almost as remarkable +as himself. It was the spring of happiness in his fresh young heart +flowing and flowing, and it fertilized (if I may be allowed so bold a +figure) my much-esteemed friend, and J. J. the present writer. + +There were only we three. We dined, in my esteemed friend’s little +room, and our entertainment was perfect. But everything in the +establishment is, in neatness, order, and comfort, always perfect. +After dinner our boy slipped away to his old stool at my esteemed +friend’s knee, and there, with his hot chestnuts and his glass of brown +sherry (really, a most excellent wine!) on a chair for a table, his +face outshone the apples in the dish. + +We talked of these jottings of mine, which Jemmy had read through and +through by that time; and so it came about that my esteemed friend +remarked, as she sat smoothing Jemmy’s curls: + +“And as you belong to the house too, Jemmy,--and so much more than the +lodgers, having been born in it,--why your story ought to be added to +the rest I think, one of these days.” + +Jemmy’s eyes sparkled at this, and he said: “So _I_ think, Gran.” + +Then he sat looking at the fire, and then he began to laugh in a sort +of confidence with the fire, and then he said, folding his arms across +my esteemed friend’s lap, and raising his bright face to hers: “Would +you like to hear a boy’s story, Gran?” + +“Of all things,” replied my esteemed friend. + +“Would you, Godfather?” + +“Of all things,” I too replied. + +“Well, then,” said Jemmy, “I’ll tell you one.” + +Here our indisputably remarkable boy gave himself a hug, and laughed +again, musically, at the idea of his coming out in that new line. Then +he once more took the fire into the same sort of confidence as before, +and began: + +“Once upon a time, When pigs drank wine, And monkeys chewed tobaccer, +’Twas neither in your time nor mine, But that’s no macker--” + +“Bless the child!” cried my esteemed friend, “what’s amiss with his +brain?” + +“It’s poetry, Gran,” returned Jemmy, shouting with laughter. “We always +begin stories that way at school.” + +“Gave me quite a turn, Major,” said my esteemed friend, fanning herself +with a plate. “Thought he was light-headed!” + +“In those remarkable times, Gran and Godfather, there was once a +boy,--not me, you know.” + +“No, no,” says my respected friend, “not you. Not him, Major, you +understand?” + +“No, no,” says I. + +“And he went to school in Rutlandshire----” + +“Why not Lincolnshire?” says my respected friend. + +“Why not, you dear old gran? Because _I_ go to school in +Lincolnshire, don’t I?” + +“Ah, to be sure!” says my respected friend. “And it’s not Jemmy, you +understand, Major?” + +“No, no,” says I. + +“Well!” our boy proceeded, hugging himself comfortably, and laughing +merrily (again in confidence with the fire), before he again looked +up in Mrs. Lirriper’s face, “and so he was tremendously in love with +his schoolmaster’s daughter, and she was the most beautiful creature +that ever was seen, and she had brown eyes, and she had brown hair +all curling beautifully, and she had a delicious voice, and she was +delicious altogether, and her name was Seraphina.” + +“What’s the name of _your_ schoolmaster’s daughter, Jemmy?” asks +my respected friend. + +“Polly!” replied Jemmy, pointing his forefinger at her. “There now! +Caught you! Ha, ha, ha!” + +When he and my respected friend had had a laugh and a hug together, our +admittedly remarkable boy resumed with a great relish: + +“Well! And so he loved her. And so he thought about her, and dreamed +about her, and made her presents of oranges and nuts, and would have +made her presents of pearls and diamonds if he could have afforded it +out of his pocket-money, but he couldn’t. And so her father--Oh, he was +a Tartar! Keeping the boys up to the mark, holding examinations once a +month, lecturing upon all sorts of subjects at all sorts of times, and +knowing everything in the world out of book. And so this boy----” + +“Had he any name?” asks my respected friend. + +“No, he hadn’t, Gran. Ha, ha! There now! Caught you again!” + +After this, they had another laugh and another hug, and then our boy +went on. + +“Well! And so this boy, he had a friend about as old as himself at the +same school, and his name (for he _had_ a name, as it happened) +was--let me remember--was Bobbo.” + +“Not Bob,” says my respected friend. + +“Of course not,” says Jemmy. “What made you think it was, Gran? Well! +And so this friend was the cleverest and bravest and best-looking and +most generous of all the friends that ever were, and so he was in love +with Seraphina’s sister, and so Seraphina’s sister was in love with +him, and so they all grew up.” + +“Bless us!” says my respected friend. “They were very sudden about it.” + +“So they all grew up,” our boy repeated, laughing heartily, “and Bobbo +and this boy went away together on horseback to seek their fortunes, +and they partly got their horses by favor, and partly in a bargain; +that is to say, they had saved up between them seven and fourpence, +and the two horses, being Arabs, were worth more, only the man said he +would take that, to favor them. Well! And so they made their fortunes +and came prancing back to the school, with their pockets full of +gold, enough to last forever. And so they rang at the parents’ and +visitors’ bell (not the back gate), and when the bell was answered they +proclaimed ‘The same as if it was scarlet fever! Every boy goes home +for an indefinite period!’ And then there was great hurrahing, and then +they kissed Seraphina and her sister,--each his own love, and not the +other’s on any account,--and then they ordered the Tartar into instant +confinement.” + +“Poor man!” said my respected friend. + +“Into instant confinement, Gran,” repeated Jemmy, trying to look severe +and roaring with laughter; “and he was to have nothing to eat but +the boys’ dinners, and was to drink half a cask of their beer every +day. And so then the preparations were made for the two weddings, and +there were hampers, and potted things, and sweet things, and nuts, and +postage-stamps, and all manner of things. And so they were so jolly, +that they let the Tartar out, and he was jolly too.” + +“I am glad they let him out,” says my respected friend, “because he had +only done his duty.” + +“Oh, but hadn’t he overdone it, though!” cried Jemmy. “Well! And so +then this boy mounted his horse, with his bride in his arms, and +cantered away, and cantered on and on till he came to a certain place +where he had a certain gran and a certain godfather,--not you two, you +know.” + +“No, no,” we both said. + +“And there he was received with great rejoicings, and he filled the +cupboard and the bookcase with gold, and he showered it out on his gran +and his godfather because they were the kindest and dearest people +that ever lived in this world. And so while they were sitting up to +their knees in gold, a knocking was heard at the street door, and who +should it be but Bobbo, also on horseback with his bride in his arms, +and what had he come to say but that he would take (at double rent) all +the lodgings forever, that were not wanted by this boy and this gran +and this godfather, and that they would all live together, and all be +happy! And so they were, and so it never ended!” + +“And was there no quarrelling?” asked my respected friend, as Jemmy sat +upon her lap and hugged her. + +“No! Nobody ever quarrelled.” + +“And did the money never melt away?” + +“No! Nobody could ever spend it all.” + +“And did none of them ever grow older?” + +“No! Nobody ever grew older after that.” + + + + + ON THE WAY TO GRETNA GREEN + + + + + XX + + ON THE WAY TO GRETNA GREEN + + +HARRY was eight and Norah was seven. They lived on Shooters Hill, six +or seven miles from London. Harry’s father, Mr. Walmer, had a big +place called the Elms. The children read fairy-stories and delighted +in princes and dragons and wicked enchanters, and kings who had fair +daughters and offered them to any knights who were brave enough to come +and take them. And they liked to read about lovers who ran away to +Gretna Green and were married and lived happily ever after. Just where +Gretna Green was they didn’t know, but it must be a very romantic place +to run away to. Cobbs, the gardener, heard them talking about it all as +they sat under a tree. They intended to keep bees and a cow, and live +on milk and honey. + +Cobbs left Mr. Walmer, and went to work at the Holly Tree Inn up in +Yorkshire. One day the coach drew up and two little passengers got out. +Harry and Norah were on their way to Gretna Green. + +“We’ll stop here,” said Harry to the landlord. “Chops and cherry +pudding for two.” Then they went to the sitting-room. + +Cobbs found them there. Master Harry, on an enormous sofa, was drying +the eyes of Miss Norah with his pocket-handkerchief. Their little legs +were entirely off the floor. + +[Illustration: + + _Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_ + +THE RUNAWAY COUPLE] + +“I see you a-getting out, sir,” said Cobbs. “I thought it was you. I +thought I couldn’t be mistaken in your height and figure. What’s the +object of your journey, sir? Matrimonial?” + +“We are going to be married, Cobbs, at Gretna Green. We have run away +on purpose. Norah has been in low spirits, Cobb, but she’ll be happy +now that we have found you to be our friend.” + +“Thank you, sir, and thank _you_, miss, for your good opinion. Did +you bring any luggage with you?” + +The lady had got a parasol, a smelling-bottle, some buttered toast, +eight peppermint drops, and a small hair-brush. The gentleman had +got half a dozen yards of string, a knife, three or four sheets of +writing-paper, an orange, and a china mug with his name on it. + +“What may be the exact natur of your plans, sir?” said Cobb. + +“To go on,” said the boy, “in the morning and be married to-morrow.” + +“Just so, sir,” said Cobb. “Would it meet your views if I was to +accompany you?” + +When Cobbs said this, they both jumped for joy again, and cried out: +“Oh, yes, Cobbs, yes!” + +“Well, sir,” said Cobbs, “if you will excuse my having to give an +opinion, what I should recommend would be this. I’m acquainted with a +pony, sir, which, put in a phaeton which I could borrow, would take +you and Mrs. Harry Walmer Junior (myself driving, if you approved), to +the end of your journey in a very short space of time.” + +They clapped their hands and jumped for joy. + +“Is there anything you want, just at present, sir?” + +“We should like some cakes after dinner,” answered Master Harry, “and +two apples and jam. With dinner we should have toast and water. But +Norah has been accustomed to half a glass of currant wine for dessert, +and so have I.” + +“It shall be ordered at the bar, sir,” said Cobbs. + +“Cobbs, are there any good walks in this neighborhood?” + +“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Cobbs, “there is Love Lane. And a +pleasant walk it is, and proud shall I be to show it to yourself and +Mrs. Harry Walmer Junior.” + +“Norah, dear,” said Master Harry, “put on your bonnet, my sweetest +darling, and we’ll go there with Cobbs.” + +It was very pleasant walking down Love Lane gathering water-lilies, but +as the afternoon came on they both became a little homesick. Master +Harry kept up nobly, but Mrs. Harry Walmer Junior began to cry, “I +want to go home.” When Harry’s father and Norah’s mother appeared upon +the scene, every one was happy. Harry and Norah had been on the way to +Gretna Green, though they never got there. + + + + + OUR SCHOOL + + + + + XXI + + OUR SCHOOL + + +THE children who live now are fortunate in having schools that are +made for their happiness as well as for their mental improvement. Most +of the schools Dickens describes were dreary places like that which +Sissie Jupes attended. However, there were some memories that were +not altogether unpleasant, and I enjoy reading the chapter which he +entitles “Our School.” + + * * * * * + +It seems as if our schools were doomed to be the sport of change. We +have faint recollections of a Preparatory Day-School, which we have +sought in vain, and which must have been pulled down to make a new +street, ages ago. We have dim impressions, scarcely amounting to a +belief, that it was over a dyer’s shop. We know that you went up steps +to it; that you frequently grazed your knees in doing so; that you +generally got your leg over the scraper, in trying to scrape the mud +off a very unsteady little shoe. The mistress of the Establishment +holds no place in our memory; but, rampant on one eternal door-mat, in +an eternal entry long and narrow, is a puffy pug-dog, with a personal +animosity toward us, who triumphs over Time. The bark of that baleful +Pug, a certain radiating way he had of snapping at our undefended legs, +the ghastly grinning of his moist black muzzle and white teeth, and the +insolence of his crisp tail curled like a pastoral crook, all live +and flourish. From an otherwise unaccountable association of him with +a fiddle, we conclude that he was of French extraction, and his name +_Fidèle_. He belonged to some female, chiefly inhabiting a back +parlor, whose life appears to us to have been consumed in sniffing, and +in wearing a brown beaver bonnet. For her, he would sit up and balance +cake upon his nose, and not eat it until twenty had been counted. +To the best of our belief we were once called in to witness this +performance; when, unable, even in his milder moments, to endure our +presence, he instantly made at us, cake and all. + +Why a something in mourning, called “Miss Frost,” should still connect +itself with our preparatory school, we are unable to say. We retain no +impression of the beauty of Miss Frost--if she were beautiful; or of +the mental fascinations of Miss Frost--if she were accomplished; yet +her name and her black dress hold an enduring place in our remembrance. +An equally impersonal boy, whose name has long since shaped itself +unalterably into “Master Mawls,” is not to be dislodged from our brain. +Retaining no vindictive feeling toward Mawls--no feeling whatever, +indeed--we infer that neither he nor we can have loved Miss Frost.... + +But, the School that was Our School before the Railroad came and +overthrew it, was quite another sort of place. We were old enough to +be put into Virgil when we went there, and to get prizes for a variety +of polishing on which the rust has long accumulated. It was a school +of some celebrity in its neighborhood--nobody could have said why--and +we had the honor to attain and hold the eminent position of first boy. +The master was supposed among us to know nothing, and one of the ushers +was supposed to know everything. We are still inclined to think the +first-named supposition perfectly correct. + +We have a general idea that its subject had been in the leather trade, +and had bought us--meaning Our School--of another proprietor who was +immensely learned. Whether this belief had any real foundation, we are +not likely ever to know now. The only branches of education with which +he showed the least acquaintance were ruling and corporally punishing. +He was always ruling ciphering-books with a bloated mahogany ruler, or +smiting the palms of offenders with the same diabolical instrument, +or viciously drawing a pair of pantaloons tight with one of his large +hands, and caning the wearer with the other. We have no doubt whatever +that this occupation was the principal solace of his existence. + +A profound respect for money pervaded Our School, which was, of course, +derived from its Chief. We remember an idiotic goggle-eyed boy, +with a big head and half-crowns without end, who suddenly appeared +as a parlor-boarder, and was rumored to have come by sea from some +mysterious part of the earth where his parents rolled in gold. He was +usually called “Mr.” by the Chief, and was said to feed in the parlor +on steaks and gravy; likewise to drink currant wine. And he openly +stated that if rolls and coffee were ever denied him at breakfast, +he would write home to that unknown part of the globe from which he +had come, and cause himself to be recalled to the regions of gold. +He was put into no form or class, but learned alone, as little as he +liked--and he liked very little--and there was a belief among us that +this was because he was too wealthy to be “taken down.” His special +treatment, and our vague association of him with the sea, and with +storms, and sharks, and coral reefs, occasioned the wildest legends to +be circulated as his history. A tragedy in blank verse was written on +the subject--if our memory does not deceive us, by the hand that now +chronicles these recollections--in which his father figured as Pirate, +and was shot for a voluminous catalogue of atrocities: first imparting +to his wife the secret of the cave in which his wealth was stored, and +from which his only son’s half-crowns now issued. Dumbledon (the boy’s +name) was represented as “yet unborn” when his brave father met his +fate; and the despair and grief of Mrs. Dumbledon at that calamity was +movingly shadowed forth as having weakened the parlor-boarder’s mind. +This production was received with great favor, and was twice performed +with closed doors in the dining-room. But it got wind, and was seized +as libellous, and brought the unlucky poet into severe affliction. Some +two years afterward, all of a sudden one day, Dumbledon vanished. It +was whispered that the Chief himself had taken him down to the docks, +and re-shipped him for the Spanish Main; but nothing certain was ever +known about his disappearance. At this hour, we cannot thoroughly +disconnect him from California. + +Our School was rather famous for mysterious pupils. There was +another--a heavy young man, with a large double-cased silver watch, +and a fat knife the handle of which was a perfect tool-box--who +unaccountably appeared one day at a special desk of his own, erected +close to that of the Chief, with whom he held familiar converse. He +lived in the parlor, and went out for his walks, and never took the +least notice of us--even of us, the first boy--unless to give us a +deprecatory kick, or grimly to take our hat off and throw it away, when +he encountered us out of doors, which unpleasant ceremony he always +performed as he passed--not even condescending to stop for the purpose. +Some of us believed that the classical attainments of this phenomenon +were terrific, but that his penmanship and arithmetic were defective, +and he had come there to mend them; others, that he was going to set +up a school, and had paid the Chief “twenty-five pound down,” for +leave to see Our School at work. The gloomier spirits even said that +he was going to buy us; against which contingency, conspiracies were +set on foot for a general defection and running away. However, he never +did that. After staying for a quarter during which period, though +closely observed, he was never seen to do anything but make pens out +of quills, write small-hand in a secret portfolio, and punch the point +of the sharpest blade in his knife into his desk all over it, he too +disappeared, and his place knew him no more. + +There was another boy, a fair, meek boy, with a delicate complexion and +rich curling hair, who, we found out, or thought we found out (we have +no idea now, and probably had none then, on what grounds, but it was +confidentially revealed from mouth to mouth), was the son of a Viscount +who had deserted his lovely mother. It was understood that if he had +his rights he would be worth twenty thousand a year. And that if his +mother ever met his father she would shoot him with a silver pistol, +which she carried, always loaded to the muzzle, for that purpose. He +was a very suggestive topic. So was a young mulatto, who was always +believed (though very amiable) to have a dagger about him somewhere. +But we think they were both outshone, upon the whole, by another boy +who claimed to have been born on the twenty-ninth of February, and to +have only one birthday in five years. We suspect this to have been a +fiction--but he lived upon it all the time he was at Our School. + +The principal currency of Our School was slate pencil. It had some +inexplicable value, that was never ascertained, never reduced to a +standard. To have a great hoard of it, was somehow to be rich. We +used to bestow it in charity, and confer it as a precious boon upon +our chosen friends. When the holidays were coming, contributions were +solicited for certain boys whose relatives were in India, and who were +appealed for under the generic name of “Holiday-stoppers,”--appropriate +marks of remembrance that should enliven and cheer them in their +homeless state. Personally, we always contributed these tokens of +sympathy in the form of slate pencil, and always felt that it would be +a comfort and a treasure to them. + +Our School was remarkable for white mice. Red-polls, linnets, and even +canaries, were kept in desks, drawers, hat-boxes, and other strange +refuges for birds, but white mice were the favorite stock. The boys +trained the mice, much better than the masters trained the boys. We +recall one white mouse, who lived in the cover of a Latin dictionary, +who ran up ladders, drew Roman chariots, shouldered muskets, turned +wheels, and even made a very creditable appearance on the stage as +the Dog of Montargis. He might have achieved greater things, but for +having the misfortune to mistake his way in a triumphal procession to +the Capitol, when he fell into a deep inkstand, and was dyed black and +drowned. The mice were the occasion of some most ingenious engineering, +in the construction of their houses and instruments of performance. +The famous one belonged to a company of proprietors, some of whom have +since made railroads, engines, and telegraphs; the chairman has erected +mills and bridges in New Zealand. + +The usher at Our School, who was considered to know everything as +opposed to the Chief, who was considered to know nothing, was a bony, +gentle-faced, clerical-looking young man in rusty black. It was +whispered that he was sweet upon one of Maxby’s sisters (Maxby lived +closed by, and was a day pupil), and further that he “favored Maxby.” +As we remember, he taught Italian to Maxby’s sisters on half-holidays. +He once went to the play with them, and wore a white waistcoat and a +rose: which was considered among us equivalent to a declaration. We +were of opinion on that occasion, that to the last moment he expected +Maxby’s father to ask him to dinner at five o’clock, and therefore +neglected his own dinner at half-past one, and finally got none. +We exaggerated in our imaginations the extent to which he punished +Maxby’s father’s cold meat at supper; and we agreed to believe that he +was elevated with wine and water when he came home. But we all liked +him; for he had a good knowledge of boys, and would have made it a +much better school if he had had more power. He was writing master, +mathematical master, English master, made out the bills, mended the +pens, and did all sorts of things. He divided the little boys with the +Latin master (they were smuggled through their rudimentary books, at +odd times when there was nothing else to do), and he always called at +parents’ houses to inquire after sick boys, because he had gentlemanly +manners. He was rather musical, and on some remote quarter-day had +bought an old trombone; but a bit of it was lost, and it made the +most extraordinary sounds when he sometimes tried to play it of an +evening. His holidays never began (on account of the bills) until long +after ours; but, in the summer vacations he used to take pedestrian +excursions with a knapsack; and at Christmas time, he went to see his +father at Chipping Norton, who we all said (on no authority) was a +dairy-fed pork-butcher. Poor fellow! He was very low all day on Maxby’s +sister’s wedding-day, and afterward was thought to favor Maxby more +than ever, though he had been expected to spite him. He has been dead +these twenty years. Poor fellow! + +Our remembrance of Our School presents the Latin master as a +colorless, doubled-up, near-sighted man with a crutch, who was always +cold, and always putting onions into his ears for deafness, and always +disclosing ends of flannel under all his garments, and almost always +applying a ball of pocket-handkerchief to some part of his face with a +screwing action round and round. He was a very good scholar, and took +great pains where he saw intelligence and a desire to learn: otherwise, +perhaps not. Our memory presents him (unless teased into a passion) +with as little energy as color--as having been worried and tormented +into monotonous feebleness--as having had the best part of his life +ground out of him in a mill of boys. We remember with terror how he +fell asleep one sultry afternoon with the little smuggled class before +him, and awoke not when the footstep of the Chief fell heavy on the +floor; how the Chief aroused him, in the midst of a dread silence, and +said: “Mr. Blinkins, are you ill, sir?”; how he blushingly replied: +“Sir, rather so”; how the Chief retorted with severity: “Mr. Blinkins, +this is no place to be ill in” (which was very, very true), and walked +back solemn as the ghost in Hamlet, until, catching a wandering eye, +he caned that boy for inattention, and happily expressed his feelings +toward the Latin master through the medium of a substitute. + +There was a fat little dancing-master who used to come in a gig, and +taught the more advanced among us hornpipes (as an accomplishment in +great social demand in after life); and there was a brisk little French +master who used to come in the sunniest weather, with a handleless +umbrella, and to whom the Chief was always polite, because (as we +believed), if the Chief offended him, he would instantly address the +Chief in French, and forever confound him before the boys with his +inability to understand or reply. + +There was, besides, a serving man, whose name was Phil. Our +retrospective glance presents Phil as a shipwrecked carpenter, cast +away upon the desert island of a school, and carrying into practice an +ingenious inkling of many trades. He mended whatever was broken, and +made whatever was wanted. He was general glazier, among other things, +and mended all the broken windows--at the prime cost (as was darkly +rumored among us) of ninepence, for every square charged three-and-six +to parents. We had a high opinion of his mechanical genius, and +generally held that the Chief “knew something bad of him,” and on +pain of divulgence enforced Phil to be his bondsman. We particularly +remember that Phil had a sovereign contempt for learning; which +engenders in us a respect for his sagacity, as it implies his accurate +observation of the relative positions of the Chief and the ushers. +He was an impenetrable man, who waited at table between whiles, and +throughout “the half” kept the boxes in severe custody. He was morose, +even to the Chief, and never smiled, except at breaking-up, when, in +acknowledgment of the toast, “Success to Phil! Hooray!” he would slowly +carve a grin out of his wooden face, where it would remain until we +were all gone. Nevertheless, one time when we had the scarlet fever in +the school, Phil nursed all the sick boys of his own accord, and was +like a mother to them. + +There was another school not far off, and of course Our School could +have nothing to say to that school. It is mostly the way with schools, +whether of boys or men. Well! the railway has swallowed up ours, and +the locomotives now run smoothly over its ashes. + + “So fades and languishes, grows dim and dies, + All that this world is proud of.” + +--and is not proud of, too. It had little reason to be proud of Our +School, and has done much better since in that way, and will do far +better yet. + + + + + ALICIA IN WONDERLAND + + + + + XXII + + ALICIA IN WONDERLAND + + +WE all know Lewis Carroll’s _Alice in Wonderland_. Dickens had +an Alice too who was worth knowing. Her wonderland was a plain little +house in London. Her father, Mr. Watkins, was a poorly paid government +clerk who found it hard to support his large family. Her mother found +life too much for her nerves. So Alice had to take the responsibility +for the family happiness. While other people were worrying, she tried +to make things pleasant. + +But fortunately Alice had such a fortunate disposition that she could +live in London and in Wonderland at the same time. In Wonderland, her +father, Mr. Watkins, was king, and Mrs. Watkins was queen, and Mr. +Pickles the fish-dealer was a great merchant of untold wealth. Alice +had a doll who was a duchess, to whom she told her troubles, and with +whom she consulted about the fashions. The duchess was a very proud and +sympathetic person indeed. + +So it was very natural that Alice should have a visit from her fairy +godmother. The unusual thing was that she took the advice that was +given her, and so got out of trouble instead of getting into it through +heedlessness, as most people do in the fairy-stories. Alice was a +very wise little girl; in my judgment she was almost as wise as her +godmother. Indeed, it sometimes requires more wisdom to take good +advice than to give it. + + * * * * * + +There was once a king, and he had a queen; and he was the manliest +of his sex, and she was the loveliest of hers. The king was, in his +private profession, under government. The queen’s father had been a +medical man out of town. + +They had nineteen children, and were always having more. Seventeen of +these children took care of the baby; and Alicia, the eldest, took care +of them all. Their ages varied from seven years to seven months. + +Let us now resume our story. + +One day the king was going to the office, when he stopped at the +fishmonger’s to buy a pound and a half of salmon, not too near the +tail, which the queen (who was a careful house-keeper) had requested +him to send home. Mr. Pickles, the fishmonger, said, “Certainly, sir, +is there any other article? Good morning.” + +The king went on toward the office in a melancholy mood; for +quarter-day was such a long way off, and several of the dear children +were growing out of their clothes. He had not proceeded far, when Mr. +Pickles’s errand-boy came running after him, and said, “Sir, you didn’t +notice the old lady in our shop.” + +“What old lady?” inquired the king. “I saw none.” + +Now, the king had not seen any old lady, because this old lady had been +invisible to him, though visible to Mr. Pickles’s boy. Probably because +he messed and splashed the water about to that degree, and flapped the +pairs of soles down in that violent manner, that, if she had not been +visible to him, he would have spoiled her clothes. + +Just then the old lady came trotting up. She was dressed in shot silk +of the richest quality, smelling of dried lavender. + +“King Watkins the First, I believe?” said the old lady. + +“Watkins,” replied the king, “is my name.” + +“Papa, if I am not mistaken, of the beautiful Princess Alicia?” said +the old lady. + +“And of eighteen other darlings,” replied the king. + +“Listen. You are going to the office,” said the old lady. + +It instantly flashed upon the king that she must be a fairy, or how +could she know that? + +“You are right,” said the old lady, answering his thoughts. “I am +the good Fairy Grandmarina. Attend! When you return home to dinner, +politely invite the Princess Alicia to have some of the salmon you +bought just now.” + +“It may disagree with her,” said the king. + +The old lady became so very angry at this absurd idea, that the king +was quite alarmed, and humbly begged her pardon. + +“We hear a great deal too much about this thing disagreeing, and that +thing disagreeing,” said the old lady, with the greatest contempt it +was possible to express. “Don’t be greedy. I think you want it all +yourself.” + +The king hung his head under this reproof, and said he wouldn’t talk +about things disagreeing any more. + +“Be good, then,” said the Fairy Grandmarina, “and don’t! When the +beautiful Princess Alicia consents to partake of the salmon--as I think +she will--you will find she will leave a fish-bone on her plate. Tell +her to dry it, and to rub it, and to polish it till it shines like +mother-of-pearl, and to take care of it as a present from me.” + +“Is that all?” asked the king. + +“Don’t be impatient, sir,” returned the Fairy Grandmarina, scolding him +severely. “Don’t catch people short before they have done speaking. +Just the way with you grown-up persons. You are always doing it.” + +The king again hung his head, and said he wouldn’t do so any more. + +“Be good, then,” said the Fairy Grandmarina, “and don’t! Tell the +Princess Alicia, with my love, that the fish-bone is a magic present +which can only be used once; but that it will bring her, that once, +whatever she wishes for, PROVIDED SHE WISHES FOR IT AT THE RIGHT +TIME. That is the message. Take care of it.” + +The king was beginning, “Might I ask the reason?” when the fairy became +absolutely furious. + +“_Will_ you be good, sir?” she exclaimed, stamping her foot on the +ground. “The reason for this, and the reason for that, indeed! You are +always wanting the reason. No reason. There! Hoity toity me! I am sick +of your grown-up reasons.” + +The king was extremely frightened by the old lady’s flying into such +a passion, and said he was very sorry to have offended her, and he +wouldn’t ask for reasons any more. + +“Be good, then,” said the old lady, “and don’t!” + +With those words Grandmarina vanished, and the king went on and on +and on, till he came to the office. There he wrote and wrote and +wrote, till it was time to go home again. Then he politely invited +the Princess Alicia, as the fairy had directed him, to partake of the +salmon. And when she had enjoyed it very much, he saw the fish-bone on +her plate, as the fairy had told him he would, and he delivered the +fairy’s message, and the Princess Alicia took care to dry the bone, and +to rub it, and to polish it till it shone like mother-of-pearl. + +And so, when the queen was going to get up in the morning, she said, +“Oh, dear me, dear me; my head, my head!” and then she fainted away. + +The Princess Alicia, who happened to be looking in at the chamber-door +asking about breakfast, was very much alarmed when she saw her royal +mamma in this state, and she rang the bell for Peggy, which was the +name of the lord chamberlain. But remembering where the smelling-bottle +was, she climbed on the chair and got it; and after that she climbed +on another chair by the bedside, and held the smelling-bottle to the +queen’s nose; and after that she jumped down and got some water; and +after that she jumped up again and wetted the queen’s forehead; and +in short, when the lord chamberlain came in, that dear old woman said +to the little princess, “What a trot you are! I couldn’t have done it +better myself!” + +But that was not the worst of the good queen’s illness. Oh, no! She was +very ill indeed for a long time. The Princess Alicia kept the seventeen +young princes and princesses quiet, and dressed and undressed and +danced the baby, and made the kettle boil, and heated the soup, and +swept the hearth, and poured out the medicine, and nursed the queen, +and did all that ever she could, and was as busy, busy, busy as busy +could be; for there were not many servants at that place for three +reasons: because the king was short of money, because a rise in his +office never seemed to come, and because quarter-day was so far off +that it looked almost as far off and as little as one of the stars. + +But on the morning when the queen fainted away, where was the magic +fish-bone? Why, there it was in the Princess Alicia’s pocket! She had +almost taken it out to bring the queen to life again, when she put it +back, and looked for the smelling-bottle. + +After the queen had come out of her swoon that morning and was dozing, +the Princess Alicia hurried up-stairs to tell a most particular secret +to a most particular confidential friend of hers, who was a duchess. +People did suppose her to be a doll, but she was really a duchess, +though nobody knew it except the princess. + +This most particular secret was the secret about the magic fish-bone, +the history of which was well known to the duchess, because the +princess told her everything. The princess kneeled down by the bed on +which the duchess was lying, full-dressed and wide awake, and whispered +the secret to her. The duchess smiled and nodded. People might have +supposed that she never smiled and nodded; but she often did, though +nobody knew it except the princess. + +Then the Princess Alicia hurried down-stairs again, to keep watch in +the queen’s room. She often kept watch by herself in the queen’s room; +but every evening, while the illness lasted, she sat there watching +with the king. And every evening the king sat looking at her with a +cross look, wondering why she never brought out the magic fish-bone. +As often as she noticed this, she ran up-stairs, whispered the secret +to the duchess over again, and said to the duchess, “They think we +children never have a reason or a meaning!” And the duchess, though the +most fashionable duchess that ever was heard of, winked her eye. + +“Alicia,” said the king, one evening when she wished him good night. + +“Yes, papa.” + +“What is become of your magic fish-bone?” + +“In my pocket, papa!” + +“I thought you had lost it?” + +“Oh no, papa.” + +“Or forgotten it?” + +“No, indeed, papa.” + +And so another time the dreadful little snapping pug-dog, next door, +made a rush at one of the young princes as he stood on the steps coming +home from school, and terrified him out of his wits; and he put his +hand through a pane of glass, and bled, bled, bled. When the seventeen +other young princes and princesses saw him bleed, bleed, bleed, they +were terrified out of their wits too, and screamed themselves black +in their seventeen faces all at once. But the Princess Alicia put +her hands over all their seventeen mouths, one after another, and +persuaded them to be quiet because of the sick queen. And then she put +the wounded prince’s hand in a basin of fresh cold water, while they +stared with their twice seventeen are thirty-four, put down four and +carry three, eyes, and then she looked in the hand for bits of glass, +and there were fortunately no bits of glass there. And then she said +to two chubby-legged princes, who were sturdy though small, “Bring me +in the royal rag-bag: I must snip and stitch and cut and contrive.” +So these two young princes tugged at the royal rag-bag, and lugged it +in; and the Princess Alicia sat down on the floor, with a large pair +of scissors and a needle and thread, and snipped and stitched and +cut and contrived, and made a bandage, and put it on, and it fitted +beautifully; and so when it was all done, she saw the king her papa +looking on by the door. + +“Alicia.” + +“Yes, papa.” + +“What have you been doing?” + +“Snipping, stitching, cutting, and contriving, papa.” + +“Where is the magic fish-bone?” + +“In my pocket, papa.” + +“I thought you had lost it?” + +“Oh no, papa!” + +“Or forgotten it?” + +“No, indeed, papa.” + +After that, she ran up-stairs to the duchess, and told her what had +passed, and told her the secret over again: and the duchess shook her +flaxen curls, and laughed with her rosy lips. + +Well! and so another time the baby fell under the grate. The seventeen +young princes and princesses were used to it; for they were almost +always falling under the grate or down the stairs; but the baby was not +used to it yet, and it gave him a swelled face and a black eye. The +way the poor little darling came to tumble was, that he was out of the +Princess Alicia’s lap just as she was sitting, in a great coarse apron +that quite smothered her, in front of the kitchen fire, beginning to +peel the turnips for the broth for dinner; and the way she came to be +doing that was, that the king’s cook had run away that morning with +her own true love, who was a very tall but very tipsy soldier. Then +the seventeen young princes and princesses, who cried at every thing +that happened, cried and roared. But the Princess Alicia (who couldn’t +help crying a little herself) quietly called to them to be still, on +account of not throwing back the queen up-stairs, who was fast getting +well, and said: “Hold your tongues, you wicked little monkeys, every +one of you, while I examine baby!” Then she examined baby, and found +that he hadn’t broken anything; and she held cold iron to his poor dear +eye, and smoothed his poor dear face, and he presently fell asleep in +her arms. Then she said to the seventeen princes and princesses: “I am +afraid to let him down yet, lest he should wake and feel pain; be good, +and you shall all be cooks.” They jumped for joy when they heard that, +and began making themselves cooks’ caps out of old newspapers. So to +one she gave the salt-box, and to one she gave the barley, and to one +she gave the herbs, and to one she gave the turnips, and to one she +gave the carrots, and to one she gave the onions, and to one she gave +the spice-box, till they were all cooks, and all running about at work, +she sitting in the middle, smothered in the great coarse apron, nursing +baby. By and by the broth was done; and the baby woke up, smiling +like an angel, and was trusted to the sedatest princess to hold, +while the other princes and princesses were squeezed into a far-off +corner to look at the Princess Alicia turning out the saucepanful +of broth, for fear (as they were always getting into trouble) they +should get splashed and scalded. When the broth came tumbling out, +steaming beautifully, and smelling like a nosegay good to eat, they +clapped their hands. That made the baby clap his hands; and that, and +his looking as if he had a comic toothache, made all the princes and +princesses laugh. So the Princess Alicia said: “Laugh and be good; +and after dinner we will make him a nest on the floor in a corner, +and he shall sit in his nest and see a dance of eighteen cooks.” That +delighted the young princes and princesses, and they ate up all the +broth, and washed up all the plates and dishes, and cleared away, and +pushed the table into a corner; and then they in their cooks’ caps, and +the Princess Alicia in the smothering coarse apron that belonged to the +cook that had run away with her own true love that was the very tall +but very tipsy soldier, danced a dance of eighteen cooks before the +angelic baby, who forgot his swelled face and his black eye, and crowed +with joy. + +And so then, once more the Princess Alicia saw King Watkins the First, +her father, standing in the doorway looking on, and he said, “What have +you been doing, Alicia?” + +“Cooking and contriving, papa.” + +“What else have you been doing, Alicia?” + +“Keeping the children light-hearted, papa.” + +“Where is the magic fish-bone, Alicia?” + +“In my pocket, papa.” + +“I thought you had lost it?” + +“Oh no, papa.” + +“Or forgotten it?” + +“No, indeed, papa.” + +The king then sighed so heavily, and seemed so low-spirited, and sat +down so miserably, leaning his head upon his hand, and his elbow upon +the kitchen-table pushed away in the corner, that the seventeen princes +and princesses crept softly out of the kitchen, and left him alone with +the Princess Alicia and the angelic baby. + +“What is the matter, papa?” + +“I am dreadfully poor, my child.” + +“Have you no money at all, papa?” + +“None, my child.” + +“Is there no way of getting any, papa?” + +“No way,” said the king. “I have tried very hard, and I have tried all +ways.” + +When she heard these last words, the Princess Alicia began to put her +hand into the pocket where she kept the magic fish-bone. + +“Papa,” said she, “when we have tried very hard, and tried all ways, we +must have done our very, very best?” + +“No doubt, Alicia.” + +“When we have done our very, very best, papa, and that is not enough, +then I think the right time must have come for asking help of others.” +This was the very secret connected with the magic fish-bone, which she +had found out for herself from the good Fairy Grandmarina’s words, +and which she had so often whispered to her beautiful and fashionable +friend, the duchess. + +So she took out of her pocket the magic fish-bone that had been dried +and rubbed and polished till it shone like mother-of-pearl; and she +gave it one little kiss, and wished it was quarter-day. And immediately +it _was_ quarter-day; and the king’s quarter’s salary came +rattling down the chimney, and bounced into the middle of the floor. + +But this was not half of what happened--no, not a quarter; for +immediately afterward the good Fairy Grandmarina came riding in, with +a carriage and four (peacocks), with Mr. Pickles’s boy up behind, +dressed in silver and gold, with a cocked hat, powdered hair, pink silk +stockings, a jewelled cane, and a nosegay. Down jumped Mr. Pickles’s +boy, with his cocked hat in his hand, and wonderfully polite (being +entirely changed by enchantment), and handed Grandmarina out; and there +she stood, in her rich shot silk smelling of dried lavender, fanning +herself with a sparkling fan. + +“Alicia, my dear,” said this charming old fairy, “how do you do? I hope +I see you pretty well? Give me a kiss.” + +The Princess Alicia embraced her; and then Grandmarina turned to the +king, and said rather sharply, “Are you good?” + +The king said he hoped so. + +“I suppose you know the reason _now_ why my goddaughter here,” +kissing the princess again, “did not apply to the fish-bone sooner?” +said the fairy. + +The king made a shy bow. + +“Ah! but you didn’t _then_?” said the fairy. + +The king made a shyer bow. + +“Any more reasons to ask for?” said the fairy. + +The king said, “No, and he was very sorry.” + +“Be good, then,” said the fairy, “and live happy ever afterward.” + +Then Grandmarina waved her fan, and the queen came in most splendidly +dressed; and the seventeen young princes and princesses, no longer +grown out of their clothes, came in, newly fitted out from top to toe, +with tucks in everything to admit of its being let out. After that, +the fairy tapped the Princess Alicia with her fan; and the smothering +coarse apron flew away, and she appeared exquisitely dressed, like a +little bride, with a wreath of orange flowers and a silver veil. After +that, the kitchen dresser changed of itself into a wardrobe, made of +beautiful woods and gold and looking-glass, which was full of dresses +of all sorts, all for her and all exactly fitting her. After that, +the angelic baby came in, running alone, with his face and eye not +a bit the worse, but much the better. Then Grandmarina begged to be +introduced to the duchess; and, when the duchess was brought down, +many compliments passed between them. + +A little whispering took place between the fairy and the duchess; and +then the fairy said out loud, “Yes, I thought she would have told you.” +Grandmarina then turned to the king and queen, and said: “We are going +in search of Prince Certainpersonio. The pleasure of your company is +requested at the church in half an hour precisely.” So she and the +Princess Alicia got into the carriage; and Mr. Pickles’s boy handed +in the duchess, who sat by herself on the opposite seat; and then Mr. +Pickles’s boy put up the steps and got up behind, and the peacocks flew +away with their tails behind. + +Prince Certainpersonio was sitting by himself, eating barley-sugar, +and waiting to be ninety. When he saw the peacocks, followed by the +carriage, coming in at the window, it immediately occurred to him that +something uncommon was going to happen. + +“Prince,” said Grandmarina, “I bring you your bride.” + +The moment the fairy said those words, Prince Certainpersonio’s +face left off being sticky, and his jacket and corduroys changed to +peach-bloom velvet, and his hair curled, and a cap and feather flew +in like a bird and settled on his head. He got into the carriage by +the fairy’s invitation; and there he renewed his acquaintance with the +duchess, whom he had seen before. + +In the church were the prince’s relations and friends, and the +Princess Alicia’s relations and friends, and the seventeen princes and +princesses, and the baby, and a crowd of the neighbors. The marriage +was beautiful beyond expression. The duchess was bridesmaid, and beheld +the ceremony from the pulpit, where she was supported by the cushion of +the desk. + +Grandmarina gave a magnificent wedding-feast afterward, in which there +was everything and more to eat, and everything and more to drink. +The wedding-cake was delicately ornamented with white satin ribbons, +frosted silver, and white lilies, and was forty-two yards round. + +When Grandmarina had drunk her love to the young couple, and Prince +Certainpersonio had made a speech, and everybody had cried, hip, hip, +hip, hurrah! Grandmarina announced to the king and queen that in future +there would be eight quarter-days in every year, except leap-year, when +there would be ten. She then turned to Certainpersonio and Alicia, +and said, “My dears, you will have thirty-five children, and they +will be good and beautiful. Seventeen of your children will be boys, +and eighteen girls. The hair of the whole of your children will curl +naturally. They will never have the measles, and will have recovered +from the whooping-cough before being born.” + +On hearing such good news everybody cried out, “Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!” +again. + +“It only remains,” said Grandmarina in conclusion, “to make an end of +the fish-bone.” + + + + + THE INFANT PHENOMENON + + + + + XXIII + + THE INFANT PHENOMENON + + +IN our day the moving picture and the radio have made it possible for +the people who live in the city and the people who live in the country +to see and hear the same things. Our amusements are very much alike. +But it was not so in Dickens’s day. The great actors were in the +theatres of the large cities; but companies of strolling players were +on the roads. They carried their stage scenery with them and did their +own advertising. They did not have to compete with those who could act +better. + +Dickens enjoyed these cheerful wanderers who went about giving +entertainments to people who were easily pleased. When Nicholas +Nickleby and his friend Smike were trudging along on the road from +London to Portsmouth they fell in with Mr. Vincent Crummles and his +dramatic company. Nicholas had almost come to the end of the little +money with which he started, and he was very glad when Mr. Crummles +invited him to share his supper at the inn. When Nicholas had told Mr. +Crummles his story he was invited to join the company, at a salary +which while not large was sufficient to keep him from starving. In +this way he became acquainted with the Infant Phenomenon. She was the +daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Crummles and was the pride of the family. +Nicholas was introduced to her when they came to the theatre in the +next town. It was a very dingy little theatre on a back street. Mrs. +Crummles led the way to the stage. + +There bounded on to the stage from some mysterious inlet, a little girl +in a dirty white frock with tucks up to the knees, short trousers, +sandled shoes, white spencer, pink gauze bonnet, green veil, and +curl-papers; who turned a pirouette, cut twice in the air, turned +another pirouette, then, looking off at the opposite wing, shrieked, +bounded forward to within six inches of the footlights, and fell into a +beautiful attitude of terror, as a shabby gentleman in an old pair of +buff slippers came in at one powerful slide, and chattering his teeth, +fiercely brandished a walking-stick. + +“They are going through the Indian Savage and the Maiden,” said Mrs. +Crummles. + +“Oh!” said the manager, “the little ballet interlude. Very good, go on. +A little this way, if you please, Mr. Johnson. That’ll do. Now!” + +The manager clapped his hands as a signal to proceed, and the savage, +becoming ferocious, made a slide toward the maiden; but the maiden +avoided him in six twirls, and came down at the end of the last one +upon the very points of her toes. This seemed to make some impression +upon the savage; for, after a little more ferocity and chasing of the +maiden into corners, he began to relent, and stroked his face several +times with his right thumb and forefinger, thereby intimating that +he was struck with admiration of the maiden’s beauty. Acting upon +the impulse of this passion, he (the savage) began to hit himself +severe thumps in the chest, and to exhibit other indications of being +desperately in love, which being rather a prosy proceeding, was very +likely the cause of the maiden’s falling asleep; whether it was or no, +asleep she did fall, sound as a church, on a sloping bank, and the +savage perceiving it, leaned his left ear on his left hand, and nodded +sideways, to intimate to all whom it might concern that she _was_ +asleep, and no shamming. Being left to himself, the savage had a dance, +all alone. Just as he left off, the maiden woke up, rubbed her eyes, +got off the bank, and had a dance all alone too--such a dance that +the savage looked on in ecstasy all the while, and when it was done, +plucked from a neighboring tree some botanical curiosity, resembling +a small pickled cabbage, and offered it to the maiden, who at first +wouldn’t have it, but on the savage shedding tears relented. Then the +savage jumped for joy; then the maiden jumped for rapture at the sweet +smell of the pickled cabbage. Then the savage and the maiden danced +violently together, and, finally, the savage dropped down on one knee, +and the maiden stood on one leg upon his other knee; thus concluding +the ballet, and leaving the spectators in a state of pleasing +uncertainty, whether she would ultimately marry the savage, or return +to her friends. + +“Very well indeed,” said Mr. Crummles; “bravo!” + +“Bravo!” cried Nicholas, resolved to make the best of everything. +“Beautiful!” + +“This, sir,” said Mr. Vincent Crummles, bringing the maiden forward, +“this is the Infant Phenomenon--Miss Ninetta Crummles.” + +“Your daughter?” inquired Nicholas. + +“My daughter--my daughter,” replied Mr. Vincent Crummles; “the idol +of every place we go into, sir. We have complimentary letters about +this girl, sir, from the nobility and gentry of almost every town in +England.” + +“I am not surprised at that,” said Nicholas; “she must be quite a +natural genius.” + +“Quite a--!” Mr. Crummles stopped; language was not powerful enough to +describe the Infant Phenomenon. “I’ll tell you what, sir,” he said; +“the talent of this child is not to be imagined. She must be seen, +sir--seen--to be ever so faintly appreciated. There; go to your mother, +my dear.” + +“May I ask how old she is?” inquired Nicholas. + +“You may, sir,” replied Mr. Crummles, looking steadily in his +questioner’s face, as some men do when they have doubts about being +implicitly believed in what they are going to say. “She is ten years of +age, sir.” + +“Not more?” + +“Not a day.” + +“Dear me!” said Nicholas, “it’s extraordinary.” + +It was; for the Infant Phenomenon, though of short stature, had a +comparatively aged countenance, and had moreover been precisely the +same age--not perhaps to the full extent of the memory of the oldest +inhabitant, but certainly for five good years. But she had been kept up +late every night, and put upon an unlimited allowance of gin and water +from infancy, to prevent her growing tall, and perhaps this system +of training had produced in the Infant Phenomenon these additional +phenomena. + +Nicholas was invited to dinner with the Crummles family at their +lodgings. Mrs. Crummles, who always talked as if she were on the stage, +received him in a most dignified way. + +“You are welcome,” said Mrs. Crummles, turning round to Nicholas when +they reached the bow-windowed front room on the first floor. + +Nicholas bowed his acknowledgments, and was unfeignedly glad to see the +cloth laid. + +“We have but a shoulder of mutton with onion sauce,” said Mrs. +Crummles, in the same charnel-house voice; “but such as our dinner is, +we beg you to partake of it.” + +“You are very good,” replied Nicholas, “I shall do it ample justice.” + +“Vincent,” said Mrs. Crummles, “what is the hour?” + +“Five minutes past dinner-time,” said Mr. Crummles. + +Mrs. Crummles rang the bell. “Let the mutton and onion sauce appear.” + +The slave who attended upon Mr. Bulph’s lodgers disappeared, and after +a short interval reappeared with the festive banquet. Nicholas and the +Infant Phenomenon opposed each other at the pembroke-table, and Smike +and the Master Crummleses dined on the sofa-bedstead. + +“Are they very theatrical people here?” asked Nicholas. + +“No,” replied Mr. Crummles, shaking his head, “far from it--far from +it.” + +“I pity them,” observed Mrs. Crummles. + +“So do I,” said Nicholas; “if they have no relish for theatrical +entertainments, properly conducted.” + +“Then they have none, sir,” rejoined Mr. Crummles. “To the Infant’s +benefit, last year, on which occasion she repeated three of her +most popular characters, and also appeared in the Fairy Porcupine, +as originally performed by her, there was a house of no more than +four-pound-twelve.” + +“Is it possible?” cried Nicholas. + +“And two pound of that was trust, pa,” said the Phenomenon. + +“And two pound of that was trust,” repeated Mr. Crummles. + +The public did not always appreciate the genius of the Infant +Phenomenon, but that made no difference to the admiring father. When +Nicholas suggested that perhaps a boy phenomenon might be added to the +company, Mr. Crummles answered solemnly: “There is only one Phenomenon, +sir, and that is a girl.” + + + + + A CHRISTMAS TREE + + + + + XXIV + + A CHRISTMAS TREE + + +MOST people love Christmas trees, but the first Christmas trees one +sees are the most wonderful of all. Dickens tells about the tree he +saw when he was just the right age to appreciate its wonderfulness. He +never afterward saw anything that was equal to it in magnificence. All +sorts of objects clustered on the branches like magic fruit. And the +best thing about it all was that many of these things were for him. + + * * * * * + +All toys at first, I find. Up yonder, among the green holly and red +berries, is the Tumbler with his hands in his pockets, who wouldn’t +lie down, but whenever he was put upon the floor, persisted in rolling +his fat body about, until he rolled himself still, and brought those +lobster eyes of his to bear upon me--when I affected to laugh very +much, but in my heart of hearts was extremely doubtful of him. Close +beside him is that infernal snuff-box, out of which there sprang a +demoniacal Counsellor in a black gown, with an obnoxious head of hair, +and a red cloth mouth, wide open, who was not to be endured on any +terms, but could not be put away either; for he used suddenly, in a +highly magnified state, to fly out of mammoth snuff-boxes in dreams, +when least expected. Nor is the frog with cobbler’s wax on his tail, +far off; for there was no knowing where he wouldn’t jump; and when +he flew over the candle, and came upon one’s hand with that spotted +back--red on a green ground--he was horrible. The cardboard lady in a +blue-silk skirt, who was stood up against the candlestick to dance, +and whom I see on the same branch, was milder, and was beautiful; +but I can’t say as much for the larger cardboard man, who used to be +hung against the wall and pulled by a string; there was a sinister +expression in that nose of his; and when he got his legs round his neck +(which he very often did), he was ghastly, and not a creature to be +alone with. + +When did that dreadful Mask first look at me? Who put it on, and why +was I so frightened that the sight of it is an era in my life? It is +not a hideous visage in itself; it is even meant to be droll; why then +were its stolid features so intolerable? Surely not because it hid the +wearer’s face. An apron would have done as much; and though I should +have preferred even the apron away, it would not have been absolutely +insupportable, like the mask. Was it the immovability of the mask? +The doll’s face was immovable, but I was not afraid of _her_. +Perhaps that fixed and set change coming over a real face infused into +my quickened heart some remote suggestion and dread of the universal +change that is to come on every face and make it still? Nothing +reconciled me to it. No drummers, from whom proceeded a melancholy +chirping on the turning of a handle; no regiment of soldiers, with a +mute band, taken out of a box, and fitted, one by one, upon a stiff +and lazy little set of lazy-tongs; no old woman, made of wires and +a brown-paper composition, cutting up a pie for two small children, +could give me a permanent comfort, for a long time. Nor was it any +satisfaction to be shown the Mask, and see that it was made of paper, +or to have it locked up and be assured that no one wore it. The mere +recollection of that fixed face, the mere knowledge of its existence +anywhere, was sufficient to awake me in the night all perspiration and +horror, with, “Oh, I know its coming! Oh, the mask!” + +I never wondered what the dear old donkey with the panniers--there he +is! was made of, then! His hide was real to the touch, I recollect. And +the great black horse with the round red spots all over him--the horse +that I could even get upon--I never wondered what had brought him to +that strange condition, or thought that such a horse was not commonly +seen at Newmarket. The four horses of no color, next to him, that went +into the wagon of cheeses, and could be taken out and stabled under the +piano, appear to have bits of fur-tippet for their tails, and other +bits for their manes, and to stand on pegs instead of legs; but it was +not so when they were brought home for a Christmas present. They were +all right, then; neither was their harness unceremoniously nailed into +their chests, as appears to be the case now. The tinkling works of the +music-cart, I _did_ find out, to be made of quill toothpicks and +wire; and I always thought that little tumbler in his shirt-sleeves, +perpetually swarming up one side of a wooden frame, and coming down, +head foremost, on the other, rather a weak-minded person--though +good-natured; but the Jacob’s Ladder, next him, made of little squares +of red wood, that went flapping and clattering over one another, each +developing a different picture, and the whole enlivened by small bells, +was a mighty marvel and a great delight. + +Ah! The Doll’s house!--of which I was not proprietor, but where I +visited. I don’t admire the Houses of Parliament half so much as that +stone-fronted mansion with real glass windows and doorsteps, and a +real balcony--greener than I ever see now, except at watering-places; +and even they afford but a poor imitation. And though it _did_ +open all at once, the entire house-front (which was a blow, I admit, +as cancelling the fiction of a staircase), it was but to shut it up +again, and I could believe. Even open, there were three distinct rooms +in it: a sitting-room and bedroom, elegantly furnished, and best of +all, a kitchen, with uncommonly soft fire-irons, a plentiful assortment +of diminutive utensils--oh, the warming-pan!--and a tin man-cook in +profile, who was always going to fry two fish! What Barmecide justice +have I done to the noble feasts wherein the set of wooden platters +figured, each with its own peculiar delicacy, as a ham or turkey, glued +tight on to it, and garnished with something green, which I recollect +as moss! Could all the Temperance societies of these later days, +united, give me such a tea-drinking as I have had through the means of +yonder little set of blue crockery, which really would hold liquid (it +ran out of the small wooden cask, I recollect, and tasted of matches), +and which made tea, nectar. And if the two legs of the ineffectual +little sugar-tongs did tumble over one another, and want purpose, like +Punch’s hands, what does it matter? And if I did once shriek out, as a +poisoned child, and strike the fashionable company with consternation, +by reason of having drunk a little teaspoon, inadvertently dissolved in +too hot tea, I was never the worse for it, except by a powder! + +Upon the next branches of the tree, lower down, hard by the green +roller and miniature gardening-tools, how thick the books begin to +hang. Thin books, in themselves, at first, but many of them, and with +deliciously smooth covers of bright red or green. What fat black +letters to begin with! “A was an Archer, and shot at a frog.” Of course +he was. He was an Apple-pie also, and there he is! He was a good many +things in his time, was A, and so were most of his friends, except +X, who had so little versatility that I never knew him to get beyond +Xerxes or Xantippe--like Y, who was always confined to a Yacht or a +Yew Tree; and Z condemned forever to be a Zebra or a Zany. But, now, +the very tree itself changes, and becomes a bean-stalk--the marvellous +bean-stalk up which Jack climbed to the Giant’s house! And now, those +dreadfully interesting, double-headed giants, with their clubs over +their shoulders, begin to stride along the boughs in a perfect throng, +dragging knights and ladies home for dinner by the hair of their heads. +And Jack--how noble, with his sword of sharpness, and his shoes of +swiftness! Again those old meditations come upon me as I gaze up at +him; and I debate within myself whether there was more than one Jack +(which I am loath to believe possible), or only one genuine original +admirable Jack, who achieved all the recorded exploits. + +Good for Christmas time is the ruddy color of the cloak, in which--the +tree making a forest of itself for her to trip through, with her +basket--Little Red Riding-Hood comes to me one Christmas Eve to give +me information of the cruelty and treachery of that dissembling Wolf +who ate her grandmother, without making any impression on his appetite, +and then ate her, after making that ferocious joke about his teeth. +She was my first love. I felt that if I could have married Little Red +Riding-Hood, I should have known perfect bliss. But it was not to be; +and there was nothing for it but to look out the Wolf in the Noah’s +Ark there, and put him late in the procession on the table, as a +monster who was to be degraded. Oh, the wonderful Noah’s Ark! It was +not found seaworthy when put in a washing-tub, and the animals were +crammed in at the roof, and needed to have their legs well shaken down +before they could be got in, even there--and then, ten to one but they +began to tumble out at the door, which was but imperfectly fastened +with a wire latch--but what was _that_ against it! Consider the +noble fly, a size or two smaller than the elephant: the lady-bird, the +butterfly--all triumphs of art! Consider the goose, whose feet were so +small, and whose balance was so indifferent, that he usually tumbled +forward, and knocked down all the animal creation. Consider Noah and +his family, like idiotic tobacco-stoppers; and how the leopard stuck +to warm little fingers; and how the tails of the larger animals used +gradually to resolve themselves into frayed bits of string! + +Hush! Again a forest, and somebody up in a tree--not Robin Hood, +not Valentine, not the Yellow Dwarf (I have passed him and all +Mother Bunch’s wonders, without mention), but an Eastern King with a +glittering scimitar and turban. By Allah! two Eastern Kings, for I see +another, looking over his shoulder! Down upon the grass, at the tree’s +foot, lies the full length of a coal-black Giant, stretched asleep, +with his head in a lady’s lap; and near them is a glass box, fastened +with four locks of shining steel, in which he keeps the lady prisoner +when he is awake. I see the four keys at his girdle now. The lady makes +signs to the two kings in the tree, who softly descend. It is the +setting-in of the bright Arabian Nights. + +Oh, now all common things become uncommon and enchanted to me. All +lamps are wonderful; all rings are talismans. Common flower-pots are +full of treasure, with a little earth scattered on the top; trees are +for Ali Baba to hide in; beefsteaks are to throw down into the Valley +of Diamonds, that the precious stones may stick to them, and be carried +by the eagles to their nests, whence the traders, with loud cries, will +scare them. Tarts are made, according to the recipe of the Vizier’s +son of Bussorah, who turned pastrycook after he was set down in his +drawers at the gate of Damascus; cobblers are all Mustaphas, and in the +habit of sewing up people cut into four pieces, to whom they are taken +blindfold. + +Any iron ring let into stone is the entrance to a cave which only waits +for the magician, and the little fire, and the necromancy, that will +make the earth shake. All the dates imported come from the same tree +as that unlucky date with whose shell the merchant knocked out the +eye of the genie’s invisible son. All olives are of the stock of that +fresh fruit concerning which the Commander of the Faithful overheard +the boy conduct the fictitious trial of the fraudulent olive merchant; +all apples are akin to the apple purchased (with two others) from the +Sultan’s gardener for three sequins, and which the tall black slave +stole from the child. All dogs are associated with the dog, really +a transformed man, who jumped upon the baker’s counter, and put his +paw on the piece of bad money. All rice recalls the rice which the +awful lady, who was a ghoul, would only peck by grains, because of +her nightly feasts in the burial-place. My very rocking-horse--there +he is, with his nostrils turned completely inside-out, indicative of +Blood!--should have a peg in his neck, by virtue thereof to fly away +with me, as the wooden horse did with the Prince of Persia, in the +sight of all his father’s court. + +Yes, on every object that I recognize among those upper branches +of my Christmas tree, I see this fairy light! When I wake in bed, +at daybreak, on the cold, dark, winter mornings, the white snow +dimly beheld, outside, through the frost on the window-pane, I hear +Dinarzade: “Sister, sister, if you are yet awake, I pray you finish the +history of the Young King of the Black Islands.” Scheherazade replies: +“If my lord the Sultan will suffer me to live another day, sister, I +will not only finish that, but tell you a more wonderful story yet.” +Then, the gracious sultan goes out, giving no orders for the execution, +and we all three breathe again. + + + + + =TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES= + + +Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced +quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and +otherwise left unbalanced. + +Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant +preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not +changed. + +Inconsistent hyphens left as printed. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75856 *** diff --git a/75856-h/75856-h.htm b/75856-h/75856-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..40d54cf --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/75856-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6803 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Children of Dickens | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; 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+ margin-top:-.7%; +} + +p.dropcap:first-letter +{ + color: transparent; + visibility: hidden; + margin-left: -0.9em; +} + +.caption {font-weight: normal; + font-size: 90%; + text-align: right; + padding-bottom: 1em; + page-break-before: avoid} + +.caption p +{ + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin: 0.25em 0; + page-break-before: avoid +} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + width: 100%; + height: auto + } + +.width500 { + max-width: 500px + } + +.x-ebookmaker img { + width: 80% + } + +.x-ebookmaker .width500 { + width: 100% + } + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1em;} + + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75856 ***</div> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="cover" style="width: 1729px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="1729" height="2560" alt="The author describes the life and adventures of various children characters created by Charles Dickens."> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i001" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="1200" height="1686" alt="The image depicts a vintage street scene with half-timbered +buildings, a horse-drawn carriage labeled London, and cobblestone +roads."> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i002" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i002.jpg" width="1200" height="1686" alt="The image depicts The Old Curiosity Shop, a quaint, +half-timbered building with a tiled roof. People walk along the +cobblestone street, some carrying baskets."> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="nindc"><span class="large">THE CHILDREN OF DICKENS</span></p> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i003" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i003.jpg" width="1200" height="1704" alt="The image shows a young boy with curly hair, dressed in vintage +clothing, sitting on a stool with an open book. He looks up at an older +woman in a bonnet and apron, who is sewing by the fireplace."> +<figcaption class="caption"> + +<p style="text-align:left"> +<i>Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons</i></p> + +<p>DAVID COPPERFIELD AND PEGGOTTY BY THE PARLOUR FIRE</p> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i004" style="width: 1200px;"> + <img src="images/i004.jpg" width="1200" height="1773" alt="Title page of the book The Children of Dickens."> +</figure> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1>THE CHILDREN<br> +OF DICKENS</h1> + + +<p class="nindc"><span class="large">SAMUEL McCHORD CROTHERS</span></p> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2 space-below2"><span class="allsmcap">ILLUSTRATED BY</span><br> +JESSIE WILLCOX SMITH</p> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i005" style="width: 150px;"> + <img src="images/i005.jpg" width="150" height="153" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2 space-below2">NEW YORK<br> +CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS<br> +MCMXXVI</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="nindc space-above2 space-below2"> +<span class="allsmcap">COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY</span><br> +CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS</p> + + +<hr class="r5"> + +<p class="nindc space-above2 space-below2"> +Printed in the United States of America</p> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i006" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/i006.jpg" width="150" height="173" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + + +<table class="autotable"> +<tbody><tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdr"> <span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">I.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">LONDON ONCE UPON A TIME</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">II.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">DICKENS HIMSELF</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">III.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">PIP</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top"></td> +<td class="tdlh2"><span class="allsmcap">PIP AT MR. PUMBLECHOOK’S</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">IV.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">DAVID COPPERFIELD</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top"></td> +<td class="tdlh2"><span class="allsmcap">THE LITTLE BOY AND THE HUNGRY WAITER</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">V.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">WILKINS MICAWBER JUNIOR AND HIS PARENTS</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">VI.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">ON THE ROAD TO DOVER</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">VII.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">JOE THE FAT BOY</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">VIII.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">OLIVER TWIST</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">IX.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">THE JELLYBY CHILDREN</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">X.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">SISSY JUPE</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XI.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">THE CHILD OF THE MARSHALSEA</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XII.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">THE CRATCHITS</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XIII.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">THE DOLL’S DRESSMAKER</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XIV.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">LITTLE NELL</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top"></td> +<td class="tdlh2"><span class="allsmcap">THE JOLLY SANDBOYS</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top"></td> +<td class="tdlh2"><span class="allsmcap">MRS. JARLEY AND HER WAX-WORKS</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XV.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">THE KENWIGSES</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XVI.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">THE CHILD’S STORY</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XVII.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">THE BOY AT TODGERS’S</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_163">163</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</span></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XVIII.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">THE DOMBEY CHILDREN</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top"></td> +<td class="tdlh2"><span class="allsmcap">HOW FLORENCE DOMBEY WAS LOST IN LONDON</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top"></td> +<td class="tdlh2"><span class="allsmcap">PAUL DOMBEY AT BRIGHTON</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XIX.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">JEMMY JACKMAN LIRRIPER’S STORY</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XX.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">ON THE WAY TO GRETNA GREEN</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XXI.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">OUR SCHOOL</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XXII.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">ALICIA IN WONDERLAND</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XXIII.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">THE INFANT PHENOMENON</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdr_top">XXIV.</td> +<td class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">A CHRISTMAS TREE</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td> +</tr> +</tbody> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +</div> + + +<table class="autotable"> +<tbody><tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdr"> </td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl">David Copperfield and Peggotty by the Parlour Fire</td> +<td class="tdr"><i>Frontispiece</i></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">FACING PAGE</span></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl">Pip and Joe Gargery</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl">Little Em’ly</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl">Oliver’s First Meeting with the Artful Dodger</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl">Tiny Tim and Bob Cratchit on Christmas Day</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl">Jenny Wren, the Little Doll’s Dressmaker</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl">Little Nell and Her Grandfather at Mrs. Jarley’s</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl">Mrs. Kenwigs and the Four Little Kenwigses</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl">Paul Dombey and Florence on the Beach at Brighton</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl">The Runaway Couple</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td> +</tr> +</tbody> +</table> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="space-above2"> +The cover lining and title-page decoration designed by Euphame +Mallison.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="LONDON_ONCE_UPON_A_TIME">LONDON ONCE UPON A TIME</h2> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I<br> +<br>LONDON ONCE UPON A TIME</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">O</span>NCE there was a city called Bagdad. I know just how it looked, and so +do you. It was very mysterious. It was on a mysterious river called +the Tigris. There were a great many little canals running in every +direction through the city. The drinking water was brought to the +houses in goatskins carried on the backs of men. These water-carriers +often turned out to be very interesting persons. On the banks of the +river were palm-trees, and under every palm-tree was a dervish or two. +The streets of the city were narrow and winding, and dark people in +flowing robes flitted about on secret errands that aroused suspicion. +One could never tell what they were up to. There was Haroun Al Raschid +prowling around with his grand vizier and his executioner. He was full +of curiosity, and had a keen sense of justice. In Bagdad everything +turned out in a most remarkable way. If you were looking for one +mystery, you would find half a dozen.</p> + +<p>I have recently read an article by a gentleman who has lived a number +of years in Bagdad, and it appears that he has not seen any of the +wonderful things that I am interested in. He says that the climate is +very uncomfortable and that the thermometer often stands at 112 degrees +at breakfast-time. That is very hot indeed. He says that many of the +people now go about in Ford cars instead of riding on camels. When +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> +they want excitement they go to the movies. In short, according to his +account, Bagdad must be getting to be very much like other places.</p> + +<p>All this is disappointing, but as I am never likely to go to the modern +Bagdad, anyway, it doesn’t matter so much to me. My Bagdad is in the +<i>Arabian Nights</i>, and I can still go to it whenever I feel so +inclined. When I open the book I find everything just as it was “once +upon a time.”</p> + +<p>It is the same with London. When I first crossed the Atlantic and +visited the great city, I was a bit troubled because many parts of it +looked so much like other places. I wanted it to be like the London +I had read about. Of course this wasn’t fair to the people who live +there, who can’t be expected to keep it just for travellers to look at.</p> + +<p>When I think of London as it was once upon a time, that is the time +when Charles Dickens lived in it. This London was as wonderful as +Bagdad, though in different ways. If you want to know what it was like, +you must go to the Dickens books. Dickens was the only one who ever saw +London in that way. When you ask whether it was the real London, you +have to take his word for it. It was real to him and he had the power +to make it real to us. That is what we call genius.</p> + +<p>The London the Dickens people lived in was a big city, so big that one +easily got lost in it. The railroads were just coming in, but they +didn’t get into the stories. There were no telephones or electric +lights or automobiles or radios. People came in from the green country +on gay stage-coaches with prodigious tooting of horns and cracking of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> +whips. They stopped at inns, where a great deal of eating and drinking +was going on. But when they left the inns to explore the town, they +plunged into a maze of the queerest streets imaginable. The streets +ran in every direction except in the direction one wanted to go. Many +of them were mere alleys, but they were always crowded. One soon got +down to the river, where there were old warehouses that leaned over the +water but never actually fell in. There were old and shabby houses, +and the people were made to match them. That is what made them so +interesting and exciting. Yet, though there were so many people on the +streets that you didn’t know, it was curious to be all the time running +across people you did know, or who knew you. If you were trying to +hide, you were sure to be found out. On the other hand, you could get +lost with no difficulty at all.</p> + +<p>One of the most interesting parts of the city to prowl around in was +down by the water-front. The River Thames flowed through London just +as mysteriously as the River Tigris flowed by Bagdad; and it was the +scene of many adventures. To be sure, there were no palm-trees and no +dervishes. But there were great ships coming from countries as far away +as Arabia and the Spice Islands. On the banks of the river were great +warehouses, with musty, mouldy cellars and strange garrets, and with +all kinds of foreign smells. Back from the river were streets where +people lived who could afford to live nowhere else. Some of them were +dwarfed, with gnarled faces, as if they had not had sunlight enough +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> +when they were growing up. Some of these people were as bad as they +looked, but many of them were much better. When you had time to become +acquainted with them, you couldn’t help but like them. Each person had +some little trick of manner which made it easy to recognize him. They +had a way of doing the same thing over again, just as people have in +real life. This made them amusing even when we could not approve of +them.</p> + +<p>Most of the people we meet live in lodgings—which is a very +interesting way to live in England. You hire a room and the landlady +will go out and buy the food for you and serve it in your room. This +gives opportunity for a good deal of conversation. It’s all very snug +and cosy if you have money to pay for what you order. If you haven’t, +this leads to more conversation. Many of the Dickens people didn’t have +a very regular income and were not sure where the next meal was coming +from. Having a good dinner was quite an event to them, and they made +the most of it. It is wonderful the enjoyment they got out of eating +and drinking. And how they liked to talk on such happy occasions! They +were living in a hand-to-mouth way, but they didn’t seem to mind it as +much as people in the world outside of the Dickens books do. They took +it all as an adventure.</p> + +<p>Down in the city were the offices of the bankers and rich merchants, +where clerks sat on high stools and did their accounts under the eyes +of elderly gentlemen whom they didn’t like. In the suburbs there were +trim little houses where people lived who were beginning to be more +prosperous.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> + +<p>One doesn’t see much of the great places. Though there were palaces in +London, the people whom Dickens was interested in didn’t live in them, +though they admired them very much and were proud of them in a way. +For they were every-day Englishmen who lived in the days of good Queen +Victoria.</p> + +<p>The great thing about London as Dickens saw it, and as we see it +through his eyes, was that it was queer. The houses were queer, and the +streets were queer, and the people were queer. Each one went about his +business without caring a rap for what other people thought about him. +If they acted in a particular way, it was because they were made that +way. And yet they were friendly—most of them. And those that weren’t +were such villains and hypocrites that we dislike them heartily. We +always know just what to think about them, and so we don’t waste any +sympathy on them. When the characters appear, we know at once which +ones are to be looked upon with suspicion and which are to be trusted. +You get to know the people in Dickens’s London because he is so anxious +to make you see them as plainly as he does. If you don’t see them at +first, he keeps on telling about them till you can’t help yourself.</p> + +<p>Now if I were to tell you that I saw a child with a face like a rosy +apple, you would probably forget all about it in a minute or so. But +Dickens goes at the business of description more thoroughly. He says:</p> + +<p>“Miss Tox escorted a plump rosy-cheeked, apple-faced young woman, +with an infant in her arms, and a younger woman not so plump but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> +apple-faced also, who led a plump and apple-faced child in each hand, +another plump and apple-faced boy who walked by himself, and finally +a plump and apple-faced man who carried another plump and apple-faced +boy, whom he stood down on the floor and admonished in a husky whisper +to ketch hold of his brother Johnny.”</p> + +<p>When I see the happy apple-faced family together, it makes an +impression on me. It’s the same with the descriptions of the scenery or +the weather. I might say that the London fog is very disagreeable, and +you would answer that you had always heard so. But Dickens takes you +out into the fog and you see it and feel it and taste it:</p> + +<p>“Fog everywhere. Fog up the river where it flows among the green +meadows. Fog down the river where it rolls defiled among the tiers of +shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great and dirty city. Fog +in the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into +the cabooses of collier brigs, fog lying out on the yards and hovering +in the rigging of great ships; fog in the eyes and throats of ancient +Greenwich pensioners wheezing by the firesides in their wards; fog in +the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper down in +the close cabin.”</p> + +<p>By this time you get the London fog into your own throat and feel what +it was like in November, when “the raw afternoon is rawest and the +dense fog is densest and the muddiest streets are muddiest.” When you +feel all this, Dickens is ready to go on with his story.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="DICKENS_HIMSELF">DICKENS HIMSELF</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II<br> +<br>DICKENS HIMSELF</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">I</span> ONCE sat with several thousand people on one summer evening to watch +an historical pageant at Warwick in England. Back of us were the +walls of the great Norman castle, around us were the old trees that +had been there for centuries, and through the trees we could see the +little River Avon. Then the townspeople acted out for us the romantic +scenes that had taken place on that very spot. First we saw the Druids +building their altars; then the Romans came; and after them the Saxons. +After a while we saw Norman knights riding under the greenwood trees. +Warwick the king-maker rode up to his castle. Then there was a stir on +the river, and we saw Queen Elizabeth in her barge. When she had been +received in state, the officers of the neighboring towns were presented +to her. Among them was Mr. Shakespeare from Stratford, who brought with +him his young son, William. Then came Cromwell’s soldiers and the men +who have made history since Queen Elizabeth’s day.</p> + +<p>It was all very picturesque, and we felt that we were really watching +the events that had taken place on that spot through the centuries of +English history. But when the Druids and the Saxons and the Normans and +the great personages of every degree had passed out of our sight, there +was only one person left. It was the little boy from Stratford. He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> +stood there all alone, thinking it all over. Then he walked away.</p> + +<p>Now the thing that made the most impression upon us was this boy who +had the gift of seeing all we saw and more in his imagination. For, +after all, the great thing about the River Avon is that this boy once +played upon its banks. And the pleasant Warwickshire country has for +its chief charm the fact that William Shakespeare knew it and loved it.</p> + +<p>Now and then a person is born who has the gift not only of seeing +things more clearly than we do, but of making us see them more vividly +than we could without his help. Such a person we call a genius. He +gives us the use of his mind. When such a person writes a book, it is +as if he had created an interesting country and filled it with all +sorts of things for our amusement. He invites us to visit him and make +ourselves at home. And the best of it is that we are not invited for a +particular day. The invitation is open to us for a lifetime. Whenever +we feel inclined, we may visit Shakespeare’s country and meet all the +Shakespearian people and listen to their talk. And the more often we go +on such visits, the more enjoyment we find.</p> + +<p>Now it is the same with Dickens. To be sure, his hospitality is not +on so grand a scale as Shakespeare’s. He does not show us kings, or +knights in armor, or vast parks and lordly castles. But he opens to +us a world of imagination that is his own. It is filled with common +people, but they are uncommonly amusing. We see not only what they +are doing, but also what they think they are doing, which is often +absurdly different. We see their “tricks and their manners” as they +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> +cannot possibly see them. That is where we have the advantage of +them. Some of them strut about as if they owned the earth, while some +that wear poor clothes and endure hard knocks turn out to be the real +heroes. Dickens is not like some writers who pride themselves on not +telling what they think of their characters. He has his likes and his +dislikes, and he doesn’t care who knows it. He hates a bully, whether +he is a man or boy, and he loves the people who knock the bully down. +That is because he suffered so much from bullies when he was a boy.</p> + +<p>When he was twelve years old, his father lost his money and was thrown +into a debtors’ prison. It was a queer way they had then of treating a +person who couldn’t pay his debts. They shut him up where he couldn’t +earn anything. Charles had to visit pawn-shops to try to borrow money +for the family. Then he was put to work in a big, gloomy establishment +where they made blacking for shoes. His work was to sit all day on a +bench pasting labels on the boxes. Then he would have to find ways of +keeping alive on a few pennies he got each day.</p> + +<p>But though he had a very hard time for a year or two, he spent his time +greatly to his own and our advantage. Before he was thirteen, he had +accumulated a great deal of experience. He had kept his eyes open and +had seen a side of life that most people never see at all.</p> + +<p>When I think of Dickens and of his way of finding out obscure people, +and making them interesting, I remember the advice I once read in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> +a newspaper as to how to find a collar-button. When a collar-button +rolls off the dressing-table, it seems to have an uncanny way of +rolling out of sight. The gentleman who is in need of it feels himself +greatly aggrieved over the collar-button’s easy way of getting lost. +Now the newspaper man said that the reason the man doesn’t see the +collar-button is that he stands too high above it. If he will forget +all about his dignity and lie down on the floor, he can’t help but see +what he is looking for. In order to see it he must get down to the +level where the collar-button is. There he will see it shining like a +little mountain of gold.</p> + +<p>I think that explains why Dickens sees so much more in his characters +than other persons would who did not have his advantages. He does not +look down on his characters. He meets them on their own level, because +he has been there. And so he makes us see them.</p> + +<p>He learned very early that, no matter where a person is, he is always +the centre of his little world. He always has something that he is +afraid of and always has something that he hopes for. And he learned to +sympathize not only with the big hopes and fears but with the little +hopes and fears. They are the things which wise people often overlook, +but they are really very important, for there are so many of them.</p> + +<p>Dickens did not write children’s stories, that is, stories about +children who stayed as children. Of course there are children in his +novels just as there are in the London streets—plenty of them. But +they are all mixed up with the older people. And then they are all the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> +time growing up just as they do in real life. You get acquainted with +a small boy in one chapter; and the next time you meet him he is at +boarding-school, and before the end of the book he is out walking with +children of his own.</p> + +<p>This is the reason why it would not be worth while to try to tell the +stories of the children in the novels of Dickens. The moment you got to +the most exciting part of the story you would find that they weren’t +children at all. They are quite grown up. The fact is that Dickens was +not very much of a story-teller. We do not read him for the plot, which +is often hard to follow. He gives us scenes, one after another, each +one really complete in itself.</p> + +<p>When we sit down by the fire on a winter evening, some one says: “What +shall we read? We haven’t time to read a book through—only a chapter.” +Now the chances are that we choose a chapter from Dickens. And it’s +very likely that we will choose some scene which we all are most +familiar with.</p> + +<p>We come into an inn. The coach has just arrived, and there is a +cheerful bustle. We hear the blowing of the horns and the cracking of +the whips, and if Mr. Weller happens to be driver, or if Mr. Pickwick +and his friends happen to be on board, we are sure that we will be left +in a state of great good humor.</p> + +<p>Or we drop into a shabby little house, and climb the stairs till +we come to a room where some of our friends are having a little +dinner. They are making speeches to one another, and acting in a most +extraordinary manner. It’s their way of having a good time, and we are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> +glad that they can enjoy themselves over so little.</p> + +<p>We hear people quarrelling and crying and laughing, and we are curious +to know what it is all about. The best of it is that Dickens always +tells us. If a man is a villain, we see it at once; and if he is a +good-hearted person, we give him credit for it. We do not have to read +the book through to get the flavor of it. We go at once to the scenes +that please us best.</p> + +<p>The scenes that are selected for this book are those in which children +appear, and we want to see them as Dickens did.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 19]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PIP">PIP</h2> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III<br> +<br>PIP</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">A</span>S I have said, almost all the Dickens people lived in London or went +up to it sometimes. But all were not born there, and many of them, as +children, lived in little villages. When they got to be seventeen or +eighteen, they went to the great city to seek their fortunes.</p> + +<p>There was Pip. I don’t care so much for him after he grew up. When he +got to London he became very much like other folks. I like him best +when he was a small boy in the country.</p> + +<p>His name was Philip Pirrip. This was hard to pronounce, and puckered up +the lips like “Peter Piper picked a peck of peppers.” The best he could +make of it was Pip, and so everybody called him that for short.</p> + +<p>His father and mother had died, and he was brought up by his older +sister, who had married Joe Gargery, the blacksmith. She was twenty +years older than Pip and had forgotten how she felt when she was his +age. This made trouble for them both.</p> + +<p>Pip had a hard time with Mrs. Gargery, and so had Joe, and so they +became great chums. Joe was a big man, and his arms were strong, as all +blacksmiths’ are, but he had never learned to read and write, though he +knew some of the letters of the alphabet and was very proud over that.</p> + +<p>The house where the Gargerys lived was in the marsh country near a +river. One could look out on a dark flat country with little ditches +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> +running through it in every direction. It was a place where one could +easily get lost, and where robbers could hide. There was a prison +ship down near the mouth of the river, and now and then some of the +prisoners would escape and get into the marsh. Pip met two of them once +and had an exciting adventure. Down by the river there was a battery, +and Pip used to go down with Joe Gargery sometimes and sit on the old +cannon, while Joe would tell what fine things they would do if Mrs. Joe +would let them. But she never did let them do what they wanted to do if +she could prevent it.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i007" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i007.jpg" width="1200" height="1695" alt="A cozy scene of an elderly man and a young boy sitting by a +hearth, each holding a mug, with a kettle hanging over the fire and warm +light casting gentle shadows across their faces."> +<figcaption class="caption"> +<p style="text-align:left"> +<i>Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons</i></p> +<p>PIP AND JOE GARGERY</p> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>Pip went to an evening school taught by an old lady who also kept a +little store in the same room. He didn’t learn very much, for the old +lady used to go to sleep most of the time. But as she only charged four +cents a week, Mrs. Joe thought it was cheap enough. It was in this +school that Pip learned the alphabet, and he was very proud when he +found that he could put the letters together to make words. He wanted +to know whether Joe had learned to read, and Joe did not want him to +find out. One night they were sitting in the chimney corner, and with +great effort Pip printed a letter which he handed to Joe. He tells how +the letter was received.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="nindc"> +<span class="allsmcap">WHY JOE DID NOT KNOW HOW TO READ</span></p> + +<p>“mI deEr JO i opE U r krWitE wEll i opE i shAl soN B haBelL 4 2 teeDge +U JO aN theN wE shOrl b sO glOdd aN wEn i M preNgtD 2 u JO woT larX an +blEvE ME inF xn PiP.”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></p> + +<p>There was no indispensable necessity for my communicating with Joe +by letter, inasmuch as he sat beside me and we were alone. But, I +delivered this written communication (slate and all) with my own hand, +and Joe received it, as a miracle of erudition.</p> + +<p>“I say, Pip, old chap!” cried Joe, opening his blue eyes wide, “what a +scholar you are! Ain’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I should like to be,” said I, glancing at the slate as he held it: +with a misgiving that the writing was rather hilly.</p> + +<p>“Why, here’s a J,” said Joe, “and an O equal to anythink! Here’s a J +and an O, Pip, and a J-O, Joe.”</p> + +<p>I had never heard Joe read aloud to any greater extent than this +monosyllable, and I had observed at church last Sunday, when I +accidentally held our Prayer-Book upside down, that it seemed to suit +his convenience quite as well as if it had been all right. Wishing to +embrace the present occasion of finding out whether in teaching Joe, I +should have to begin quite at the beginning, I said, “Ah! But read the +rest, Joe.”</p> + +<p>“The rest, eh, Pip?” said Joe, looking at it with a slowly searching +eye. “One, two, three. Why, here’s three J’s, and three O’s, and three +J-O, Joes, in it, Pip!”</p> + +<p>I leaned over Joe, and, with the aid of my forefinger, read him the +whole letter.</p> + +<p>“Astonishing!” said Joe, when I had finished. “You ARE a scholar.”</p> + +<p>“How do you spell Gargery, Joe?” I asked him, with a modest patronage.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> + +<p>“I don’t spell it at all,” said Joe.</p> + +<p>“But supposing you did?”</p> + +<p>“It <i>can’t</i> be supposed,” said Joe. “Tho’ I’m uncommon fond of +reading, too.”</p> + +<p>“Are you, Joe?”</p> + +<p>“On-common. Give me,” said Joe, “a good book, or a good newspaper, +and sit me down afore a good fire, and I ask no better. Lord!” he +continued, after rubbing his knees a little. “When you <i>do</i> come +to a J and a O, and says you, ‘Here, at last, is a J-O, Joe,’ how +interesting reading is!”</p> + +<p>I derived from this last, that Joe’s education, like Steam, was yet in +its infancy. Pursuing the subject, I inquired:</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me?”</p> + +<p>“No, Pip.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me?”</p> + +<p>“Well, Pip,” said Joe, taking up the poker, and settling himself to +his usual occupation when he was thoughtful, of slowly raking the fire +between the lower bars: “I’ll tell you. My father, Pip, he were given +to drink, and when he were overtook with drink, he hammered away at +my mother most onmerciful. It were a’most the only hammering he did, +indeed, ’xcepting at myself. And he hammered at me with a wigor only +to be equalled by the wigor with which he didn’t hammer at his anwil. +You’re a-listening and understanding, Pip?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes, Joe.”</p> + +<p>“’Consequence, my mother and me we ran away from my father several +times; and then my mother she’d go out to work, and she’d say, ‘Joe,’ +she’d say, ‘now, please God, you shall have some schooling, child,’ +and she’d put me to school. But my father were that good in his heart +that he couldn’t abear to be without us. So, he’d come with a most +tremenjous crowd and make such a row at the doors of the houses where +we was, that they used to be obligated to have no more to do with us +and to give us up to him. And then he took us home and hammered us. +Which, you see, Pip,” said Joe, pausing in his meditative raking of +the fire, and looking at me, “were a drawback on my learning.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, poor Joe!”</p> + +<p>“Though mind you, Pip,” said Joe, with a judicial touch or two of the +poker on the top bar, “rendering unto all their doo, and maintaining +equal justice betwixt man and man, my father were that good in his +heart, don’t you see?”</p> + +<p>I didn’t see; but I didn’t say so.</p> + +<p>“Well!” Joe pursued, “somebody must keep the pot a-biling, Pip, or the +pot won’t bile, don’t you know?”</p> + +<p>I saw that, and said so.</p> + +<p>“’Consequence, my father didn’t make objections to my going to work; so +I went to work at my present calling, which were his too, if he would +have followed it, and I worked tolerable hard, I assure <i>you</i>, +Pip. In time I were able to keep him, and I kep him till he went off in +a purple leptic fit. And it were my intentions to have had put upon his +tombstone that Whatsume’er the failings on his part, Remember reader +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> +he were that good in his hart.”</p> + +<p>Joe recited this couplet with such manifest pride and careful +perspicuity, that I asked him if he had made it himself.</p> + +<p>“I made it,” said Joe, “my own self. I made it in a moment. It was like +striking out a horseshoe complete, in a single blow. I never was so +much surprised in all my life—couldn’t credit my own ed—to tell you +the truth, hardly believed it were <i>my</i> own ed. As I was saying, +Pip, it were my intentions to have had it cut over him; but poetry +costs money, cut it how you will, small or large, and it were not done. +Not to mention bearers, all the money that could be spared were wanted +for my mother. She were in poor elth, and quite broke. She waren’t long +of following, poor soul, and her share of peace come round at last.”</p> + +<p>Joe’s blue eyes turned a little watery; he rubbed, first one of them, +and then the other, in a most uncongenial and uncomfortable manner, +with the round knob on the top of the poker.</p> + +<p>“It were but lonesome then,” said Joe, “living here alone, and I got +acquainted with your sister. Now, Pip”; Joe looked firmly at me, as +if he knew I was not going to agree with him; “your sister is a fine +figure of a woman.”</p> + +<p>I could not help looking at the fire, in an obvious state of doubt.</p> + +<p>“Whatever family opinions, or whatever the world’s opinions, on that +subject may be, Pip, your sister is,” Joe tapped the top bar with the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> +poker after every word following, “a—fine—figure—of—a—woman!”</p> + +<p>I could think of nothing better to say than “I am glad you think so, +Joe.”</p> + +<p>“So am I,” returned Joe, catching me up. “<i>I</i> am glad I think so, +Pip. A little redness, or a little matter of Bone, here or there, what +does it signify to Me?”</p> + +<p>I sagaciously observed, if it didn’t signify to him, to whom did it +signify?</p> + +<p>“Certainly!” assented Joe. “That’s it. You’re right, old chap! When I +got acquainted with your sister, it were the talk how she was bringing +you up by hand. Very kind of her too, all the folks said, and I said, +along with all the folks. As to you,” Joe pursued, with a countenance +expressive of saying something very nasty indeed: “if you could have +been aware how small and flabby and mean you was, dear me, you’d have +formed the most contemptible opinions of yourself!”</p> + +<p>Not exactly relishing this, I said, “Never mind me, Joe.”</p> + +<p>“But I did mind you, Pip. And when I married your sister, I said, +‘Bring the poor little child. There’s room for him at the forge.’ And +now when you take me in hand for learning, Mrs. Joe mustn’t see too +much of what we are up to. It must be done, as I may say, on the sly. +Well you see, Pip, here we are. That’s about where it lights—here we +are. And we are ever the best friends; ain’t us?”</p> + + +<h3>PIP AT MR. PUMBLECHOOK’S</h3> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">T</span>HE first time Pip was away from home was when he went to Mr. +Pumblechook’s. Mr. Pumblechook lived in a near-by town, where he kept +a seed-store in the High Street. He was a big, solemn-looking man and +he had an idea that small boys ought to be instructed at all hours. He +thought it was good for them. So he kept at mental arithmetic all the +time, firing one question after another at poor Pip. When he got up in +the morning, Pip said politely, “Good morning, Mr. Pumblechook.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Pumblechook answered, “Boy, what is seven times nine?” At the +breakfast-table he would say, “Seven? and four? and eight? and six? +and two? and ten?” All the time Mr. Pumblechook was eating bacon and +hot rolls, while Pip was scared for fear he couldn’t answer the next +question. The hardest thing was to remember about shillings and pence. +Mr. Pumblechook would begin with twelve pence make one shilling, and +keep on to forty pence make three and four pence. No wonder that Pip +was glad to get back to the blacksmith-shop!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="DAVID_COPPERFIELD">DAVID COPPERFIELD</h2> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">IV<br> +<br>DAVID COPPERFIELD</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">D</span>ICKENS makes David Copperfield tell the story of his life. He begins +at the beginning and tells everything that happened to him as a boy, +the places where he lived, and the people whom he met. There are few +persons whom we can know as thoroughly as David Copperfield. It is all +the more lifelike because many of the scenes are taken from the life of +Dickens himself.</p> + +<p>David’s father had died and his mother had married again. His +stepfather, Mr. Murdstone, a gentleman with very black hair and +whiskers, was all that a stepfather ought not to be, so that David was +happiest when he was away from home.</p> + +<p>Happily he had a nurse, who was big and good-natured and really +loved David. Her name was Clara Peggotty, but they always called her +Peggotty. Her home was in a town by the sea. Mr. Peggotty and his +nephew Ham and a despondent old lady named Mrs. Gummidge lived in a +houseboat on the shore. David was about seven years old when he went +with Clara on a carrier’s cart to visit the Peggottys.</p> + +<p>Ham met them as they got off the cart. He was a great big fellow, six +feet tall, and he carried David’s box under his arm, while Peggotty +trudged along through the sand at his side. There was a fishy smell +about everything. There were boats and fishermen’s nets scattered +about, and an air of pleasant disorder. Everybody seemed to have all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> +the time there was in the world, and nobody was hurried. Evidently +Yarmouth was a very pleasant place for a boy on his vacation. There was +plenty of room to play in, and no Mr. Murdstone to make him afraid.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i008" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i008.jpg" width="1200" height="1721" alt="A young girl in a dress and apron walks barefoot along a +narrow beam over shimmering water at sunset, arms outstretched for +balance, with wind gently blowing her hair and a ribbon fluttering +behind her."> +<figcaption class="caption"> +<p style="text-align:left"> +<i>Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons</i></p> +<p>LITTLE EM’LY</p> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>“Yon’s our house, Master Davy,” said Ham.</p> + +<p>David looked out and saw a barge high and dry on the beach, with a +snug little house built upon it. There was a stovepipe out of which +the smoke was coming. When they came up, they found everything was as +pleasant as could be. There was a door on one side and tiny little +windows. On the mantelpiece was a Dutch clock, and the table had all +the tea-things on it.</p> + +<p>Peggotty opened a door to show David his bedroom. It was in the stern +of the boat where the rudder used to be. There was a little window and +a little looking-glass framed with oyster-shells and a tiny bed, and +there was a blue mug filled with fresh seaweed.</p> + +<p>Pretty soon Mr. Peggotty, Peggotty’s older brother and the master of +the house, came in. “Glad to see you, sir,” said Mr. Peggotty. “How’s +your ma? Did you leave her pretty jolly?”</p> + +<p>David gave him to understand that she was as jolly as could be wished.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Peggotty, “if you can make out here for a fortnut, +’long with her,” pointing to his sister, “and Ham, and little Em’ly, we +shall be proud of your company.”</p> + +<p>When I spoke of the people who lived on the old boat, I had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> +forgotten to mention little Em’ly, who turned out to be the most +important member of the family in David’s eyes. She was a very pretty +little girl, who wore a necklace of blue beads, and thought that she +would like to be a lady and marry a prince, or even an earl.</p> + +<p>“If I was ever a lady,” said Em’ly, “I’d give Uncle Dan,” that was Mr. +Peggotty, “a sky-blue coat with diamond buttons, nankeen trousers, a +red velvet waistcoat, a cocked hat, a large gold watch, a silver pipe, +and a box of money.”</p> + +<p>David thought that was very fine, though it was easier for him to think +of Em’ly as dressed like a princess in the fairy books than it was to +think of big Mr. Peggotty walking about in a red velvet waistcoat and +a cocked hat. As for little Em’ly marrying a prince, that seemed all +right if David could be the prince.</p> + +<p>All of the Peggotty family were so healthy and cheerful that even +Mrs. Gummidge, who lived with them, could not make them unhappy. Mrs. +Gummidge was a person who felt that it was necessary to have some one +to pity, and as she couldn’t pity the Peggottys she got into the habit +of pitying herself. She would sit by the fire, and take out an old +black handkerchief, and wipe her eyes, and tell her troubles, and then +tell how wrong it was in her to tell them.</p> + +<p>Mr. Peggotty had just come in from his work, having stopped a few +moments at the public house, which was called The Willing Mind. Mrs. +Gummidge was wiping her eyes.</p> + +<p>“What’s amiss, dame?” said Mr. Peggotty.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> + +<p>“Nothing,” returned Mrs. Gummidge. “You’ve come from The Willing Mind, +Dan’l?”</p> + +<p>“Why yes, I’ve took a short spell at The Willing Mind to-night,” said +Mr. Peggotty.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry I should have drove you there.”</p> + +<p>“Drive! I don’t want no driving,” returned Mr. Peggotty. “I only go too +ready.”</p> + +<p>“Very ready,” said Mrs. Gummidge. “I am sorry that it should be along +of me that you’re so ready.”</p> + +<p>“Along of you! It ain’t along of you! Don’t you believe a bit of it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is,” cried Mrs. Gummidge. “I know what I am. I know I’m a lone +lorn creetur’, and not only that everythink goes contrairy with me, but +that I go contrairy with everybody. Yes, I feel more than other people +do, and I know it more. It’s my misfortune. I feel my troubles, and +they make me contrairy. I wish I didn’t feel ’em, but I do. I wish I +could be hardened to ’em, but I ain’t. I make the house uncomfortable. +I don’t wonder at it. It’s far from right. It ain’t a fit return. I’m +a lone lorn creetur’, I’d better not make myself contrairy here. If +things must go contrairy with me, and I must go contrairy with myself, +let me go away.”</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Gummidge had no idea of going away to the poorhouse, as she +always threatened; and the Peggottys had no idea of letting her leave +their cheerful little home. It was Mrs. Gummidge’s way of carrying on +conversation, and they had got used to it.</p> + +<p>The delightful visit to Yarmouth came to an end, and after a time Mr. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> +Murdstone sent David to a school near London. We can see the shy little +boy starting off for his first journey alone in the big world. The +first part of the journey was easy, because it was in a carrier’s cart +and the driver was a nice Mr. Barkis, who was in love with Peggotty +and liked to talk about her in a very mysterious way, and gave David a +message to her, saying that “Barkis is willin’.”</p> + +<p>David tells of his conversation with Barkis in the cart. He first +looked at the purse which his mother had given him.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>It was a stiff leather purse, with a snap, and had three bright +shillings in it, which Peggotty had evidently polished up with +whitening for my greater delight. But its most precious contents +were 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 be so good as reach me +my pocket-handkerchief again; but he said he thought I had better do +without it; and I thought I really had; so I wiped my eyes on my sleeve +and stopped myself.</p> + +<p>For good, too; though, in consequence of my previous emotions, I was +still occasionally seized with a stormy sob. After we had jogged on for +some little time, I asked the carrier if he was going all the way.</p> + +<p>“All the way where?” inquired the carrier.</p> + +<p>“There,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Where’s there?” inquired the carrier.</p> + +<p>“Near London,” I said.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span></p> + +<p>“Why that horse,” said the carrier, jerking the rein to point him out, +“would be deader than pork afore he got over half the ground.”</p> + +<p>“Are you only going to Yarmouth, then?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“That’s about it,” said the carrier. “And there I shall take you to the +stage-cutch, and the stage-cutch that’ll take you to—wherever it is.”</p> + +<p>As this was a great deal for the carrier (whose name was Mr. Barkis) +to say—he being, as I observed in a former chapter, of a phlegmatic +temperament, and not at all conversational—I offered him a cake as a +mark of attention, which he ate at one gulp, exactly like an elephant, +and which made no more impression on his big face than it would have +done on an elephant’s.</p> + +<p>“Did <i>she</i> make ’em, now?” said Mr. Barkis, always leaning +forward, in his slouching way, on the footboard of the cart with an arm +on each knee.</p> + +<p>“Peggotty, do you mean, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Mr. Barkis. “Her.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. She makes all our pastry, and does all our cooking.”</p> + +<p>“Do she though?” said Mr. Barkis.</p> + +<p>He made up his mouth as if to whistle, but he didn’t whistle. He sat +looking at the horse’s ears, as if he saw something new there; and sat +so, for a considerable time. By-and-by, he said:</p> + +<p>“No sweethearts, I b’lieve?”</p> + +<p>“Sweetmeats did you say, Mr. Barkis?” For I thought he wanted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> +something else to eat, and had pointedly alluded to that description of +refreshment.</p> + +<p>“Hearts,” said Mr. Barkis. “Sweethearts; no person walks with her!”</p> + +<p>“With Peggotty?”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he said. “Her.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no. She never had a sweetheart.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t she though!” said Mr. Barkis.</p> + +<p>Again he made up his mouth to whistle, and again he didn’t whistle, but +sat looking at the horse’s ears.</p> + +<p>“So she makes,” said Mr. Barkis, after a long interval of reflection, +“all the apple parsties, and doos all the cooking, do she?”</p> + +<p>I replied that such was the fact.</p> + +<p>“Well. I’ll tell you what,” said Mr. Barkis. “P’raps you might be +writin’ to her?”</p> + +<p>“I shall certainly write to her,” I rejoined.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. “Well! If you was +writin’ to her, p’raps you’d recollect to say that Barkis was willin’; +would you?”</p> + +<p>“That Barkis is willing,” I repeated, innocently. “Is that all the +message?”</p> + +<p>“Ye-es,” he said, considering. “Ye-es. Barkis is willin’.”</p> + +<p>“But you will be at Blunderstone again to-morrow, Mr. Barkis,” I said, +faltering a little at the idea of my being far away from it then, “and +could give your own message so much better.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> + +<p>As he repudiated this suggestion, however, with a jerk of his head, +and once more confirmed his previous request by saying, with profound +gravity, “Barkis is willin’. That’s the message,” I readily undertook +its transmission. While I was waiting for the coach in the hotel at +Yarmouth that very afternoon, I procured a sheet of paper and an +inkstand, and wrote a note to Peggotty, which ran thus: “My dear +Peggotty. I have come here safe. Barkis is willing. My love to mama. +Yours affectionately. P. S. He says he particularly wants you to +know—<i>Barkis is willing</i>.”</p> + +<p>When I had taken this commission on myself prospectively, Mr. Barkis +relapsed into perfect silence; and I, feeling quite worn out by all +that had happened lately, lay down on a sack in the cart and fell +asleep.</p> + +<p>It was in the inn at Yarmouth that David fell in with a jolly waiter +who ate up his dinner for him. David was very much afraid of doing +something which he ought not to do. Everything seemed so big and +strange.</p> + + +<h3>THE LITTLE BOY AND THE HUNGRY WAITER</h3> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">T</span>HE waiter brought me some chops, and vegetables, and took the covers +off in such a bouncing manner that I was afraid I must have given him +some offence. But he greatly relieved my mind by putting a chair for me +at the table, and saying, very affably, “Now, six-foot! come on!”</p> + +<p>I thanked him, and took my seat at the board; but found it extremely +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> +difficult to handle my knife and fork with anything like dexterity, +or to avoid splashing myself with the gravy, while he was standing +opposite, staring so hard, and making me blush in the most dreadful +manner every time I caught his eye. After watching me into the second +chop, he said:</p> + +<p>“There’s half a pint of ale for you. Will you have it now?”</p> + +<p>I thanked him and said “Yes.” Upon which he poured it out of a jug into +a large tumbler, and held it up against the light, and made it look +beautiful.</p> + +<p>“My eye!” he said. “It seems a good deal, don’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It does seem a good deal,” I answered with a smile. For it was quite +delightful to me to find him so pleasant. He was a twinkling-eyed, +pimple-faced man, with his hair standing upright all over his head; and +as he stood with one arm akimbo, holding up the glass to the light with +the other hand, he looked quite friendly.</p> + +<p>“There was a gentleman here, yesterday,” he said, “a stout gentleman, +by the name of Topsawyer—perhaps you know him!”</p> + +<p>“No,” I said, “I don’t think——”</p> + +<p>“In breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat, gray coat, speckled +choker,” said the waiter.</p> + +<p>“No,” I said bashfully, “I haven’t the pleasure——”</p> + +<p>“He came in here,” said the waiter, looking at the light through the +tumbler, “ordered a glass of this ale—<i>would</i> order it—I told +him not—drank it, and fell dead. It was too old for him. It oughtn’t +to be drawn; that’s the fact.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> + +<p>I was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy accident, and said I +thought I had better have some water.</p> + +<p>“Why you see,” said the waiter, still looking at the light through the +tumbler, with one of his eyes shut up, “our people don’t like things +being ordered and left. It offends ’em. But <i>I’ll</i> drink it, if +you like. I’m used to it, and use is everything. I don’t think it’ll +hurt me, if I throw my head back, and take it off quick. Shall I?”</p> + +<p>I replied that he would much oblige me by drinking it, if he thought he +could do it safely, but by no means otherwise. When he did throw his +head back, and take it off quickly, I had a horrible fear, I confess, +of seeing him meet the fate of the lamented Mr. Topsawyer, and fall +lifeless on the carpet. But it didn’t hurt him. On the contrary, I +thought he seemed the fresher for it.</p> + +<p>“What have we got here?” he said, putting a fork into my dish. “Not +chops?”</p> + +<p>“Chops,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Lord bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know they were chops. +Why, a chop’s the very thing to take off the bad effects of that beer! +Ain’t it lucky?”</p> + +<p>So he took a chop by the bone in one hand, and a potato in the other, +and ate away with a very good appetite, to my extreme satisfaction. +He afterwards took another chop, and another potato; and after that +another chop and another potato. When he had done, he brought me a +pudding, and having set it before me, seemed to ruminate, and to become +absent in his mind for some moments.</p> + +<p>“How’s the pie?” he said, rousing himself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> + +<p>“It’s a pudding,” I made answer.</p> + +<p>“Pudding!” he exclaimed. “Why, bless me, so it is! What!” looking at it +nearer. “You don’t mean to say it’s a batter-pudding!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is indeed.”</p> + +<p>“Why, a batter-pudding,” he said, taking up a tablespoon, “is my +favorite pudding! Ain’t that lucky? Come on, little ’un, and let’s see +who’ll get most.”</p> + +<p>The waiter certainly got most. He entreated me more than once to come +in and win, but what with his tablespoon to my teaspoon, his despatch +to my despatch, and his appetite to my appetite, I was left far behind +at the first mouthful, and had no chance with him. I never saw any one +enjoy a pudding so much, I think; and he laughed, when it was all gone, +as if his enjoyment of it lasted still.</p> + +<p>Finding him so very friendly and companionable, it was then that I +asked for the pen and ink and paper to write to Peggotty. He not only +brought it immediately, but was good enough to look over me while I +wrote the letter. When I had finished it, he asked me where I was going +to school.</p> + +<p>I said, “Near London,” which was all I knew.</p> + +<p>“Oh! my eye!” he said, looking very low-spirited. “I am sorry for that.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” I asked him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lord!” he said, shaking his head, “that’s the school where they +broke the boy’s ribs—two ribs—a little boy he was. I should say he +was—let me see—how old are you, about?”</p> + +<p>I told him between eight and nine.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<p>“That’s just his age,” he said. “He was eight years and six months old +when they broke his first rib; eight years and eight months old when +they broke his second, and did for him.”</p> + +<p>I could not disguise from myself, or from the waiter, that this was an +uncomfortable coincidence, and inquired how it was done. His answer was +not cheering to my spirits, for it consisted of two dismal words: “With +whopping.”</p> + +<p>The blowing of the coach horn in the yard was a seasonable diversion, +which made me get up and hesitatingly inquire, in the mingled pride and +diffidence of having a purse (which I took out of my pocket), if there +were anything to pay.</p> + +<p>“There’s a sheet of letter-paper,” he returned. “Did you ever buy a +sheet of letter-paper?”</p> + +<p>I could not remember that I ever had.</p> + +<p>“It’s dear,” he said, “on account of the duty. Three-pence. That’s +the way we’re taxed in this country. There’s nothing else, except the +waiter. Never mind the ink. <i>I</i> lose by that.”</p> + +<p>“What should you—what should I—how much ought I to—what would it be +right to pay the waiter, if you please?” I stammered, blushing.</p> + +<p>“If I hadn’t a family, and that family hadn’t the cowpock,” said the +waiter, “I wouldn’t take a sixpence. If I didn’t support an aged +pairint and a lovely sister,”—here the waiter was greatly agitated—“I +wouldn’t take a farthing. If I had a good place, and was treated well +here, I should beg acceptance of a trifle, instead of taking of it. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> +But I live on broken wittles—and I sleep on the coals”—here the +waiter burst into tears.</p> + +<p>I was very much concerned for his misfortunes, and felt that any +recognition short of ninepence would be mere brutality and hardness of +heart. Therefore I gave him one of my three bright shillings, which he +received with much humility and veneration, and spun up with his thumb, +directly afterwards, to try the goodness of. </p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="WILKINS_MICAWBER_JUNIOR_AND_HIS_PARENTS">WILKINS MICAWBER JUNIOR AND HIS PARENTS</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="V">V<br> +<br> +WILKINS MICAWBER JUNIOR AND HIS PARENTS</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">I</span> DO not think that I should devote a chapter in <i>The Children of +Dickens</i> to Wilkins Micawber Junior if it were not for his parents, +who were very amusing persons whom everybody ought to know. Wilkins +Micawber Junior never did anything or said anything in particular. He +was a child who was seen and not heard. He was always standing around +listening to his father and mother, and he had to do a good deal of +listening, for they talked incessantly, chiefly about themselves. +And then he was always pointed at, when they wanted to tell of their +troubles. He was about four years old when we first see him pointed at, +and he had a sister who was a year younger. Then there were the twins, +who were always in their mother’s arms.</p> + +<p>The Micawbers lived in a shabby house on Windsor Terrace, where they +took David Copperfield to board. That is, they lived there when Mr. +Micawber was not in the Debtors’ Prison. David Copperfield found it a +great relief to get away from the company of Mealy Potatoes, the boy +he worked with in Murdstone’s establishment, and get into the friendly +company of the Micawbers.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>The Micawbers were always in trouble, but they enjoyed their troubles +and were willing to share their enjoyment with anybody who would +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> +listen to them. Though David Copperfield was only twelve years old, Mr. +Micawber always treated him as an equal, and used the largest words he +could think of. David liked to be talked to that way, so they became +great friends. Wilkins Micawber Junior stood by and listened, and +thought his father was the most wonderful talker in the world. When he +grew up and had a family to support and couldn’t do it, he would talk +that way.</p> + +<p>David Copperfield tells how he first met Mr. Micawber at the office of +Murdstone and Grinby and went home with him to Windsor Terrace.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>The counting-house clock was at half-past twelve, and there was +general preparation for going to dinner, when Mr. Quinion tapped at +the counting-house window, and beckoned to me to go in. I went in, and +found there a stoutish, middle-aged person, in a brown surtout and +black tights and shoes, with no more hair upon his head (which was a +large one, and very shining) than there is upon an egg, and with a very +extensive face, which he turned full upon me. His clothes were shabby, +but he had an imposing shirt-collar on. He carried a jaunty sort of a +stick, with a large pair of rusty tassels to it; and a quizzing-glass +hung outside his coat,—for ornament, I afterwards found, as he very +seldom looked through it, and couldn’t see anything when he did.</p> + +<p>“This,” said Mr. Quinion, in allusion to myself, “is he.”</p> + +<p>“This,” said the stranger, with a certain condescending roll in his +voice, and a certain indescribable air of doing something genteel, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> +which impressed me very much “is Master Copperfield. I hope I see you +well, Sir?”</p> + +<p>I said I was very well, and hoped he was. I was sufficiently ill at +ease, Heaven knows; but it was not in my nature to complain much at +that time of my life, so I said I was very well, and hoped he was.</p> + +<p>“I am,” said the stranger, “thank Heaven, quite well. I have received +a letter from Mr. Murdstone, in which he mentions that he would desire +me to receive into an apartment in the rear of my house, which is +at present unoccupied—and is, in short, to be let as a—in short,” +said the stranger, with a smile and in a burst of confidence, “as a +bedroom—the young beginner whom I have now the pleasure to—” and the +stranger waved his hand, and settled his chin in his shirt-collar.</p> + +<p>“This is Mr. Micawber,” said Mr. Quinion to me.</p> + +<p>“Ahem!” said the stranger, “that is my name.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Micawber,” said Mr. Quinion, “is known to Mr. Murdstone. He takes +orders for us on commission, when he can get any. He has been written +to by Mr. Murdstone, on the subject of your lodgings, and he will +receive you as a lodger.”</p> + +<p>“My address,” said Mr. Micawber, “is Windsor Terrace, City Road. I—in +short,” said Mr. Micawber, with the same genteel air, and in another +burst of confidence—“I live there.”</p> + +<p>I made him a bow.</p> + +<p>“Under the impression,” said Mr. Micawber, “that your peregrinations +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> +in this metropolis have not as yet been extensive, and that you might +have some difficulty in penetrating the arcana of the Modern Babylon +in the direction of the City Road—in short,” said Mr. Micawber, in +another burst of confidence, “that you might lose yourself—I shall be +happy to call this evening, and install you in the knowledge of the +nearest way.”</p> + +<p>I thanked him with all my heart, for it was friendly in him to offer to +take that trouble.</p> + +<p>“At what hour,” said Mr. Micawber, “shall I——”</p> + +<p>“At about eight,” said Mr. Quinion.</p> + +<p>“At about eight,” said Mr. Micawber. “I beg to wish you good day, Mr. +Quinion. I will intrude no longer.”</p> + +<p>So he put on his hat, and went out with his cane under his arm: very +upright, and humming a tune when he was clear of the counting-house.</p> + +<p>Mr. Quinion then formally engaged me to be as useful as I could in +the warehouse of Murdstone and Grinby, at a salary, I think, of six +shillings a week. I am not clear whether it was six or seven. I am +inclined to believe, from my uncertainty on this head, that it was +six at first and seven afterwards. He paid me a week down (from his +own pocket, I believe), and I gave Mealy sixpence out of it to get my +trunk carried to Windsor Terrace at night: it being too heavy for my +strength, small as it was. I paid sixpence more for my dinner, which +was a meat pie and a turn at a neighboring pump; and passed the hour +which was allowed for that meal, in walking about the streets.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span></p> + +<p>At the appointed time in the evening, Mr. Micawber reappeared. I washed +my hands and face, to do the greater honor to his gentility, and we +walked to our house, as I suppose I must now call it, together; Mr. +Micawber impressing the names of streets, and the shapes of corner +houses upon me, as we went along, that I might find my way back, +easily, in the morning.</p> + +<p>Arrived at his house in Windsor Terrace (which I noticed was shabby +like himself, but also, like himself, made all the show it could), +he presented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin and faded lady, not at all +young, who was sitting in the parlor (the first floor was altogether +unfurnished, and the blinds were kept down to delude the neighbors), +with a baby at her breast. This baby was one of twins; and I may remark +here that I hardly ever, in all my experience of the family, saw both +the twins detached from Mrs. Micawber at the same time. One of them was +always taking refreshment.</p> + +<p>There were two other children; Master Micawber, aged about four, and +Miss Micawber, aged about three. These, and a dark-complexioned young +woman, with a habit of snorting, who was servant to the family, and +informed me, before half-an-hour had expired, that she was “a Orfling,” +and came from St. Luke’s workhouse, in the neighborhood, completed +the establishment. My room was at the top of the house, at the back: +a close chamber; stencilled all over with an ornament which my young +imagination represented as a blue muffin; and very scantily furnished.</p> + +<p>“I never thought,” said Mrs. Micawber, when she came up, twin and all, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> +to show me the apartment, and sat down to take breath, “before I was +married, when I lived with papa and mama, that I should ever find it +necessary to take a lodger. But Mr. Micawber being in difficulties, all +considerations of private feelings must give way.”</p> + +<p>I said: “Yes, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Micawber’s difficulties are almost overwhelming just at present,” +said Mrs. Micawber, “and whether it is possible to bring him through +them, I don’t know. When I lived at home with papa and mama, I really +should have hardly understood what the word meant, in the sense in +which I now employ it, but experientia does it—as papa used to say.”</p> + +<p>I cannot satisfy myself whether she told me that Mr. Micawber had been +an officer in the Marines, or whether I have imagined it. I only know +that I believe to this hour that he <i>was</i> in the Marines once upon +a time, without knowing why. He was a sort of town traveller for a +number of miscellaneous houses, now; but made little or nothing of it, +I am afraid.</p> + +<p>“If Mr. Micawber’s creditors <i>will not</i> give him time,” said Mrs. +Micawber, “they must take the consequences; and the sooner they bring +it to an issue the better. Blood cannot be obtained from a stone, +neither can anything on account be obtained at present (not to mention +law expenses) from Mr. Micawber.”</p> + +<p>I never can quite understand whether my precocious self-dependence +confused Mrs. Micawber in reference to my age, or whether she was so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> +full of the subject that she would have talked about it to the very +twins if there had been nobody else to communicate with, but this was +the strain in which she began, and she went on accordingly all the time +I knew her.</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Micawber! She said she had tried to exert herself; and so, +I have no doubt, she had. The centre of the street door was perfectly +covered with a great brass plate, on which was engraved, “Mrs. +Micawber’s Boarding Establishment for Young Ladies,” but I never found +that any young lady had ever been to school there; or that any young +lady ever came, or proposed to come; or that the least preparation was +ever made to receive any young lady. The only visitors I ever saw or +heard of, were creditors. <i>They</i> used to come at all hours, and +some of them were quite ferocious. One dirty-faced man, I think he was +a bootmaker, used to edge himself into the passage as early as seven +o’clock in the morning, and call up the stairs to Mr. Micawber—“Come! +You ain’t out yet, you know. Pay us, will you? Don’t hide, you know; +that’s mean. I wouldn’t be mean if I was you. Pay us, will you? You +just pay us, d’ye hear? Come!” Receiving no answer to these taunts, +he would mount in his wrath to the words “swindlers” and “robbers”; +and these being ineffectual, too, would sometimes go to the extremity +of crossing the street, and roaring up at the windows of the second +floor, where he knew Mr. Micawber was. At these times, Mr. Micawber +would be transported with grief and mortification, even to the length +(as I was once made aware by a scream from his wife) of making motions +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> +at himself with a razor; but within half an hour afterwards, he would +polish up his shoes with extraordinary pains, and go out, humming a +tune with a greater air of gentility than ever. Mrs. Micawber was +quite as elastic. I have known her to be thrown into fainting fits by +the King’s taxes at three o’clock, and to eat lamb chops, breaded, +and drink warm ale (paid for with two teaspoons that had gone to the +pawnbroker’s) at four. On one occasion, when an execution had just been +put in, coming home through some chance as early as six o’clock, I saw +her lying (of course with a twin) under the grate in a swoon, with her +hair all torn about her face; but I never knew her more cheerful than +she was, that very same night, over a veal cutlet before the kitchen +fire, telling me stories about her papa and mama, and the company they +used to keep.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>The Micawbers’ affairs went from bad to worse, and Mrs. Micawber called +David into consultation.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>“Master Copperfield,” said Mrs. Micawber, “I make no stranger of you, +and therefore do not hesitate to say that Mr. Micawber’s difficulties +are coming to a crisis.”</p> + +<p>It made me very miserable to hear it, and I looked at Mrs. Micawber’s +red eyes with the utmost sympathy.</p> + +<p>“With the exception of the heel of a Dutch cheese—which is not adapted +to the wants of a young family,” said Mrs. Micawber—“there is really +not a scrap of anything in the larder. I was accustomed to speak of +the larder when I lived with papa and mama, and I use the word almost +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> +unconsciously. What I mean to express is, that there is nothing to eat +in the house.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” I said, in great concern.</p> + +<p>I had two or three shillings of my week’s money in my pocket—from +which I presume that it must have been on a Wednesday night when we +held this conversation—and I hastily produced them, and with heartfelt +emotion begged Mrs. Micawber to accept of them as a loan. But that +lady, kissing me, and making me put them back in my pocket, replied +that she couldn’t think of it.</p> + +<p>“No, my dear Master Copperfield,” said she, “far be it from my +thoughts! But you have a discretion beyond your years, and can +render me another kind of service, if you will; and a service I will +thankfully accept of.”</p> + +<p>I begged Mrs. Micawber to name it.</p> + +<p>“I have parted with the plate myself,” said Mrs. Micawber. “Six tea, +two salt, and a pair of sugars, I have at different times borrowed +money on, in secret, with my own hands. But the twins are a great tie; +and to me, with my recollections of papa and mama, these transactions +are very painful. There are still a few trifles that we could part +with. Mr. Micawber’s feelings would never allow <i>him</i> to dispose +of them; and Clickett”—this was the girl from the workhouse—“being of +a vulgar mind, would take painful liberties if so much confidence was +reposed in her. Master Copperfield, if I might ask you——”</p> + +<p>I understood Mrs. Micawber now, and begged her to make use of me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> +to any extent. I began to dispose of the more portable articles of +property that very evening; and went out on a similar expedition almost +every morning, before I went to Murdstone and Grinby’s.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>At last Mr. Micawber’s affairs got into such a bad state that he had to +leave London. David tells of the parting.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>I passed my evenings with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, during the remaining +term of our residence under the same roof; and I think we became fonder +of one another as the time went on. On the last Sunday, they invited me +to dinner; and we had a loin of pork and apple sauce, and a pudding. I +had bought a spotted wooden horse overnight as a parting gift to little +Wilkins Micawber—that was the boy—and a doll for little Emma. I had +also bestowed a shilling on the Orfling, who was about to be disbanded.</p> + +<p>We had a very pleasant day, though we were all in a tender state about +our approaching separation.</p> + +<p>“I shall never, Master Copperfield,” said Mrs. Micawber, “revert to +the period when Mr. Micawber was in difficulties without thinking of +you. Your conduct has always been of the most delicate and obliging +description. You have never been a lodger. You have been a friend.”</p> + +<p>“My dear,” said Mr. Micawber, “Copperfield,” for so he had been +accustomed to call me of late, “has a heart to feel for the distresses +of his fellow-creatures when they are behind a cloud, and a head to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> +plan, and a hand to—in short, a general ability to dispose of such +available property as could be made away with.”</p> + +<p>I expressed my sense of this commendation, and said I was very sorry we +were going to lose one another.</p> + +<p>“My dear young friend,” said Mr. Micawber, “I am older than you; a man +of some experience in life, and—and of some experience, in short, in +difficulties, generally speaking. At present, and until something turns +up (which I am, I may say, hourly expecting), I have nothing to bestow +but advice. Still, my advice is so far worth taking, that—in short, +that I have never taken it myself, and am the”—here Mr. Micawber, who +had been beaming and smiling, all over his head and face, up to the +present moment, checked himself and frowned—“the miserable wretch you +behold.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Micawber!” urged his wife.</p> + +<p>“I say,” returned Mr. Micawber, quite forgetting himself, and smiling +again, “the miserable wretch you behold. My advice is, never do +to-morrow what you can do to-day. Procrastination is the thief of time. +Collar him!”</p> + +<p>“My poor papa’s maxim,” Mrs. Micawber observed.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” said Mr. Micawber, “your papa was very well in his way, and +Heaven forbid that I should disparage him. Take him for all in all, we +ne’er shall—in short, make the acquaintance, probably, of anybody else +possessing, at his time of life, the same legs for gaiters, and able to +read the same description of print without spectacles. But he applied +that maxim to our marriage, my dear; and that was so far prematurely +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> +entered into, in consequence, that I never recovered the expense.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Micawber looked aside at Mrs. Micawber, and added: “Not that I am +sorry for it. Quite the contrary, my love.” After which he was grave +for a minute or so.</p> + +<p>“My other piece of advice, Copperfield,” said Mr. Micawber, “you know. +Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen ought and +six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure +twenty pounds ought and six, result misery. The blossom is blighted, +the leaf is withered, the God of day goes down upon the dreary scene, +and—and in short you are for ever floored. As I am!”</p> + +<p>To make his example the more impressive, Mr. Micawber drank a glass of +punch with an air of great enjoyment and satisfaction and whistled the +College Hornpipe.</p> + +<p>I did not fail to assure him that I would store these precepts in my +mind, though indeed I had no need to do so, for, at the time, they +affected me visibly. Next morning I met the whole family at the coach +office, and saw them, with a desolate heart, take their places outside, +at the back.</p> + +<p>“Master Copperfield,” said Mrs. Micawber, “God bless you! I never can +forget all that, you know, and I never would if I could.”</p> + +<p>“Copperfield,” said Mr. Micawber, “farewell. Every happiness and +prosperity. If, in the progress of revolving years, I could persuade +myself that my blighted destiny had been a warning to you, I should +feel that I had not occupied another man’s place in existence +altogether in vain. In case of anything turning up (of which I am +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> +rather confident), I shall be extremely happy if it should be in my +power to improve your prospects.”</p> + +<p>I think, as Mrs. Micawber sat at the back of the coach, with the +children, and I stood in the road looking wistfully at them, a mist +cleared from her eyes, and she saw what a little creature I really was. +I think so, because she beckoned to me to climb up, with quite a new +and motherly expression in her face, and put her arm round my neck, and +gave me just such a kiss as she might have given to her own boy. I had +barely time to get down again before the coach started, and I could +hardly see the family for the handkerchiefs they waved. It was gone in +a minute.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_THE_ROAD_TO_DOVER">ON THE ROAD TO DOVER</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">VI<br> +<br>ON THE ROAD TO DOVER</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">A</span>FTER his friends the Micawbers had left London David Copperfield was +very lonesome and decided to set out on a journey and find his aunt, +Miss Betsy Trotwood. He had a box which he intended to send to the +coach office in Dover, and he had a half-guinea in his pocket.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately he met a long-legged young man who was driving a donkey +cart, who robbed him of his box and his money. David followed the young +man as long as he could and then sat down by the side of the road. He +searched his pockets and found only three halfpence. But his experience +with Mr. Micawber had taught him that he could borrow money at a +pawn-shop. He tells the story of what happened.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>I went to the next street and took off my waistcoat, rolled it neatly +under my arm, and came to the shop door. Mr. Dolloby was the name over +the door.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dolloby took the waistcoat, spread it on the counter, held it up +against the light, and at last said:</p> + +<p>“What do you call a price for this here little weskit?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you know best, sir,” I returned modestly.</p> + +<p>“I can’t be buyer and seller too,” said Mr. Dolloby. “Put a price on +this little weskit.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span></p> + +<p>“Would eighteen pence be—” I hinted.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dolloby rolled it up again and gave it back to me.</p> + +<p>“I should rob my family if I was to offer ninepence for it.”</p> + +<p>This was a disagreeable way of putting it, for I did not want to ask +Mr. Dolloby to rob his family on my account. I would have to make the +best of my way to Dover in a shirt and a pair of trousers.</p> + +<p>That night I lay behind a wall. Never shall I forget the feeling of +loneliness as I lay down without a roof over my head. But soon I was +asleep, and slept until the warm beams of the sun awoke me.</p> + +<p>The next day was Sunday. In due time I heard the church bells ringing. +I passed a church or two where the congregations were inside. The peace +and rest of Sunday morning were on everything but me. I felt quite +wicked in my dust and dirt, and my tangled hair.</p> + +<p>I got that Sunday to the bridge at Rochester footsore and tired, and +eating food that I had bought for supper. I toiled on to Chatham and +crept upon a sort of grass-grown battery, where a sentry was walking to +and fro. Here I lay near a cannon, happy in the society of the sentry’s +footsteps, though he knew nothing of my being there.</p> + +<p>Very stiff and sore of foot I was in the morning, and quite dazed by +the beating of drums and marching of troops, which seemed to hem me in +on every side when I went down toward the long, narrow street. Feeling +that I could go but a very little way that day, if I were to reserve my +strength for getting to my journey’s end, I resolved to make the sale +of my jacket its principal business. Accordingly, I took the jacket +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> +off, that I might learn to do without it; and carrying it under my arm, +began a tour of inspection of the various slop-shops.</p> + +<p>It was a likely place to sell a jacket in; for the dealers in +second-hand clothes were numerous, and were, generally speaking, on the +lookout for customers at their shop doors. But, as most of them had, +hanging up among their stock, an officer’s coat or two, epaulets and +all, I was rendered timid by the costly nature of their dealings, and +walked about for a long time without offering my merchandise to any one.</p> + +<p>This modesty of mine directed my attention to the marine-store shops, +and such shops as Mr. Dolloby’s, in preference to the regular dealers. +At last I found one that I thought looked promising, at the corner of +a dirty lane, ending in an inclosure full of stinging nettles, against +the palings of which some second-hand sailors’ clothes, that seemed to +have overflown the shop, were fluttering among some cots, and rusty +guns, and oilskin hats, and certain trays full of so many old rusty +keys of so many sizes that they seemed various enough to open all the +doors in the world.</p> + +<p>Into this shop, which was low and small, and which was darkened rather +than lighted by a little window, overhung with clothes, and was +descended into by some steps, I went with a palpitating heart; which +was not relieved when an ugly old man, with the lower part of his face +all covered with a stubby gray beard, rushed out of a dirty den behind +it, and seized me by the hair of my head. He was a dreadful old man to +look at, in a filthy flannel waistcoat, and smelling terribly of rum. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> +His bedstead, covered with a tumbled and ragged piece of patchwork, +was in the den he had come from, where another little window showed a +prospect of more stinging nettles, and a lame donkey.</p> + +<p>“Oh, what do you want?” grinned this old man in a fierce, monotonous +whine. “Oh, my eyes and limbs, what do you want? Oh, my lungs and +liver, what do you want? Oh, goroo, goroo!”</p> + +<p>I was so much dismayed by these words, and particularly by the +repetition of the last unknown one, which was a kind of rattle in his +throat, that I could make no answer; whereupon the old man, still +holding me by the hair, repeated:</p> + +<p>“Oh, what do you want? Oh, my lungs and liver, what do you want?”</p> + +<p>“I want to know,” I said trembling, “if you would buy a jacket?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, let’s see the jacket. Bring the jacket out.”</p> + +<p>With that he took his trembling hands, which were like the claws of a +bird, out of my hair.</p> + +<p>“How much for the jacket?” cried the old man. “Oh, goroo, how much for +the jacket?”</p> + +<p>“Half a crown,” I answered.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my lungs and liver, no. Oh, my eyes, no. Eighteen pence. Goroo.”</p> + +<p>Every time he said goroo his eyes seemed in danger of popping out of +his head.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “I’ll take eighteen pence.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my liver,” cried the old man, throwing the jacket on the shelf. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> +“Get out of the shop. Don’t ask for money, make it an exchange.”</p> + +<p>He made many attempts to make me consent to an exchange, at one time +coming out with a fishing-rod, at another with a fiddle, at another +with a cocked hat, at another with a flute. But I wanted the money to +buy food. At last he began to pay me in halfpence at a time, and was +full two hours getting by easy stages to a shilling.</p> + +<p>My bed that night was under a haystack, where I rested comfortably, +after having washed my blistered feet in a stream. When I took the road +again next morning it was through hop fields and orchards. The orchards +were ruddy with bright apples, and in a few places the hop-pickers were +already at work. I thought it all extremely beautiful, and I would have +enjoyed it if it had not been for the people I met on the road.</p> + +<p>The trampers were worse than ever that day, and inspired me with a +dread that is yet quite fresh in my mind. Some of them were most +ferocious looking ruffians, who stared at me as I went by; and stopped, +perhaps, and called after me to come back and speak to them; and when +I took to my heels, stoned me. I recollect one young fellow—a tinker, +I suppose, from his wallet and brazier—who had a woman with him, and +who faced about and stared at me thus; and then roared at me in such a +tremendous voice to come back, that I halted and looked round.</p> + +<p>“Come here, when you’re called,” said the tinker, “or I’ll rip your +young body open.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></p> + +<p>I thought it best to go back. As I drew nearer to them, trying to +propitiate the tinker by my looks, I observed that the woman had a +black eye.</p> + +<p>“Where are you going?” said the tinker, gripping the bosom of my shirt +with his blackened hand.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to Dover,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Where do you come from?” asked the tinker, giving his hand another +turn in my shirt to hold me more securely.</p> + +<p>“I come from London,” I said.</p> + +<p>“What lay are you upon?” asked the tinker. “Are you a prig?”</p> + +<p>“N—no,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t you! If you make a brag of your honesty to me,” said the tinker, +“I’ll knock your brains out.”</p> + +<p>With his disengaged hand he made a menace of striking me, and then +looked at me from head to foot.</p> + +<p>“Have you got the price of a pint of beer about you?” said the tinker. +“If you have, out with it, afore I take it away.”</p> + +<p>I should certainly have produced it, but that I met the woman’s look, +and saw her very slightly shake her head, and form “No” with her lips.</p> + +<p>“I am very poor,” I said, attempting to smile, “and have got no money.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what do you mean?” said the tinker, looking so sternly at me, +that I almost feared he saw the money in my pocket.</p> + +<p>“Sir!” I stammered.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean,” said the tinker, “by wearing my brother’s silk +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> +handkerchief? Give it over here!” And he had mine off my neck in a +moment, and tossed it to the woman.</p> + +<p>The woman burst into a fit of laughter, as if she thought this a joke, +and tossing it back to me, nodded once, as slightly as before, and made +the word “Go!” with her lips.</p> + +<p>It was on the sixth day of my flight that I came to my aunt’s house. My +shoes were by this time in a woeful condition. My hat was crushed and +bent. My shirt and trousers were stained with peat, dew, grass, and the +Kentish soil on which I had slept. My hair had known no comb or brush +since I left London. From head to foot I was powdered with chalk as if +I had come out of a lime kiln.</p> + +<p>There came out of the house a lady with a handkerchief tied over her +cap, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands, and carrying a great +knife. I knew her, immediately, to be my Aunt Betsy.</p> + +<p>“Go away!” said Miss Betsy, shaking her head. “Go along! No boys here!”</p> + +<p>“If you please, ma’am,” I began. She started and looked up.</p> + +<p>“If you please, aunt.”</p> + +<p>“Eh!” exclaimed Miss Betsy in a tone of amazement I have never heard +approached.</p> + +<p>“If you please, aunt, I am your nephew.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lord!” said my aunt, and sat flat down on the garden path.</p> + +<p>“I am David Copperfield. I have been very unhappy since my mother died. +I was put to work that was not fit for me. It made me run away to you. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> +I was robbed when I set out and have walked all the way and have never +slept in a bed since I began the journey.”</p> + +<p>My aunt got up in a great hurry, collared me and took me into the +parlor. Her first proceeding was to unlock a tall cupboard, bring forth +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 put me on +the sofa, with a shawl under my head, and, sitting by my side, repeated +at intervals, “Mercy on us!”</p> + +<p>Then I was given a bath, which was a great comfort. For I began to be +sensitive of pains from lying out in the fields. When I had bathed they +enrobed me in a shirt and a pair of trousers too big for me, and tied +me up in two or three big shawls. What sort of a bundle I looked like I +do not know. Feeling very drowsy, I lay down on the sofa and was soon +fast asleep.</p> + +<p>Then I was put to bed in a pleasant room at the top of the house. It +was overlooking the sea, on which the moon was shining. After I had +said my prayers and the candle had burned out I sat looking at the +moonlight on the water. Then I turned to the white curtained bed. I +remember how I thought of all the solitary places under the night sky +where I had slept, and I prayed that I might never be houseless any +more, and never might forget the houseless.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="JOE_THE_FAT_BOY">JOE THE FAT BOY</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VII">VII<br> +<br>JOE THE FAT BOY</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">W</span>HEN we think of famous people, we take for granted that they did +something remarkable. But this is not always true. One of the most +famous characters of fiction is the Fat Boy in <i>The Pickwick +Papers</i>. Everybody remembers him. But what did he do to earn +his reputation? He did nothing at all but go to sleep under all +circumstances. It was his gift.</p> + +<p>Joe was the footman, or rather the footboy, of Mr. Wardle, a +good-natured gentleman who lived at Dingley Dell. Now four other +good-natured gentlemen had started out from London in search of +adventures. Their names were Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Snodgrass, Mr. Tupman, +and Mr. Winkle. They didn’t know where they were going, but that didn’t +matter. They intended to have a good time and to see the country. When +they returned they were sure that they would have something to tell +about. So when they came to the pleasant city of Rochester, they were +delighted to find that there was to be a great review of the troops. +The soldiers were to take part in a mimic battle. Everything was to be +like real war, except that nobody was to be hurt. This was just what +Mr. Pickwick and his friends wanted to see.</p> + +<p>It was all very fine so long as the soldiers were firing in other +directions. But it was different when Mr. Pickwick saw the muskets +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> +pointed in their direction. This was getting decidedly dangerous.</p> + +<p>“What are they doing now?” inquired Mr. Pickwick.</p> + +<p>“I rather think,” said Mr. Winkle, “that they are going to fire.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” said Mr. Pickwick.</p> + +<p>“I—I—really think they are,” urged Mr. Snodgrass, somewhat alarmed.</p> + +<p>“Impossible,” replied Mr. Pickwick. He had hardly uttered the words +when the whole half-dozen regiments levelled their muskets at Mr. +Pickwick and his friends, and there burst forth the most tremendous +discharge. Mr. Pickwick assured his friends that there was no danger.</p> + +<p>“But suppose,” said Mr. Winkle, “that some of the men should have ball +cartridges by mistake. I heard something whistle in the air just now.”</p> + +<p>“We had better throw ourselves on our faces, hadn’t we?” said Mr. +Snodgrass.</p> + +<p>“No, it’s over now,” said Mr. Pickwick.</p> + +<p>But it wasn’t over. A minute after, the order was given to charge with +fixed bayonets, and Mr. Pickwick and his friends saw the six regiments +charging across the field to the very spot where they were standing.</p> + +<p>“Get out of the way!” cried the officers.</p> + +<p>“Where are we to go to?” screamed Mr. Pickwick.</p> + +<p>There was nothing for Mr. Pickwick and his friends to do but to get +out of the way as fast as they could. There was a gentle wind blowing, +and it carried Mr. Pickwick’s hat across the field. He ran after it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> +as fast as he could, till it went under the wheels of a carriage from +which the horses had been taken out. In the carriage was a stout old +gentleman in a blue coat and bright buttons, corduroy breeches and top +boots, two young ladies in scarfs and feathers, and an aunt. At the +back of the carriage was a huge hamper with cold chicken, ham, tongue, +and all the materials for a picnic, and on the box sat a very fat and +very red-faced boy, sound asleep.</p> + +<p>The stout gentleman in the blue coat was Mr. Wardle, who instantly +became a warm friend of Mr. Pickwick, and invited him to get into the +carriage and have something to eat.</p> + +<p>“Come along, sir, pray come up. Joe! That boy has gone to sleep again. +Joe, let down the steps.” The fat boy rolled slowly off the box, let +down the steps, and held the carriage door invitingly open.</p> + +<p>“Room for you all, gentlemen,” said the stout man. “Joe, make room for +one of these gentlemen on the box. Now, sir, come along.” And he pulled +Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass in by main force.</p> + +<p>When they were all in the carriage, Mr. Wardle called to Joe, who had +again gone to sleep, to prepare for the lunch.</p> + +<p>“Now Joe, knives and forks.” The knives and forks were handed to the +ladies and gentlemen inside.</p> + +<p>“Plates, Joe, plates!” But Joe had dropped to sleep again. “Now, Joe, +the fowls. Come hand in the eatables!”</p> + +<p>There was something in the last words that roused Joe to the greatest +activity, for he was always ready to eat.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> + +<p>“That’s right—look sharp. Now the tongue—now the pigeon pie. Take +care of the veal and ham—mind the lobsters—take the salad out of +the cloth—give me the dressing.” The various dishes were placed in +everybody’s hands and on everybody’s knees.</p> + +<p>“Now, ain’t this capital?” inquired Mr. Wardle.</p> + +<p>“Capital!” said Mr. Winkle, who was carving a fowl on the box.</p> + +<p>Everybody was eating and talking at the same time, and they felt that +they had always known each other. All except Joe, who preferred a nap +to conversation.</p> + +<p>“Very extraordinary boy, that,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Does he always +sleep that way?”</p> + +<p>“Sleep!” said the old gentleman, “he’s always asleep. Goes on errands +fast asleep, and snores as he waits at the table.”</p> + +<p>“How very odd,” said Mr. Pickwick.</p> + +<p>“Ah! odd indeed,” returned the old gentleman; “I’m proud of that +boy—wouldn’t part with him on any account—he’s a natural curiosity! +Here, Joe—Joe—take these things away, and open another bottle—d’ye +hear?”</p> + +<p>The fat boy rose, opened his eyes, swallowed the huge piece of pie +he had been in the act of masticating when he last fell asleep, and +slowly obeyed his master’s orders—gloating languidly over the remains +of the feast, as he removed the plates, and deposited them in the +hamper. The fresh bottle was produced, and speedily emptied: the +hamper was made fast in its old place—the fat boy once more mounted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> +the box—the spectacles and pocket-glass were again adjusted—and the +evolutions of the military recommenced. There was a great fizzing and +banging of guns, and starting of ladies—and then a mine was sprung, +to the gratification of everybody—and when the mine had gone off, the +military and the company followed its example, and went off too.</p> + +<p>“Now, mind,” said the old gentleman, as he shook hands with Mr. +Pickwick at the conclusion of a conversation which had been carried on +at intervals, during the conclusion of the proceedings—“we shall see +you all to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly,” replied Mr. Pickwick.</p> + +<p>“You have got the address?”</p> + +<p>“Manor Farm, Dingley Dell,” said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his +pocket-book.</p> + +<p>“That’s it,” said the old gentleman. “I don’t let you off, mind, under +a week; and undertake that you shall see everything worth seeing. If +you’ve come down for a country life, come to me, and I’ll give you +plenty of it. Joe—he’s gone to sleep again—Joe, help Tom put in the +horses.”</p> + +<p>The horses were put in—the driver mounted—the fat boy clambered up by +his side—farewells were exchanged—and the carriage rattled off. As +the Pickwickians turned round to take a last glimpse of it, the setting +sun cast a rich glow on the faces of their entertainers, and fell upon +the form of the fat boy. His head was sunk upon his bosom; and he +slumbered again.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="OLIVER_TWIST">OLIVER TWIST</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII">VIII<br> +<br>OLIVER TWIST</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">O</span>LIVER TWIST was born in a poorhouse, where his mother died. The +superintendent, Mr. Bumble, was a detestable man, who did all that he +could to make the paupers in his institution even more unhappy than +they were. He fed the boys on very thin gruel and gave them very little +of that. One day when he was particularly hungry, Oliver said:</p> + +<p>“Please, sir, I want some more.”</p> + +<p>Every one was horrified, and poor Oliver was beaten and shut up in a +little room where he could meditate on his sin. Soon after, he was +given into the hands of Mr. Sowerberry, who was as cruel as Mr. Bumble +himself. The upshot of it was that Oliver put a crust of bread, a shirt +and two pairs of stockings in a bundle, and ran away. Of course, there +was only one place to run away to, and that was London.</p> + +<p>Oliver had been six days on the London road when he limped into the +little town of Barnet. There he met a boy of his own age, who was the +queerest-looking creature he had ever seen. His name was Jack Dawkins, +but he was known by all the people who knew him as the Artful Dodger. +He was a snub-nosed boy with a dirty face. His hat was on one side of +his head and was always about to fall off. He wore a ragged coat which +was too large for him, and had turned the coat-sleeves back half-way up +his arms.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span></p> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i009" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i009.jpg" width="1200" height="1725" alt="Two boys in worn clothes talk outside a shop—one standing, +the other sitting on stone steps with a bundle and walking stick beside +him."> +<figcaption class="caption"> +<p style="text-align:left"> +<i>Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons</i></p> +<p>OLIVER’S FIRST MEETING WITH THE ARTFUL DODGER</p> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>“Hullo, what’s the row?” said the Artful Dodger.</p> + +<p>“I am very hungry and tired. I have walked a long way. I have been +walking seven days.”</p> + +<p>“Walking for sivin days! Come, you want grub, and you shall have it.”</p> + +<p>He took Oliver into a little shop and bought some ham and bread, which +was quietly devoured.</p> + +<p>“Going to London?” said the strange boy.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Got any lodgings?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Money?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>The strange boy whistled; and put his hands into his pockets, as far as +the big coat-sleeves would let them go.</p> + +<p>“Do you live in London?” inquired Oliver.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do, when I’m at home,” replied the boy. “I suppose you want +some place to sleep in to-night, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do,” answered Oliver. “I have not slept under a roof since I +left the country.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t fret your eyelids on that score,” said the boy. “I’ve got to +be in London to-night; and I know a ’spectable old genelman as lives +there, wot’ll give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for the +change; that is, if any genelman he knows interduces you. And don’t he +know me? Oh, no! Not in the least! By no means. Certainly not!”</p> + +<p>So Oliver Twist went with the Artful Dodger through the narrowest and +crookedest streets in London till he came to the house of old Fagin, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> +who kept a school for pickpockets. Every day the boys would be sent out +on the streets and would come home at night with pocket-handkerchiefs +and purses which they had snatched from people in the crowds.</p> + +<p>Five or six boys were in the room, and Fagin was cooking sausages in a +frying-pan.</p> + +<p>“This is him, Fagin,” said the Artful Dodger; “my friend Oliver Twist.”</p> + +<p>Fagin grinned, and shook hands. “We are glad to see you, Oliver. +Dodger, take off the sausages and draw a tub near the fire for Oliver. +Ah, you’re a-staring at the pocket-handkerchiefs! eh, my dear? We’ve +just looked ’em out, ready for the wash; that’s all, Oliver; that’s +all.”</p> + +<p>Oliver wondered very much why they had so many handkerchiefs. Fagin +employed him in picking out the marks in them, and that kept him busy +for several days. One day he went out with the Artful Dodger and his +friend Charley Bates. Dickens tells the story of their adventure:</p> + +<p>The three boys sallied out; the Dodger with his coat-sleeves tucked up, +and his hat cocked, as usual; Master Bates sauntering along with his +hands in his pockets; and Oliver between them: wondering where they +were going: and what branch of manufacture he would be instructed in, +first.</p> + +<p>The pace at which they went, was such a very lazy, ill-looking saunter, +that Oliver soon began to think his companions were going to deceive +the old gentleman, by not going to work at all. The Dodger had a +vicious propensity, too, of pulling the caps from the heads of small +boys and tossing them down areas; while Charley Bates exhibited some +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> +very loose notions concerning the rights of property, by pilfering +divers apples and onions from the stalls at the kennel sides, and +thrusting them into pockets which were so surprisingly capacious, that +they seemed to undermine his whole suit of clothes in every direction. +These things looked so bad, that Oliver was on the point of declaring +his intention of seeking his way back, in the best way he could; when +his thoughts were suddenly directed into another channel, by a very +mysterious change of behavior on the part of the Dodger.</p> + +<p>They were just emerging from a narrow court not far from the open +square in Clerkenwell, which is yet called, by some strange perversion +of terms, “The Green,” when the Dodger made a sudden stop and, laying +his finger on his lip, drew his companions back again, with the +greatest caution and circumspection.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” demanded Oliver.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” replied the Dodger. “Do you see that old cove at the +book-stall?”</p> + +<p>“The old gentleman over the way?” said Oliver. “Yes, I see him.”</p> + +<p>“He’ll do,” said the Dodger.</p> + +<p>“A prime plant,” observed Master Charley Bates.</p> + +<p>Oliver looked from one to the other, with the greatest 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 +towards whom his attention had been directed. Oliver walked a few paces +after them; and, not knowing whether to advance or retire, stood +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> +looking on in silent amazement.</p> + +<p>The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking personage, with a +powdered head and gold spectacles. He was dressed in a bottle-green +coat with a black velvet collar; wore white trousers; and carried +a smart bamboo cane under his arm. He had taken up a book from the +stall, and there he stood, reading away, as hard as if he were in his +elbow-chair, in his own study. It is very possible that he fancied +himself there, indeed; for it was plain, from his utter abstraction, +that he saw not the book-stall, nor the street, nor the boys, nor, in +short, anything but the book itself; which he was reading straight +through; turning over the leaf when he got to the bottom of a page, +beginning at the top line of the next one, and going regularly on, with +the greatest interest and eagerness.</p> + +<p>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 old 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 around the corner at full +speed!</p> + +<p>In an instant the whole mystery of the handkerchiefs, and the watches, +and the jewels, rushed upon the boy’s mind. He stood, for a moment, +with the blood so tingling through all his veins from terror, that he +felt as if he were in a burning fire; then, confused and frightened, he +took to his heels and, not knowing what he did, made off as fast as he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> +could lay his feet to the ground.</p> + +<p>This was all done in a minute’s space. In the very instant when Oliver +began to run, the old gentleman, putting his hand to his pocket, and +missing his handkerchief, turned sharp round. Seeing the boy scudding +away at such a rapid pace, he very naturally concluded him to be the +depredator; and, shouting “Stop thief!” with all his might made off +after him, book in hand.</p> + +<p>But the old gentleman was not the only person who raised the +hue-and-cry. The Dodger and Master Bates, unwilling to attract public +attention by running down the open street, had merely retired into the +very first doorway round the corner. They no sooner heard the cry, and +saw Oliver running, than, guessing exactly how the matter stood, they +issued forth with great promptitude and, shouting “Stop thief!” too, +joined in the pursuit like good citizens.</p> + +<p>Although Oliver had been brought up by philosophers, he was +not theoretically acquainted with the beautiful axiom that +self-preservation is the first law of nature. If he had been, perhaps +he would have been prepared for this. Not being prepared, however, +it alarmed him the more; so away he went like the wind, with the old +gentleman and the two boys roaring and shouting behind him.</p> + +<p>“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 schoolboy his marbles; the pavior +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> +his pickaxe; the child his battledore. Away they run, pell-mell, +helter-skelter, slap-dash: tearing, yelling, and screaming: knocking +down the passengers as they turn the corners, rousing up the dogs, and +astonishing the fowls: and streets, squares, and courts re-echo with +the sound.</p> + +<p>“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, onward bear the mob, a whole audience desert Punch +in the very thickest of the plot, and, joining the rushing throng, +swell the shout, and lend fresh vigor to the cry, “Stop thief! Stop +thief!”</p> + +<p>“Stop thief! Stop thief!” There is a passion <i>for hunting +something</i> deeply implanted in the human breast. One wretched +breathless child, panting with exhaustion; terror in his looks; agony +in his eyes; large drops of perspiration streaming down his face; +strains every nerve to make head upon his pursuers; and as they follow +on his track, and gain upon him every instant, they hail his decreasing +strength with still louder shouts, and whoop and scream with joy. “Stop +thief!” Ay, stop him for God’s sake, were it only in mercy!</p> + +<p>Stopped at last. A clever blow. He is down upon the pavement; and the +crowd eagerly gather round him: each newcomer, jostling and struggling +with the others to catch a glimpse. “Stand aside!” “Give him a little +air!” “Nonsense! he don’t deserve it.” “Where’s the gentleman?” “Here +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> +he is, coming down the street.” “Make room there for the gentleman!” +“Is this the boy, sir!” “Yes.”</p> + +<p>Oliver lay, covered with mud and dust, and bleeding from the mouth, +looking wildly round upon the heap of faces that surrounded him, when +the old gentleman was officiously dragged and pushed into the circle by +the foremost of the pursuers.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the gentleman, “I am afraid it is.”</p> + +<p>“Afraid!” murmured the crowd. “That’s a good ’un.”</p> + +<p>“Poor fellow!” said the gentleman, “he has hurt himself.”</p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> did that, sir,” said a great lubberly fellow, stepping +forward; “and preciously I cut my knuckle agin his mouth. <i>I</i> +stopped him, sir.”</p> + +<p>The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting something for his +pains; but the old gentleman, eyeing him with an expression of dislike, +looked anxiously round, as if he contemplated running away himself: +which it is very possible he might have attempted to do, and thus +afforded another chase, had not a police officer (who is generally +the last person to arrive in such cases) at that moment made his way +through the crowd, and seized Oliver by the collar.</p> + +<p>“Come, get up,” said the man, roughly.</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t me indeed, sir. Indeed, indeed, it was two other boys,” said +Oliver, clasping his hands passionately, and looking round. “They are +here somewhere.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, they ain’t,” said the officer. He meant this to be ironical, +but it was true besides; for the Dodger and Charley Bates had filed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> +off down the first convenient court they came to. “Come, get up!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t hurt him,” said the old gentleman, compassionately.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, I won’t hurt him,” replied the officer, tearing his jacket half +off his back, in proof thereof. “Come, I know you; it won’t do. Will +you stand upon your legs, you young devil?”</p> + +<p>Oliver, who could hardly stand, made a shift to raise himself on his +feet, and was at once lugged along the streets by the jacket-collar, +at a rapid pace. The gentleman walked on with them by the officer’s +side; and as many of the crowd as could achieve the feat, got a little +ahead, and stared back at Oliver from time to time. The boys shouted in +triumph; and on they went.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>Fortunately this time things turned out for the best for Oliver. The +old gentleman, whose name was Brownlow, believed his story and took him +to his own home, where he treated him as if he were his own son. They +lived in a pleasant house on a quiet street, and Mrs. Brownlow was as +kind as her husband.</p> + +<p>This was only one of the adventures of Oliver Twist. He always seemed +to be falling in with unusually bad people, and then being rescued by +unusually kind people, who lost no time in receiving him as one of +the family. The changes in his fortune were as sudden as those in the +<i>Arabian Nights</i>. But then everything came out right in the end.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_JELLYBY_CHILDREN">THE JELLYBY CHILDREN</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="IX">IX<br> +<br>THE JELLYBY CHILDREN</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">T</span>O know the Jellyby children you must know their mother. Mrs. Jellyby +had a very kind heart and wanted to do good. Unfortunately the +people she wanted to do good to lived a long way off. This was very +inconvenient, as it was very difficult to get at them, especially +as she didn’t know their names or what they looked like. The people +she was particularly interested in lived in Borrioboola-Gha, on the +left bank of the Niger, in Africa. Mrs. Jellyby had to write a great +many letters to all sorts of people about the state of things in +Borrioboola-Gha, and this took up the time she might otherwise have +given to her children.</p> + +<p>What Mrs. Jellyby would have done if she had lived in Africa, we do not +know. But in London she didn’t find much to interest her: everything +was too near. So the little Jellybys were left to grow up as best +they could. There was no one whose business it was to see that they +were properly fed or clothed or taught how to behave. Mrs. Jellyby +couldn’t look after them, because she was too busy making plans for +the Africans. And Mr. Jellyby couldn’t do it, for he had to listen to +Mrs. Jellyby and do errands for her. So nobody did it, and the little +Jellybys got on as best they could, which was not very well.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p> + +<p>In <i>Bleak House</i>, Dickens makes Miss Summerson tell of her visit +to Mrs. Jellyby.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>We were to pass the night, Mr. Kenge told us, at Mrs. Jellyby’s; and +then he turned to me, and said that he took it for granted that I knew +who Mrs. Jellyby was.</p> + +<p>“I really don’t, sir,” I returned.</p> + +<p>“Indeed! Mrs. Jellyby is a lady of great strength of character. She +devotes herself entirely to the public.”</p> + +<p>“And Mr. Jellyby, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Mr. Jellyby,” said Mr. Kenge, “I do not know that I can describe +Mr. Jellyby better than by saying he is the husband of Mrs. Jellyby.”</p> + +<p>We arrived at our destination and found a crowd of people, mostly +children, about the house at which we stopped, which had a tarnished +brass plate on the door, with the inscription, JELLYBY.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be frightened!” said Mr. Guppy, looking in at the coach-window. +“One of the young Jellybys been and got his head through the area +railings!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, poor child,” said I, “let me out, if you please!”</p> + +<p>“Pray be careful of yourself, miss. The young Jellybys are always up to +something,” said Mr. Guppy.</p> + +<p>I made my way to the poor child, who was one of the dirtiest little +unfortunates I ever saw, and found him very hot and frightened, and +crying loudly, fixed by the neck between two iron railings, while +a milkman and a beadle, with the kindest intentions possible, were +endeavoring to drag him back by the legs, under a general impression +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> +that his skull was compressible by those means. As I found (after +pacifying him) that he was a little boy, with a naturally large head, I +thought that, perhaps, where his head could go, his body could follow, +and mentioned that the best mode of extrication might be to push him +forward. This was so favorably received by the milkman and beadle, that +he would immediately have been pushed into the area, if I had not held +his pinafore, while Richard and Mr. Guppy ran down through the kitchen, +to catch him when he should be released. At last he was happily got +down without any accident, and then he began to beat Mr. Guppy with a +hoop-stick in quite a frantic manner.</p> + +<p>Nobody had appeared belonging to the house, except a person in pattens, +who had been poking at the child from below with a broom; I don’t know +with what object, and I don’t think she did. I therefore supposed that +Mrs. Jellyby was not at home; and was quite surprised when the person +appeared in the passage without the pattens, and going up to the back +room on the first floor, before Ada and me, announced us as, “Them two +young ladies, Missis Jellyby!” We passed several more children on the +way up, whom it was difficult to avoid treading on in the dark; and as +we came into Mrs. Jellyby’s presence, one of the poor little things +fell down-stairs—down a whole flight (as it sounded to me), with a +great noise.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jellyby, whose face reflected none of the uneasiness which we +could not help showing in our own faces, as the dear child’s head +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> +recorded its passage with a bump on every stair—Richard afterwards +said he counted seven, besides one for the landing—received us with +perfect equanimity. She was a pretty, very diminutive, plump woman, +of from forty to fifty, with handsome eyes, though they had a curious +habit of seeming to look a long way off. As if—I am quoting Richard +again—they could see nothing nearer than Africa!</p> + +<p>“I am very glad indeed,” said Mrs. Jellyby, in an agreeable voice, +“to have the pleasure of receiving you. I have a great respect for +Mr. Jarndyce; and no one in whom he is interested can be an object of +indifference to me.”</p> + +<p>We expressed our acknowledgments, and sat down behind the door, where +there was a lame invalid of a sofa. Mrs. Jellyby had very good hair, +but was too much occupied with her African duties to brush it. The +shawl in which she had been loosely muffled, dropped on to her chair +when she advanced to us; and as she turned to resume her seat, we +could not help noticing that her dress didn’t nearly meet up the back, +and that the open space was railed across with a lattice-work of +stay-lace—like a summer-house.</p> + +<p>The room, which was strewn with papers and nearly filled by a great +writing-table covered with similar litter, was, I must say, not only +very untidy, but very dirty. We were obliged to take notice of that +with our sense of sight, even while, with our sense of hearing, we +followed the poor child who had tumbled down-stairs: I think into the +back kitchen, where somebody seemed to stifle him.</p> + +<p>But what principally struck us was a jaded, and unhealthy-looking, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> +though by no means plain girl, at the writing-table, who sat biting +the feather of her pen, and staring at us. I suppose nobody ever was +in such a state of ink. And, from her tumbled hair to her pretty feet, +which were disfigured with frayed and broken satin slippers trodden +down at heel, she really seemed to have no article of dress upon her, +from a pin upwards, that was in its proper condition or its right place.</p> + +<p>“You find me, my dears,” said Mrs. Jellyby, snuffing the two great +office candles in tin candlesticks which made the room taste strongly +of hot tallow (the fire had gone out, and there was nothing in +the grate but ashes, a bundle of wood, and a poker), “you find +me, my dears, as usual, very busy; but that you will excuse. The +African project at present employs my whole time. It involves me in +correspondence with public bodies, and with private individuals anxious +for the welfare of their species all over the country. I am happy to +say it is advancing. We hope by this time next year to have from a +hundred and fifty to two hundred healthy families cultivating coffee +and educating the natives of Borrioboola-Gha, on the left bank of the +Niger.”</p> + +<p>As Ada said nothing, but looked at me, I said it must be very +gratifying.</p> + +<p>“It <i>is</i> gratifying,” said Mrs. Jellyby. “It involves the devotion +of all my energies, such as they are; but that is nothing, so that it +succeeds; and I am more confident of success every day. Do you know, +Miss Summerson, I almost wonder that <i>you</i> never turned your +thoughts to Africa.”</p> + +<p>This application of the subject was really so unexpected to me, that I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> +was quite at a loss how to receive it. I hinted that the climate——</p> + +<p>“The finest climate in the world!” said Mrs. Jellyby.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, ma’am?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. With precaution,” said Mrs. Jellyby. “You may go into +Holborn, without precaution, and be run over. You may go into Holborn, +with precaution, and never be run over. Just so with Africa.”</p> + +<p>I said, “No doubt”—I meant as to Holborn.</p> + +<p>“If you would like,” said Mrs. Jellyby, putting a number of papers +towards us, “to look over some remarks on that head, and on the +general subject (which have been extensively circulated), while I +finish a letter I am now dictating—to my eldest daughter, who is my +amanuensis——”</p> + +<p>The girl at the table left off biting her pen, and made a return to our +recognition, which was half bashful and half sulky.</p> + +<p>“I shall then have finished for the present,” proceeded Mrs. Jellyby, +with a sweet smile; “though my work is never done. Where are you, +Caddy?”</p> + +<p>“‘—Presents her compliments to Mr. Swallow, and begs—’” said Caddy.</p> + +<p>“‘And begs,’” said Mrs. Jellyby, dictating, “‘to inform him, in +reference to his letter of inquiry on the African project—’ No, Peepy! +Not on any account!”</p> + +<p>Peepy (so self-named) was the unfortunate child who had fallen +down-stairs, who now interrupted the correspondence by presenting +himself, with a strip of plaster on his forehead, to exhibit his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> +wounded knees, in which Ada and I did not know which to pity most—the +bruises or the dirt. Mrs. Jellyby merely added, “Go along, you naughty +Peepy!” and fixed her fine eyes on Africa again.</p> + +<p>However, as she at once proceeded with her dictation, and as I +interrupted nothing by doing it, I ventured quietly to stop poor Peepy +as he was going out, and to take him up to nurse. He looked very much +astonished at it, and at Ada’s kissing him; but soon fell fast asleep +in my arms, sobbing at longer and longer intervals, until he was quiet. +I was so occupied with Peepy that I lost the letter in detail, though I +derived such a general impression from it of the momentous importance +of Africa, and the utter insignificance of all other places and things, +that I felt quite ashamed to have thought so little about it.</p> + +<p>“Six o’clock!” said Mrs. Jellyby. “And our dinner hour nominally (for +we dine at all hours) five! Caddy, show Miss Clare and Miss Summerson +their rooms. You will like to make some change, perhaps? You will +excuse me, I know, being so much occupied. Oh, that very bad child! +Pray put him down, Miss Summerson!”</p> + +<p>I begged permission to retain him, truly saying that he was not at all +troublesome; and carried him up-stairs and laid him on my bed. Ada +and I had two upper rooms, with a door of communication between. They +were excessively bare and disorderly, and the curtain to my window was +fastened up with a fork.</p> + +<p>“You would like some hot water, wouldn’t you?” said Miss Jellyby, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> +looking round for a jug with a handle to it, but looking in vain.</p> + +<p>“If it is not being troublesome,” said we.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s not the trouble,” returned Miss Jellyby; “the question is, if +there <i>is</i> any.”</p> + +<p>The evening was so very cold, and the rooms had such a marshy smell, +that I must confess it was a little miserable; and Ada was half crying. +We soon laughed, however, and were busily unpacking, when Miss Jellyby +came back to say, that she was sorry there was no hot water; but they +couldn’t find the kettle, and the boiler was out of order.</p> + +<p>We begged her not to mention it, and made all the haste we could to get +down to the fire again. But all the little children had come up to the +landing outside, to look at the phenomenon of Peepy lying on my bed; +and our attention was distracted by the constant apparition of noses +and fingers in situations of danger between the hinges of the doors. +It was impossible to shut the door of either room; for my lock, with +no knob to it, looked as if it wanted to be wound up; and though the +handle of Ada’s went round and round with the greatest smoothness, it +was attended with no effect whatever on the door. Therefore I proposed +to the children that they should come in and be very good at my table, +and I would tell them the story of Little Red Riding Hood while I +dressed; which they did, and were as quiet as mice, including Peepy, +who awoke opportunely before the appearance of the wolf.</p> + +<p>Soon after seven o’clock, we went down to dinner. The dinner was long, +because of such accidents as the dish of potatoes being mislaid in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> +the coal scuttle. Mrs. Jellyby paid no attention to such matters +and told us all about the various committees, and the five thousand +circulars that were sent out. After dinner, Mr. Jellyby sat in a corner +in a state of great dejection. I sat in another and told Peepy, in +whispers, the story of Puss in Boots, until Mrs. Jellyby, accidentally +remembering the children, sent them to bed. As Peepy cried for me to +take him, I carried him up-stairs.</p> + +<p>“What a strange house!” said Ada, when we got up-stairs.</p> + +<p>“My love,” said I, “it quite confuses me. I can’t understand it.”</p> + +<p>“What?” asked Ada.</p> + +<p>“All this, my dear,” said I. “It <i>must</i> be very good of Mrs. +Jellyby to take such pains about a scheme for the benefit of +Natives—and yet—Peepy and the housekeeping!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SISSY_JUPE">SISSY JUPE</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="X">X<br> +<br>SISSY JUPE</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">D</span>ICKENS called the novel in which Sissy Jupe appears <i>Hard Times</i>. +It was certainly hard times for children who had to go to the kind of +schools that Mr. Thomas Gradgrind believed in. Mr. Gradgrind was a +big square man, with a square coat and square shoulders, who thought +that he knew all about education. He thought that the children in +the schoolroom were like so many little pitchers, and the teacher’s +business was to fill them with facts.</p> + +<p>“Now, what I want is Facts,” said Mr. Gradgrind. “Teach these boys and +girls nothing but Facts. This is the principle on which I bring up my +own children, and this is the principle for these children. Stick to +Facts.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gradgrind, with another gentleman, had come to visit the school. +Now Sissy Jupe was a bright little girl who would really enjoy using +her own mind, but she didn’t know how to use Mr. Gradgrind’s mind, and +she was very much upset when the great man pointed his square finger at +her and said:</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>“Girl number twenty. I don’t know that girl. Who is that girl?”</p> + +<p>“Sissy Jupe, sir,” explained number twenty, blushing, standing up, and +courtesying.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></p> + +<p>“Sissy is not a name,” said Mr. Gradgrind. “Don’t call yourself Sissy. +Call yourself Cecilia.”</p> + +<p>“It’s father as calls me Sissy, sir,” returned the girl in a trembling +voice, and with another courtesy.</p> + +<p>“Then he has no business to do it,” said Mr. Gradgrind. “Tell him he +mustn’t. Cecilia Jupe. Let me see. What is your father?”</p> + +<p>“He belongs to the horse-riding, if you please, sir.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gradgrind frowned, and waved off the objectionable calling with his +hand.</p> + +<p>“We don’t want to know anything about that, here. You mustn’t tell us +about that, here. Your father breaks horses, don’t he?”</p> + +<p>“If you please, sir, when they can get any to break, they do break +horses in the ring, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t tell us about the ring, here. Very well, then. Describe +your father as a horsebreaker. He doctors sick horses, I dare say?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then. He is a veterinary surgeon, a farrier, and +horsebreaker. Give me your definition of a horse.”</p> + +<p>(Sissy Jupe thrown into the greatest alarm by this demand.)</p> + +<p>“Girl number twenty unable to define a horse!” said Mr. Gradgrind, for +the general behoof of all the little pitchers. “Girl number twenty +possessed of no facts, in reference to one of the commonest of animals! +Some boy’s definition of a horse. Bitzer, yours.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p> + +<p>The square finger, moving here and there, lighted suddenly on Bitzer, +perhaps because he chanced to sit in the same ray of sunlight which, +darting in at one of the bare windows of the intensely whitewashed +room, irradiated Sissy. For the boys and girls sat on the face of +the inclined plane in two compact bodies, divided up the centre by a +narrow interval; and Sissy, being at the corner of a row on the sunny +side, came in for the beginning of a sunbeam, of which Bitzer, being +at corner of a row on the other side, a few rows in advance, caught +the end. But, whereas the girl was so dark-eyed and dark-haired that +she seemed to receive a deeper and more lustrous color from the sun, +when it shone upon her, the boy was so light-eyed and light-haired +that the self-same rays appeared to draw out of him what little color +he ever possessed. His cold eyes would hardly have been eyes, but +for the short ends of lashes which, by bringing them into immediate +contrast with something paler than themselves, expressed their form. +His short-cropped hair might have been a mere continuation of the +sandy freckles on his forehead and face. His skin was so unwholesomely +deficient in the natural tinge that he looked as though, if it were +cut, he would bleed white.</p> + +<p>“Bitzer,” said Thomas Gradgrind. “Your definition of a horse.”</p> + +<p>“Quadruped. Graminivorous. Forty teeth, namely twenty-four grinders, +four eye-teeth, and twelve incisors. Sheds coat in the spring; in +marshy countries, sheds hoofs too. Hoofs hard, but requiring to be shod +with iron. Age known by marks in mouth.” Thus (and much more) Bitzer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span></p> + +<p>“Now girl number twenty,” said Mr. Gradgrind. “You know what a horse +is.”...</p> + +<p>The third gentleman now slipped forth, briskly smiling.</p> + +<p>“That’s a horse. Now, let me ask you girls and boys, Would you paper a +room with representations of horses?”</p> + +<p>After a pause, one half of the children cried in chorus, “Yes, sir!” +Upon which the other half, seeing in the gentleman’s face that Yes was +wrong, cried out in chorus, “No, sir!”—as the custom is, in these +examinations.</p> + +<p>“Of course, No. Why wouldn’t you?”</p> + +<p>A pause. One corpulent slow boy, with a wheezy manner of breathing, +ventured the answer, “Because he wouldn’t paper a room at all, but +would paint it.”</p> + +<p>“You <i>must</i> paper it,” said the gentleman, rather warmly.</p> + +<p>“You must paper it,” said Thomas Gradgrind, “whether you like it or +not. Don’t tell <i>us</i> you wouldn’t paper it. What do you mean, boy?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll explain to you, then,” said the gentleman, after another and a +dismal pause, “why you wouldn’t paper a room with representations of +horses. Do you ever see horses walking up and down the sides of rooms +in reality—in fact? Do you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir!” from one half. “No, sir!” from the other.</p> + +<p>“Of course no,” said the gentleman, with an indignant look at the wrong +half. “Why, then, you are not to see anywhere, what you don’t see in +fact; you are not to have anywhere, what you don’t have in fact. What +is called Taste, is only another name for Fact.”</p> + +<p>Thomas Gradgrind nodded his approbation.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> + +<p>“This is a new principle, a discovery, a great discovery,” said the +gentleman.</p> + +<p>“Now, I’ll try you again. Suppose you were going to carpet a room. +Would you use a carpet having a representation of flowers upon it?”</p> + +<p>There being a general conviction by this time that “No, sir!” was +always the right answer to this gentleman, the chorus of No was very +strong. Only a few feeble stragglers said Yes; among them Sissy Jupe.</p> + +<p>“Girl number twenty,” said the gentleman, smiling in the calm strength +of knowledge.</p> + +<p>Sissy blushed, and stood up.</p> + +<p>“So you would carpet your room—or your husband’s room, if you were a +grown woman, and had a husband—with representations of flowers, would +you,” said the gentleman. “Why would you?”</p> + +<p>“If you please sir, I am very fond of flowers,” returned the girl.</p> + +<p>“And is that why you would put tables and chairs upon them, and have +people walking over them with heavy boots?”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t hurt them, sir. They wouldn’t crush and wither, if you +please, sir. They would be the pictures of what was very pretty and +pleasant, and I would fancy——”</p> + +<p>“Ay, ay, ay! But you mustn’t fancy,” cried the gentleman, quite elated +by coming so happily to his point. “That’s it! You are never to fancy.”</p> + +<p>“You are not, Cecilia Jupe,” Thomas Gradgrind solemnly repeated, “to do +anything of that kind.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span></p> + +<p>“Fact, fact, fact!” said the gentleman. And “Fact, fact, fact!” +repeated Thomas Gradgrind.</p> + +<p>“You are to be in all things regulated and governed,” said the +gentleman, “by fact. We hope to have, before long, a board of fact, +composed of commissioners of fact, who will force the people to be a +people of fact, and of nothing but fact. You must discard the word +Fancy altogether. You have nothing to do with it. You are not to have, +in any object of use or ornament, what would be a contradiction in +fact. You don’t walk upon flowers in fact; you cannot be allowed to +walk upon flowers in carpets. You don’t find that foreign birds and +butterflies come and perch upon your crockery; you cannot be permitted +to paint foreign birds and butterflies upon your crockery. You never +meet with quadrupeds going up and down walls; you must not have +quadrupeds represented upon walls. You must use,” said the gentleman, +“for all these purposes, combinations and modifications (in primary +colors) of mathematical figures which are susceptible of proof and +demonstration. This is the new discovery. This is fact. This is taste.”</p> + +<p>The girl courtesied, and sat down. She was very young, and she looked +as if she were frightened by the matter-of-fact prospect the world +afforded.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_CHILD_OF_THE_MARSHALSEA">THE CHILD OF THE MARSHALSEA</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XI">XI<br> +<br>THE CHILD OF THE MARSHALSEA</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">W</span>HEN Dickens wrote <i>Little Dorrit</i>, he must often have thought +of the times when as a boy he went to see his father in the debtors’ +prison. As a shy little boy he had to do all sorts of errands which +took him over the prison and through the narrow streets that were near +it.</p> + +<p>Amy Dorrit, or little Dorrit, as she was called, was born in the great +rambling prison called the Marshalsea. It was the only home she knew. +Her father had got into debt and was sent to prison until the debt was +paid. Of course he couldn’t pay it so long as he was locked up and not +given a chance to earn anything. So there he stayed year after year +till he had become the oldest inhabitant, and rather enjoyed the honor. +But it was hard on little Dorrit.</p> + +<p>She had one good friend, the officer who was called the turnkey, +because he had the keys of the prison and was the one who locked the +prisoners in. When she began to walk and talk, he bought her a little +armchair, and gave her toys. She became very fond of the turnkey, and +was delighted when he dressed and undressed her dolls.</p> + +<p>After a while, little Dorrit began to wonder what the world outside the +prison walls was like. She saw the turnkey turn his great key in the +door and thought, how wonderful it would be to go out through it!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p> + +<p>She sat by the barred window, looking out. “Thinking of the fields?” +the turnkey said, one day.</p> + +<p>“Where are they?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Why, they are over there, my dear,” said the turnkey with a flourish +of the keys. “Just about there.”</p> + +<p>“Does anybody open them, or shut them? Are they locked?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, “not in general.”</p> + +<p>“Are they pretty, Bob?” She called him Bob because he asked her to.</p> + +<p>“Lovely. Full of flowers. There’s buttercups and there’s daisies, and +there’s—dandelions and all manner of games.”</p> + +<p>“Is it pleasant to be there, Bob?”</p> + +<p>“Prime,” said the turnkey.</p> + +<p>“Was father ever there?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. He was there sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“Is he sorry not to be there now?”</p> + +<p>“N—not particular,” said the turnkey.</p> + +<p>“Nor any of the people? Oh, are you quite sure and certain, Bob?”</p> + +<p>Bob changed the subject, but this was the beginning of little Sunday +excursions which these two curious companions took. Every other Sunday +afternoon the turnkey would open the prison doors with his big key and +would go off with little Dorrit into the green fields. He would pick +out some meadow or green lane and light his pipe, while the little girl +would gather grasses and wild flowers to bring home to her father.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span></p> + +<p>After some years had passed, Mr. Dorrit was released from prison and +his fortune was restored, but little Dorrit always remembered the kind +turnkey who had given her the first happy hours in the green fields.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_CRATCHITS">THE CRATCHITS</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XII">XII<br> +<br>THE CRATCHITS</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">E</span>VERYBODY knows the Cratchits. When Christmas comes people take up <i>A +Christmas Carol</i> and turn to the account of the Christmas dinner +which Bob Cratchit and his family enjoyed in their poor little house in +the suburbs of London. Here it is just as Dickens wrote it.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit’s wife, dressed out but poorly +in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and +make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by +Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while +Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, +and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob’s private +property, conferred upon his son and heir in honor of the day) into +his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned +to show his linen in the fashionable parks. And now two smaller +Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the +baker’s they had smelled the goose and known it for their own; and +basking in luxurious thoughts of sage-and-onion, these young Cratchits +danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, +while he (not proud, although his collar nearly choked him) blew the +fire, until the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> +saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i010" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i010.jpg" width="1200" height="1726" alt="A joyful Bob Cratchit carries Tiny Tim on his shoulder, +smiling warmly as they enter a doorway on a snowy Christmas day."> +<figcaption class="caption"> +<p style="text-align:left"><i>Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons</i></p> +<p>TINY TIM AND BOB CRATCHIT ON CHRISTMAS DAY</p> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>“What has ever got your precious father then?” said Mrs. Cratchit. “And +your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn’t as late last Christmas Day by +half-an-hour!”</p> + +<p>“Here’s Martha, mother!” said a girl, appearing as she spoke.</p> + +<p>“Here’s Martha, mother!” cried the two young Cratchits. “Hurrah! +There’s <i>such</i> a goose, Martha!”</p> + +<p>“Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!” said Mrs. +Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and +bonnet for her with officious zeal.</p> + +<p>“We’d a deal of work to finish up last night,” replied the girl, “and +had to clear away this morning, mother!”</p> + +<p>“Well! Never mind so long as you are come,” said Mrs. Cratchit. “Sit ye +down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!”</p> + +<p>“No, no! There’s father coming,” cried the two young Cratchits, who +were everywhere at once. “Hide, Martha, hide!”</p> + +<p>So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at +least three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe, hanging down +before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look +seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore +a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!</p> + +<p>“Why, where’s our Martha?” cried Bob Cratchit, looking round.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> + +<p>“Not coming,” said Mrs. Cratchit.</p> + +<p>“Not coming!” said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits; +for he had been Tim’s blood horse all the way from church, and had come +home rampant. “Not coming upon Christmas Day!”</p> + +<p>Martha didn’t like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; +so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into +his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him +off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the +copper.</p> + +<p>“And how did little Tim behave?” asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had +rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his +heart’s content.</p> + +<p>“As good as gold,” said Bob, “and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, +sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever +heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the +church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to +remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men +see.”</p> + +<p>Bob’s voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more +when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.</p> + +<p>His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came +Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother +and sister to his stool before the fire; and while Bob, turning up +his cuffs—as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more +shabby—compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> +stirred it round and round and put it on the hob to simmer, Master +Peter, and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, +with which they soon returned in high procession.</p> + +<p>Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of +all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter +of course—and in truth it was something very like it in that house. +Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) +hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigor; +Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple sauce; Martha dusted the hot +plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; +the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting +themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into +their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came +to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It +was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly +all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but +when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, +one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, +excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle +of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!</p> + +<p>There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn’t believe there ever was +such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness, +were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by the apple sauce +and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> +indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small +atom of a bone upon the dish) they hadn’t ate it all at last! Yet every +one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits, in particular, were +steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being +changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone—too nervous +to bear witnesses—to take the pudding up and bring it in.</p> + +<p>Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in +turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the +back-yard, and stolen it while they were merry with the goose—a +supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of +horrors were supposed.</p> + +<p>Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. +A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an +eating-house and a pastrycook’s next door to each other, with a +laundress’s next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute +Mrs. Cratchit entered—flushed, but smiling proudly—with the pudding +like a speckled cannon-ball so hard and firm blazing in half of +half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly +stuck into the top.</p> + +<p>Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he +regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since +their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her +mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of +flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or +thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> +have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint +at such a thing.</p> + +<p>At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth +swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and +considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a +shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew +round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a +one; and at Bob Cratchit’s elbow stood the family display of glass. Two +tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.</p> + +<p>These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden +goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, +while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob +proposed:</p> + +<p>“A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!”</p> + +<p>Which all the family re-echoed.</p> + +<p>“God bless us every one!” said Tiny Tim, the last of all.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_DOLLS_DRESSMAKER">THE DOLL’S DRESSMAKER</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII">XIII<br> +<br>THE DOLL’S DRESSMAKER</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">T</span>HE fact that Dickens when he was only twelve years old was put to +work and had to make his own living made him feel old when he was +really very young. He had to look after himself as if he had been a +man. In <i>Our Mutual Friend</i> he gives us a picture of an old young +person, Jenny Wren, the Doll’s Dressmaker, who talked as if she were +forty, when she was only twelve and small for her age. Her father was a +drunkard and she had been compelled to act as head of the house.</p> + +<p>She was a queer little person with bright, snapping eyes and a sharp +tongue. She sat in a little old-fashioned armchair which had a little +working-bench before it. She had set up in business as a doll’s +dressmaker and manufacturer of pincushions and pen-wipers.</p> + +<p>If you were in London you would have to go a long way to find the +Doll’s Dressmaker. First you crossed Westminster Bridge, and then you +came to a certain little street called Church Street, and then to an +out-of-the-way square called Smith Square, in the centre of which was a +very ugly church. Then you came to a blacksmith-shop and a lumber-yard, +and a dealer in old iron. There was a rusty portion of an old boiler +that you had to walk around. Beyond that there were several little +quiet houses in a row. In one of these houses was the little Doll’s +Dressmaker. That was the way Bradley Headstone and Charley Hexam found +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> +the house where Jenny Wren lived.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i011" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i011.jpg" width="1200" height="1729" alt="A young girl with long red hair +and a large bow sews a pink garment in a cozy room filled with dolls and fabric."> +<figcaption class="caption"> +<p style="text-align:left"> +<i>Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons</i></p> +<p>JENNY WREN, THE LITTLE DOLLS’ DRESSMAKER</p> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>They knocked at the door and saw a queer little figure sitting in an +armchair.</p> + +<p>“I can’t get up,” said the child, “because my back’s bad and my legs +are queer. But I’m the person of the house. What do you want, young +man?”</p> + +<p>“I wanted to see my sister.”</p> + +<p>“Many young men have sisters. Give me your name, young man.”</p> + +<p>“Hexam is my name.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, indeed?” said the person of the house. “I thought it might be. +Your sister will be in, in about a quarter of an hour. I am very fond +of your sister. She’s my particular friend. Take a seat. And this +gentleman’s name?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Headstone, my schoolmaster.”</p> + +<p>“Take a seat. And would you please to shut the street door first? I +can’t very well do it myself, because my back’s so bad, and my legs are +so queer.”</p> + +<p>They complied in silence, and the little figure went on with its work +of gumming and gluing together with a camel’s-hair brush certain pieces +of cardboard and thin wood, previously cut into various shapes. The +scissors and knives upon the bench showed that the child herself had +cut them; and the bright scraps of velvet and silk and ribbon also +strewn upon the bench showed that when duly stuffed (and stuffing +too was there) she was to cover them smartly. The dexterity of her +nimble fingers was remarkable, and, as she brought two thin edges +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> +accurately together by giving them a little bite, she would glance +at the visitors out of the corners of her gray eyes with a look that +outsharpened all her other sharpness.</p> + +<p>“You can’t tell me the name of my trade, I’ll be bound,” she said, +after taking several of these observations.</p> + +<p>“You make pincushions,” said Charley.</p> + +<p>“What else do I make?”</p> + +<p>“Pen-wipers,” said Bradley Headstone.</p> + +<p>“Ha! ha! What else do I make? You’re a schoolmaster, but you can’t tell +me.”</p> + +<p>“You do something,” he returned, pointing to a corner of the little +bench, “with straw; but I don’t know what.”</p> + +<p>“Well done you!” cried the person of the house. “I only make +pincushions and pen-wipers to use up my waste. But my straw really does +belong to my business. Try again. What do I make with my straw?”</p> + +<p>“Dinner-mats.”</p> + +<p>“A schoolmaster, and says dinner-mats! I’ll give you a clue to my +trade, in a game of forfeits. I love my love with a B because she’s +Beautiful; I hate my love with a B because she is Brazen; I took her to +the sign of the Blue Boar, and I treated her with Bonnets; her name’s +Bouncer, and she lives in Bedlam.—Now, what do I make with my straw?”</p> + +<p>“Ladies’ bonnets?”</p> + +<p>“Fine ladies’,” said the person of the house, nodding assent. “Dolls’. +I’m a Doll’s Dressmaker.”</p> + +<p>“I hope it’s a good business?”</p> + +<p>The person of the house shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> +“No. Poorly paid. And I’m often so pressed for time! I had a doll +married, last week, and was obliged to work all night. And it’s not +good for me, on account of my back being so bad and my legs so queer.”</p> + +<p>They looked at the little creature with a wonder that did not diminish, +and the schoolmaster said: “I am sorry your fine ladies are so +inconsiderate.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the way with them,” said the person of the house, shrugging her +shoulders again. “And they take no care of their clothes, and they +never keep to the same fashions a month. I work for a doll with three +daughters. Bless you, she’s enough to ruin her husband!”</p> + +<p>The person of the house gave a weird little laugh here, and gave them +another look out of the corners of her eyes. She had an elfin chin that +was capable of great expression; and whenever she gave this look, she +hitched this chin up. As if her eyes and her chin worked together on +the same wires.</p> + +<p>“Are you always as busy as you are now?”</p> + +<p>“Busier. I’m slack just now. I finished a large mourning order the day +before yesterday. Doll I work for lost a canary-bird.” The person of +the house gave another little laugh, and then nodded her head several +times, as who should moralize, “Oh this world, this world!”</p> + +<p>“Are you alone all day?” asked Bradley Headstone. “Don’t any of the +neighboring children——?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, lud!” cried the person of the house, with a little scream, as +if the word had pricked her. “Don’t talk of children. I can’t bear +children. <i>I</i> know their tricks and their manners.” She said this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> +with an angry little shake of her right fist close before her eyes.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it scarcely required the teacher-habit to perceive that the +doll’s dressmaker was inclined to be bitter on the difference between +herself and other children. But both master and pupil understood it so.</p> + +<p>“Always running about and screeching, always playing and fighting, +always skip-skip-skipping on the pavement and chalking it for their +games! Oh! <i>I</i> know their tricks and their manners!” Shaking the +little fist as before. “And that’s not all. Ever so often calling +names in through a person’s keyhole, and imitating a person’s back and +legs. Oh! <i>I</i> know their tricks and their manners. And I’ll tell +you what I’d do to punish ’em. There’s doors under the church in the +Square—black doors, leading into black vaults. Well! I’d open one of +those doors, and I’d cram ’em all in, and then I’d lock the door and +through the keyhole I’d blow in pepper.”</p> + +<p>“What would be the good of blowing in pepper?” asked Charley Hexam.</p> + +<p>“To set ’em sneezing,” said the person of the house, “and make their +eyes water. And when they were all sneezing and inflamed, I’d mock ’em +through the keyhole. Just as they, with their tricks and their manners, +mock a person through a person’s keyhole!”</p> + +<p>An uncommonly emphatic shake of her little fist close before her eyes +seemed to ease the mind of the person of the house; for she added +with recovered composure, “No, no, no. No children for me. Give me +grown-ups.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="LITTLE_NELL">LITTLE NELL</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV">XIV<br> +<br>LITTLE NELL</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">O</span>NE of the strange things about London is the number of little shops in +out-of-the-way places, where they sell things that one would suppose +nobody would be looking for. The shops seem hidden away, and the game +is for the customers to find them. And very often the customers don’t +find them.</p> + +<p>In one of these little streets was an old curiosity shop, kept by +a little old man with long gray hair. The shop was full of old and +curious things which the old man had collected and heaped upon the +floor. There were suits of armor, and bits of old china and figures +carved out of wood. The room was dark, and it was hard to walk around +without stepping upon some of the curiosities.</p> + +<p>The one bright spot in the old man’s life was his love for his +granddaughter, little Nell Trent. For her he had been saving everything +he could, but of late he had been losing more than he had gained. It +would have been a rather dull life for little Nell if it had not been +for Kit Nubbles.</p> + +<p>Kit was a shock-headed, awkward boy who lived with his mother not far +away, and he came every day to help Nell’s grandfather in the shop. He +had an uncommonly big mouth, very red cheeks, and an old hat without +any brim. Kit liked to “show off,” especially when Nell was around. He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> +had a remarkable way of standing sideways as he spoke and thrusting his +head over his shoulders. When he found that it would make Nell laugh, +he did it again and again.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i012" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i012.jpg" width="1200" height="1742" alt="The image depicts a young +girl in a bonnet pouring tea for an +elderly man with a kind expression. He sits on the grass with a basket +beside him."> +<figcaption class="caption"> +<p style="text-align:left"> +<i>Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons</i></p> +<p>LITTLE NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER AT MRS. JARLEY’S</p> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>And there was a dwarf named Quilp who was as ugly as he looked, and +delighted in nothing so much as in making everybody afraid of him. He +lived down by the river. He had a business of his own. He bought old +copper and rusty anchors from ships that had been broken up. But his +real occupation was in making everybody who came under him miserable. +At last Nell and her grandfather, in order to escape from Quilp, made +up their minds to leave London, and go off into the country where they +might find peace. They didn’t care where they went so that Quilp could +not follow them. This would have been a very good plan if they had had +money for their journeys, but as they hadn’t they had to depend on the +kindness of the people on the road.</p> + +<p>In their wanderings Nell and her grandfather fell in with some queer +people. While they were resting near a village church, they came upon +two men who were travelling over the country giving Punch and Judy +shows. One of them, a merry-faced man with twinkling eyes and a red +nose, was named Short. His companion, Codlin, was a more courteous and +gloomy person. Mr. Codlin took the figure of Judy out of the box and +said:</p> + +<p>“Look here, here’s all this Judy’s clothes falling to pieces again. You +haven’t got a needle and thread, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>Nell had a needle and thread and soon was at work on Judy’s dress, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> +and soon they were friends, and Codlin and Short took them to the +wayside inn where they met other travellers who were going to fairs. +The chapter which tells of the talk at the Jolly Sandboys is one which +the lover of Dickens likes to read more than once.</p> + + +<h3>THE JOLLY SANDBOYS</h3> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">T</span>HE Jolly Sandboys was a small roadside inn with a sign representing +three Sandboys increasing their jollity with as many jugs of ale and +bags of gold, creaking and swinging on its post on the opposite side +of the road. As the travellers had observed that day, there were many +indications of their drawing nearer and nearer to the race town, such +as gypsy camps, carts laden with gambling booths, itinerant showmen of +all kinds, and beggars and trampers of every degree.</p> + +<p>Mr. Codlin entered the inn, where a mighty fire was blazing on the +hearth and roaring up the wide chimney with a cheerful sound. There +was a large iron kettle bubbling and simmering in the heat. And when +the landlord lifted the lid, there was a savory smell. The glow of the +fire was upon the landlord’s bald head and upon his twinkling eyes. Mr. +Codlin drew his sleeve across his lips and said in a murmuring voice, +“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a stew of tripe,” said the landlord, “and cowheel, and bacon,” +smacking his lips, “and steak, and peas, cauliflowers, new potatoes, +and sparrow-grass, all working together in one delicious gravy.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span></p> + +<p>Very soon all the hungry wayfarers were sitting down to supper while +the rain fell in torrents on the roof.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>Supper was not yet over, when there arrived at the Jolly Sandboys +two more travellers bound for the same haven as the rest, who had +been walking in the rain for some hours, and came in shining and +heavy with water. One of these was the proprieter of a giant, and a +little lady without legs or arms, who had jogged forward in a van; +the other, a silent gentleman who earned his living by showing tricks +upon the cards, and who had rather deranged the natural expression of +his countenance by putting small leaden lozenges into his eyes and +bringing them out at his mouth, which was one of his professional +accomplishments. The name of the first of these newcomers was Vuffin; +the other, probably as a pleasant satire upon his ugliness, was called +Sweet William. To render them as comfortable as he could, the landlord +bestirred himself nimbly, and in a very short time both gentlemen were +perfectly at their ease.</p> + +<p>“How’s the Giant?” said Short, when they all sat smoking round the fire.</p> + +<p>“Rather weak upon his legs,” returned Mr. Vuffin. “I begin to be afraid +he’s going at the knees.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a bad lookout,” said Short.</p> + +<p>“Ay! Bad indeed,” replied Mr. Vuffin, contemplating the fire with a +sigh. “Once get a giant shaky on his legs, and the public care no more +about him than they do for a dead cabbage-stalk.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p> + +<p>“What becomes of the old giants?” said Short, turning to him again +after a little reflection.</p> + +<p>“They’re usually kept in caravans to wait upon the dwarfs,” said Mr. +Vuffin.</p> + +<p>“The maintaining of ’em must come expensive, when they can’t be shown, +eh?” remarked Short, eyeing him doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“It’s better that, than letting ’em go upon the parish or about the +streets,” said Mr. Vuffin. “Once make a giant common and giants will +never draw again. Look at wooden legs. If there was only one man with a +wooden leg what a property <i>he’d</i> be!”</p> + +<p>“So he would!” observed the landlord and Short both together. “That’s +very true.”</p> + +<p>“Instead of which,” pursued Mr. Vuffin, “if you was to advertise +Shakspeare played entirely by wooden legs, it’s my belief you wouldn’t +draw a sixpence.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose you would,” said Short. And the landlord said so too.</p> + +<p>“This shows, you see,” said Mr. Vuffin, waving his pipe with an +argumentative air, “this shows the policy of keeping the used-up giants +still in the carawans, where they get food and lodging for nothing, +all their lives, and in general very glad they are to stop there. +There was one giant—a black ’un—as left his carawan some years ago +and took to carrying coach-bills about London, making himself as cheap +as crossing-sweepers. He died. I make no insinuation against anybody +in particular,” said Mr. Vuffin, looking solemnly round, “but he was +ruining the trade;—and he died.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p> + +<p>The landlord drew his breath hard, and looked at the owner of the dogs, +who nodded and said gruffly that <i>he</i> remembered.</p> + +<p>“I know you do, Jerry,” said Mr. Vuffin with profound meaning. “I +know you remember it, Jerry, and the universal opinion was, that it +served him right. Why, I remember the time when old Maunders as had +three-and-twenty wans—I remember the time when old Maunders had in +his cottage in Spa fields in the winter time when the season was over, +eight male and female dwarfs setting down to dinner every day, who was +waited on by eight old giants in green coats, red smalls, blue cotton +stockings, and high-lows: and there was one dwarf as had grown elderly +and wicious who whenever his giant wasn’t quick enough to please him, +used to stick pins in his legs, not being able to reach up any higher. +I know that’s a fact, for Maunders told it me himself.”</p> + +<p>“What about the dwarfs, when <i>they</i> get old?” inquired the +landlord.</p> + +<p>“The older a dwarf is, the better worth he is,” returned Mr. Vuffin; “a +gray-headed dwarf, well wrinkled, is beyond all suspicion. But a giant +weak in the legs and not standing upright—keep him in the carawan, but +never show him, never show him, for any persuasion that can be offered.”</p> + +<p>While Mr. Vuffin and his two friends smoked their pipes and beguiled +the time with such conversation as this, the silent gentleman sat in +a warm corner, swallowing, or seeming to swallow, a sixpennyworth +of halfpence for practice, balancing a feather upon his nose, and +rehearsing other feats of dexterity of that kind, without paying any +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> +regard whatever to the company, who in their turn left him utterly +unnoticed. At length the weary child prevailed upon her grandfather to +retire, and they withdrew, leaving the company yet seated round the +fire, and the dogs fast asleep at a humble distance.</p> + + +<h3>MRS. JARLEY AND HER WAX-WORKS</h3> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">O</span>F all the adventures of little Nell, the meeting with Mrs. Jarley was +the most delightful. It happened just at the right time. Nell and her +grandfather were trudging along the road. It was late in the afternoon +and they didn’t know where they were to find a resting-place. They came +to a common and saw what in England is called a caravan. It is not such +a caravan as one would find in Bagdad, made up of camels. It was a +little house on wheels. It had white curtains on the windows, and the +window-shutters were of green, with bright red trimmings. There was a +door with brass knockers and there were two fat horses to draw it. They +all belonged to a stout, good-natured lady named Mrs. Jarley, who was +at the moment arranging her tea things for a comfortable afternoon tea.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jarley looked up and saw little Nell. “Are you hungry, child?”</p> + +<p>“Not very, but we are tired, and it’s a long way.”</p> + +<p>“Well, hungry or not,” said Mrs. Jarley, “you had better have some tea, +and I suppose the old gentleman is agreeable to that.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></p> + +<p>So they sat down on the grass and had tea and bread and butter and +generous slices of ham.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Jarley invited Nell and her grandfather to be her guests +in the little house on wheels. There wasn’t very much room, but Mrs. +Jarley was so hospitable that they at once accepted her invitation +and made themselves at home. Half of the little house had berths for +sleeping, very much as if it were a ship. The other half was a kitchen, +with a little stove in it. It also had several boxes and kettles and +saucepans.</p> + +<p>When they got started after breakfast in the morning, little Nell’s +spirits rose and she forgot her troubles.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Jarley, “how do you like this way of travelling?”</p> + +<p>Nell said she liked it very much.</p> + +<p>“That’s the happiness of you young people,” said Mrs. Jarley. “You +don’t know what it is to be low in your feelings. You always have your +appetites too—and what a comfort it is.”</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Jarley brought out a large roll of canvas about a yard wide, +and spread it on the floor.</p> + +<p>“There, child,” she said, “read that.”</p> + +<p>Nell walked down it, and read aloud, in enormous black letters, the +inscription, “JARLEY’S WAX-WORK.”</p> + +<p>“Read it again,” said the lady, complacently.</p> + +<p>“Jarley’s Wax-Work,” repeated Nell.</p> + +<p>“That’s me,” said the lady. “I am Mrs. Jarley.”</p> + +<p>Giving the child an encouraging look, intended to reassure her and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> +let her know that, although she stood in the presence of the original +Jarley, she must not allow herself to be utterly overwhelmed and borne +down, the lady of the caravan unfolded another scroll, whereon was the +inscription, “One hundred figures the full size of life,” and then +another scroll, on which was written, “The only stupendous collection +of real wax-work in the world,” and then several smaller scrolls with +such inscriptions as, “Now exhibiting within”—“The genuine and only +Jarley”—“Jarley’s unrivalled collection”—“Jarley is the delight of +the Nobility and Gentry”—“The Royal Family are the patrons of Jarley.” +When she had exhibited these leviathans of public announcement to the +astonished child, she brought forth specimens of the lesser fry in the +shape of handbills, some of which were couched in the form of parodies +on popular melodies; as, “Believe me if all Jarley’s wax-work so +rare”—“I saw thy show in youthful prime”—“Over the water to Jarley”; +while, to consult all tastes, others were composed with a view to the +lighter and more facetious spirits, as a parody on the favorite air of +“If I had a donkey,” beginning:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">If I know’d a donkey wot wouldn’t go</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To see Mrs. <span class="allsmcap">JARLEY’S</span> wax-work show,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Do you think I’d acknowledge him?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh no no!</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Then run to Jarley’s——</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>—besides several compositions in prose, purporting to be dialogues +between the Emperor of China and an oyster, or the Archbishop of +Canterbury and a Dissenter on the subject of church-rates, but all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> +having the same moral, namely, that the reader must make haste to +Jarley’s, and that children and servants were admitted at half-price. +When she had brought all these testimonials of her important position +in society to bear upon her young companion, Mrs. Jarley rolled them up +and, having put them carefully away, sat down again, and looked at the +child in triumph.</p> + +<p>“Never go into the company of a filthy Punch any more,” said Mrs. +Jarley, “after this.”</p> + +<p>“I never saw any wax-work, ma’am,” said Nell. “Is it funnier than +Punch?”</p> + +<p>“Funnier!” said Mrs. Jarley in a shrill voice. “It is not funny at all.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Nell, with all possible humility.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t funny at all,” repeated Mrs. Jarley. “It’s calm and—what’s +that word again—critical?—no—classical, that’s it—it’s calm +and classical. No low beatings and knockings about, no jokings and +squeakings like your precious Punches, but always the same, with a +constantly unchanging air of coldness and gentility; and so like life, +that if wax-work only spoke and walked about, you’d hardly know the +difference. I won’t go so far as to say, that, as it is, I’ve seen +wax-work quite like life, but I’ve certainly seen some life that was +exactly like wax-work.”</p> + +<p>“Is it here, ma’am?” asked Nell, whose curiosity was awakened by this +description.</p> + +<p>“Is what here, child?”</p> + +<p>“The wax-work, ma’am.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> + +<p>“Why, bless you, child, what are you thinking of? How could such a +collection be here, where you see everything except the inside of one +little cupboard and a few boxes? It’s gone on in the other wans to the +assembly-rooms, and there it’ll be exhibited the day after to-morrow. +You are going to the same town, and you’ll see it, I dare say. It’s +natural to expect that you’ll see it, and I’ve no doubt you will. I +suppose you couldn’t stop away if you was to try ever so much.”</p> + +<p>“I shall not be in the town, I think, ma’am,” said the child.</p> + +<p>“Not there!” cried Mrs. Jarley. “Then where will you be?”</p> + +<p>“I—I—don’t quite know. I am not certain.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean to say that you’re travelling about the country without +knowing where you’re going to?” said the lady of the caravan. “What +curious people you are! What line are you in? You looked to me at the +races, child, as if you were quite out of your element, and had got +there by accident.”</p> + +<p>“We were there quite by accident,” returned Nell, confused by this +abrupt questioning. “We are poor people, ma’am, and are only wandering +about. We have nothing to do;—I wish we had.”</p> + +<p>“You amaze me more and more,” said Mrs. Jarley, after remaining for +some time as mute as one of her own figures. “Why, what do you call +yourselves? Not beggars?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, ma’am, I don’t know what else we are,” returned the child.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span></p> + +<p>“Lord bless me,” said the lady of the caravan. “I never heard of such a +thing. Who’d have thought it!”</p> + +<p>She remained so long silent after this exclamation, that Nell feared +she felt her having been induced to bestow her protection and +conversation upon one so poor, to be an outrage upon her dignity +that nothing could repair. This persuasion was rather confirmed than +otherwise by the tone in which she at length broke silence, and said:</p> + +<p>“And yet you can read. And write too, I shouldn’t wonder?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” said the child, fearful of giving new offense by the +confession.</p> + +<p>“Well, and what a thing that is,” returned Mrs. Jarley. “<i>I</i> +can’t.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jarley’s wax-works were carried in other wagons to the town where +they were to be exhibited, and little Nell was engaged to point to each +wax figure, and explain to the audience what it represented. Dozens +of figures of noted persons, all with wax faces, and all dressed in +brilliant clothes, stood stiffly in a row.</p> + +<p>Dickens describes the scene where Mrs. Jarley instructs Nell as to her +duties:</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>When the festoons were all put up as tastily as they might be, the +stupendous collection was uncovered, and there 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, divers +sprightly effigies of celebrated characters, singly and in groups, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> +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 +intensely nowhere, and staring with extraordinary earnestness at +nothing.</p> + +<p>When Nell had exhausted her first raptures at this glorious sight, +Mrs. Jarley ordered the room to be cleared of all but herself and the +child, and, sitting herself down in an armchair in the centre, formally +invested her with a willow wand, long used by herself for pointing out +the characters, and was at great pains to instruct her in her duty.</p> + +<p>“That,” said Mrs. Jarley in her exhibition tone, as Nell touched a +figure at the beginning of the platform, “is an unfortunate Maid of +Honor in the Time of Queen Elizabeth, who died from pricking her finger +in consequence of working upon a Sunday. Observe the blood which is +trickling from her finger; also the gold-eyed needle of the period, +with which she is at work.”</p> + +<p>All this Nell repeated twice or thrice, pointing to the finger and the +needle at the right times, and then passed on to the next.</p> + +<p>“That, ladies and gentlemen,” said Mrs. Jarley, “is Jasper Packlemerton +of atrocious memory, who courted and married fourteen wives, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> +destroyed them all by tickling the soles of their feet when they were +sleeping in the consciousness of innocence and virtue. On being brought +to the scaffold and asked if he was sorry for what he had done, he +replied yes, he was sorry for having let ’em off so easy, and hoped all +Christian husbands would pardon him the offense. Let this be a warning +to all young ladies to be particular in the character of the gentlemen +of their choice. Observe that his fingers are curled as if in the +act of tickling, and that his face is represented with a wink, as he +appeared when committing his barbarous murders.”</p> + +<p>When Nell knew all about Mr. Packlemerton, and could say it without +faltering, Mrs. Jarley passed on to the fat man, and then to the thin +man, the tall man, the short man, the old lady who died of dancing at +a hundred and thirty-two, the wild boy of the woods, the woman who +poisoned fourteen families with pickled walnuts, and other historical +characters and interesting but misguided individuals. And so well did +Nell profit by her instructions, and so apt was she to remember them, +that by the time they had been shut up together for a couple of hours, +she was in full possession of the history of the whole establishment, +and perfectly competent to the enlightenment of visitors.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jarley was not slow to express her admiration at this happy +result, and carried her young friend and pupil to inspect the +remaining arrangements within doors, by virtue of which the passage +had been already converted into a grove of green baize hung with the +inscriptions she had already seen (Mr. Slum’s productions), and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> +a highly ornamented table placed at the upper end for Mrs. Jarley +herself, at which she was to preside and take the money, in company +with his Majesty King George the Third, Mr. Grimaldi as clown, Mary +Queen of Scots, an anonymous gentleman of the Quaker persuasion, and +Mr. Pitt holding in his hand a correct model of the bill for the +imposition of the window duty. The preparations without doors had not +been neglected either; for a nun of great personal attractions was +telling her beads on the little portico over the door; and a brigand +with the blackest possible head of hair, and the clearest possible +complexion, was at that moment going round the town in a cart, +consulting the miniature of a lady.</p> + +<p>It now only remained that the compositions in praise of the wax-works +should be judiciously distributed; that the pathetic effusions should +find their way to all private houses and tradespeople; and that the +parody commencing “If I know’d a donkey,” should be confined to the +taverns, and circulated only among the lawyers’ clerks and choice +spirits of the place. When this had been done, and Mrs. Jarley had +waited upon the boarding-schools in person, with a hand-bill composed +expressly for them, in which it was distinctly proved that wax-work +refined the mind, cultivated the taste, and enlarged the sphere of the +human understanding, that lady sat down to dinner.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_KENWIGSES">THE KENWIGSES</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XV">XV<br> +<br>THE KENWIGSES</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">I</span> HAVE always wondered whether I should have liked the Kenwigses if I +had met them in New York or Minneapolis. Probably I should not. But +I like to read about them, and they somehow seem to be amusing and +likeable. That is because they made a part of London once upon a time. +They lived in a tumble-down house, in a tumble-down street. All the +houses had seen better days and seemed to be nodding at each other as +much as to say: “Times are not what they used to be when we were young.”</p> + +<p>But for all their dreary surroundings, the Kenwigses, big and little, +were very cheery people, and had a remarkably good time. The great +thing about them was that they admired each other so much, and told +each other so. That doesn’t seem to be very much. Anybody could do +that, but most people don’t. I have known very nice people to live +together for years without ever telling one another how nice they +are. In that way the niceness often disappears. It wasn’t so with the +Kenwigses. They made the most of each other and got a great deal of +satisfaction out of a very little. They were all proud of the family, +and didn’t care who knew it.</p> + +<p>They lived on the first floor of the house, which was never kept in a +tidy condition. Mrs. Kenwigs put all her time in keeping the little +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> +girls tidy, and I am not sure that any one can blame her for the fact +that the entry was always in disorder. Mr. Kenwigs was very proud of +his wife, and Mrs. Kenwigs was proud of her uncle, Mr. Lillyvick, +whose business it was to collect water-rents in that neighborhood. He +would go about with his bills and knock loudly at the doors of all the +people who hadn’t paid their water-rates, and threaten them in a most +terrifying manner. So every one was afraid of Mr. Lillyvick except Mrs. +Kenwigs, who was proud of him. For she was his niece.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i013" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i013.jpg" width="1200" height="1702" alt="The image portrays a weary-looking woman in a chair, +surrounded by four young girls in white dresses with blue ribbons."> +<figcaption class="caption"> +<p style="text-align:left"><i>Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons</i></p> +<p>MRS. KENWIGS AND THE FOUR LITTLE KENWIGSES</p> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>We are introduced to the Kenwigs children at a party, which Mrs. +Kenwigs made in order to show off her uncle to the admiring neighbors. +The reason why the children sat up for the party was because it was +held in the sitting-room, which was also the place where they slept. +It was a very great occasion, and the children were on their good +behavior. Uncle Lillyvick was seated in a large armchair by the +fireside, and the four little Kenwigses sat side by side on a small +bench facing the fire, with their nice little pig-tails tied up with +blue ribbons.</p> + +<p>“They are so beautiful,” said Mrs. Kenwigs, sobbing. It was very easy +for Mrs. Kenwigs to sob.</p> + +<p>“Oh dear,” said all the ladies, “but don’t give way, don’t!”</p> + +<p>“I can’t help it,” sobbed Mrs. Kenwigs. “Oh, they are too beautiful to +live, much too beautiful!”</p> + +<p>On hearing this all the four little girls began to cry, too, and hid +their heads in their mother’s lap. This made a great excitement. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> +At last the little Kenwigses were distributed among the company, so +that their mother might not be overcome by the sight of their combined +beauty. Then the conversation was taken up again by the older people. +When it threatened to stop, Mrs. Kenwigs turned to Morleena, the oldest +of the little girls.</p> + +<p>“Morleena Kenwigs, kiss your dear uncle.” Morleena obeyed, and then the +three other little girls had to do the same thing, and then they had +to kiss all the other members of the company. Then Morleena, who had +been at the dancing-school, had to dance and be admired again by her +mother. What with kissing, and dancing, and being wept over, the little +Kenwigses had a very busy evening, and were the life of the party.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_CHILDS_STORY">THE CHILD’S STORY</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVI">XVI<br> +<br>THE CHILD’S STORY</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">O</span>NCE upon a time, a good many years ago, there was a traveller, and he +set out upon a journey. It was a magic journey, and was to seem very +long when he began it, and very short when he got half-way through.</p> + +<p>He travelled along a rather dark path for some little time without +meeting anything, until at last he came to a beautiful child. So he +said to the child: “What do you do here?” And the child said: “I am +always at play. Come and play with me!”</p> + +<p>So he played with that child the whole day long, and they were very +merry. The sky was so blue, the sun was so bright, the water was so +sparkling, the leaves were so green, the flowers were so lovely, and +they heard such singing birds, and saw so many butterflies, that +everything was beautiful. This was in fine weather. When it rained, +they loved to watch the falling drops, and to smell the fresh scents. +When it blew, it was delightful to listen to the wind, and fancy +what it said, as it came rushing from its home—where was that, they +wondered!—whistling and howling, driving the clouds before it, bending +the trees, rumbling in the chimneys, shaking the house, and making the +sea roar in fury. But when it snowed, that was best of all; for they +liked nothing so well as to look up at the white flakes falling fast +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> +and thick, like down from the breasts of millions of white birds; and +to see how smooth and deep the drift was; and to listen to the hush +upon the paths and roads.</p> + +<p>They had plenty of the finest toys in the world, and the most +astonishing picture-books: all about scimitars and slippers and +turbans, and dwarfs and giants and genii and fairies, and blue-beards +and bean-stalks and riches and caverns, and forests and Valentines and +Orsons: and all new and all true.</p> + +<p>But one day, of a sudden, the traveller lost the child. He called to +him over and over again, but got no answer. So he went upon his road, +and went on for a little while without meeting anything, until at last +he came to a handsome boy. So he said to the boy, “What do you do +here?” And the boy said: “I am always learning. Come and learn with me.”</p> + +<p>So he learned with that boy about Jupiter and Juno, and the Greeks +and the Romans, and I don’t know what, and learned more than I could +tell—or he either, for he soon forgot a deal of it. But they were not +always learning; they had the merriest games that ever were played. +They rowed upon the river in summer, and skated on the ice in winter; +they were active afoot, and active on horseback; at cricket, and all +games at ball; at prisoners’ base, hare and hounds, follow my leader, +and more sports than I can think of; nobody could beat them. They had +holidays, too, and Twelfth cakes, and parties where they danced till +midnight, and real theatres where they saw palaces of real gold and +silver rise out of the real earth, and saw all the wonders of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> +world at once. As to friends, they had such dear friends, and so many +of them, that I want the time to reckon them up. They were all young, +like the handsome boy, and were never to be strange to one another all +their lives through.</p> + +<p>Still, one day, in the midst of all these pleasures, the traveller lost +the boy as he had lost the child, and, after calling to him in vain, +went on upon his journey. So he went on for a little while without +seeing anything, until at last he came to a young man. So he said to +the young man: “What do you do here?” And the young man said: “I am +always in love. Come and love with me?”</p> + +<p>So he went away with that young man, and presently they came to one of +the prettiest girls that ever was seen—just like Fanny in the corner +there—and she had eyes like Fanny, and hair like Fanny, and dimples +like Fanny’s, and she laughed and colored just as Fanny does while I +am talking about her. So the young man fell in love directly—just as +Somebody I won’t mention, the first time he came here, did with Fanny. +Well! he was teased sometimes—just as Somebody used to be by Fanny; +and they quarrelled sometimes—just as Somebody and Fanny used to +quarrel; and they made it up, and sat in the dark, and wrote letters +every day, and never were happy asunder, and were always looking out +for one another and pretending not to, and were engaged at Christmas +time, and sat close to one another by the fire, and were going to be +married very soon—all exactly like Somebody I won’t mention, and +Fanny!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p> + +<p>But the traveller lost them one day, as he had lost the rest of his +friends, and, after calling to them to come back, which they never did, +went on upon his journey. So he went on for a little while without +seeing anything, until at last he came to a middle-aged gentleman. So +he said to the gentleman, “What are you doing here?” And his answer +was: “I am always busy. Come and be busy with me!”</p> + +<p>So he began to be very busy with that gentleman, and they went on +through the wood together. The whole journey was through a wood, only +it had been open and green at first, like a wood in spring; and now +began to be thick and dark, like a wood in summer; some of the little +trees that had come out earliest were even turning brown. The gentleman +was not alone, but had a lady of about the same age with him, who was +his wife; and they had children, who were with them too. So they all +went on together through the wood, cutting down the trees, and making a +path through the branches and the fallen leaves, and carrying burdens, +and working hard.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, they came to a long green avenue that opened into deeper +woods. Then they would hear a very little distant voice crying: +“Father, father, I am another child! Stop for me!” And presently they +would see a very little figure, growing larger as it came along, +running to join them. When it came up, they all crowded round it, and +kissed and welcomed it; and then they all went on together.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, they came to several avenues at once, and then they all +stood still, and one of the children said: “Father, I am going to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> +sea,” and another said, “Father, I am going to India,” and another, +“Father, I am going to seek my fortune where I can,” and another, +“Father, I am going to Heaven!” So, with many tears at parting, they +went, solitary, down those avenues, each child upon its way; and the +child who went to Heaven rose into the golden air and vanished.</p> + +<p>Whenever these partings happened, the traveller looked at the +gentleman, and saw him glance up at the sky above the trees, where the +day was beginning to decline, and the sunset to come on. He saw, too, +that his hair was turning gray. But they never could rest long, for +they had their journey to perform, and it was necessary for them to be +always busy.</p> + +<p>At last, there had been so many partings that there were no children +left, and only the traveller, the gentleman, and the lady, went upon +their way in company. And now the wood was yellow; and now brown; and +the leaves, even of the forest trees, began to fall.</p> + +<p>So they came to an avenue that was darker than the rest, and were +pressing forward on their journey without looking down it when the lady +stopped.</p> + +<p>“My husband,” said the lady. “I am called.”</p> + +<p>They listened, and they heard a voice a long way down the avenue say: +“Mother, mother!”</p> + +<p>It was the voice of the first child who had said: “I am going to +Heaven!” and the father said, “I pray not yet. The sunset is very near. +I pray not yet!”</p> + +<p>But the voice cried: “Mother, mother!” without minding him, though his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> +hair was now quite white, and tears were on his face.</p> + +<p>Then the mother, who was already drawn into the shade of the dark +avenue and moving away with her arms still round his neck, kissed him, +and said: “My dearest, I am summoned, and I go!” And she was gone. And +the traveller and he were left alone together.</p> + +<p>And they went on and on together, until they came to very near the end +of the wood: so near, that they could see the sunset shining red before +them through the trees.</p> + +<p>Yet, once more, while he broke his way among the branches, the +traveller lost his friend. He called and called, but there was no +reply, and when he passed out of the wood and saw the peaceful sun +going down upon a wide purple prospect, he came to an old man sitting +on a fallen tree. So he said to the old man: “What do you do here?” And +the old man said with a calm smile: “I am always remembering. Come and +remember with me!”</p> + +<p>So the traveller sat down by the side of that old man, face to face +with the serene sunset; and all his friends came softly back and +stood around him. The beautiful child, the handsome boy, the young +man in love, the father, mother, and children; every one of them was +there, and he had lost nothing. So he loved them all, and was kind and +forbearing with them all, and was always pleased to watch them all, +and they all honored and loved him. And I think the traveller must be +yourself, dear grandfather, because this is what you do to us, and what +we do to you.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_BOY_AT_TODGERSS">THE BOY AT TODGERS’S</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVII">XVII<br> +<br>THE BOY AT TODGERS’S</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">W</span>HEN Mr. Pecksniff and his two daughters came to London, they found +their way to Mrs. Todgers’s Boarding House. It was early in the morning +and they rang two or three times without making any impression on +anything but a dog over the way. At last a chain and some bolts were +withdrawn, and a small boy with a large red head, and no nose to speak +of, and a pair of huge boots under his arm, appeared. The boy rubbed +his nose with the back of his shoe brush and said nothing.</p> + +<p>“Still abed, my man?” asked Mr. Pecksniff.</p> + +<p>“Still abed!” replied the boy, “I wish they wos still abed. They’re +very noisy abed, all calling for their boots at once. I thought you +was the Paper and wondered why you didn’t shove yourself through the +grating as usual. What do you want?”</p> + +<p>The boy was called Bailey, and though he was a little cross when the +Pecksniffs came because it was so early in the morning, he was usually +the soul of good humor. Indeed, good humor was about the only thing he +had, for no one had taken the trouble to teach him good manners.</p> + +<p>Bailey would roll up his sleeves to the shoulders and find his way all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> +over the house, and wherever he went he made things lively. He wore an +apron of coarse green baize. He would answer the door and then make a +bolt for the alley, and in a moment be playing leap-frog, till Mrs. +Todgers followed him and pulled him into the house by the hair of his +head.</p> + +<p>When the two Miss Pecksniffs were sitting primly on the sofa, Bailey +would greet them with such compliments as: “There you are agin! Ain’t +it nice!” This made them feel very much at home.</p> + +<p>“I say,” he whispered, stopping in one of his journeys to and fro, +“young ladies, there’s soup to-morrow. She’s making it now. Ain’t she +putting in the water? Oh! not at all neither!”</p> + +<p>The next time he passed by he called out:</p> + +<p>“I say—there’s fowls to-morrow. Not skinny ones. Oh, no!”</p> + +<p>Presently he called through the keyhole:</p> + +<p>“There’s a fish to-morrow—just come. Don’t eat none of him!” And, with +this warning, he vanished again.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>By-and-by, he returned to lay the cloth for supper, it having been +arranged between Mrs. Todgers and the young ladies that they should +partake of an exclusive veal-cutlet together in the privacy of that +apartment. He entertained them on this occasion by thrusting the +lighted candle into his mouth, and exhibiting his face in a state of +transparency; after the performance of which feat he went on with his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> +professional duties; brightening every knife as he laid it on the +table, by breathing on the blade and afterward polishing the same on +the apron already mentioned. When he had completed his preparations, he +grinned at the sisters, and expressed his belief that the approaching +collation would be of “rather a spicy sort.”</p> + +<p>“Will it be long before it’s ready, Bailey?” asked Mercy.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Bailey, “it <i>is</i> cooked. When I come up, she was +dodging among the tender pieces with a fork, and eating of ’em.”</p> + +<p>But he had scarcely achieved the utterance of these words, when he +received a manual compliment on the head, which sent him staggering +against the wall; and Mrs. Todgers, dish in hand, stood indignantly +before him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you little villain!” said that lady. “Oh, you bad, false boy!”</p> + +<p>“No worse than yerself,” retorted Bailey, guarding his head, in a +principle invented by Mr. Thomas Cribb. “Ah! Come now! Do that agin, +will yer!”</p> + +<p>“He’s the most dreadful child,” said Mrs. Todgers, setting down the +dish, “I ever had to deal with. The gentlemen spoil him to that extent, +and teach him such things, that I’m afraid nothing but hanging will +ever do him any good.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t it?” cried Bailey. “Oh! Yes! Wot do you go a lowerin’ the +table-beer for then, and destroying my constitooshun?”</p> + +<p>“Go down-stairs, you vicious boy,” said Mrs. Todgers, holding the door +open. “Do you hear me? Go along!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p> + +<p>After two or three dexterous feints, he went, and was seen no more that +night, save once, when he brought up some tumblers and hot water, and +much disturbed the two Miss Pecksniffs by squinting hideously behind +the back of the unconscious Mrs. Todgers. Having done this justice +to his wounded feelings, he returned underground; whence, in company +with a swarm of black beetles and a kitchen candle, he employed his +faculties in cleaning boots and brushing clothes until the night was +far advanced.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>But it was at the Sunday dinner that Bailey shone in glory. When the +hour drew near, he appeared in a complete suit of cast-off clothes +several times too large for him, and a clean shirt of extraordinary +size. This caused the boarders to call him “Collars.” Then Bailey would +announce joyfully: “The wittles is up.”</p> + +<p>When all were seated, Bailey would stand behind the chair winking and +nodding with the greatest good humor. His idea of waiting on the table +was to stand with his hands in his pockets and his feet wide apart. +This was on the whole the best thing to do, for when a dish passed +through his hands it was quite likely to drop on the floor.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Todgers was always scolding Bailey, who deserved it all, and +Bailey was always threatening to leave and be a soldier boy.</p> + +<p>“There’s something gamey in that, ain’t there? I’d sooner be hit with +a cannon-ball than a rolling-pin, and she’s always a catching up +something of that sort and throwing it at me, when the gentlemen’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> +appetites is good. But I ain’t going to have every rise in prices +wisited on me.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Todgers got rid of Bailey after a while, but the boarders never +got the same amount of amusement from his successor. The house always +seemed a little dull after he left.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_DOMBEY_CHILDREN">THE DOMBEY CHILDREN</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVIII">XVIII<br> +<br>THE DOMBEY CHILDREN</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">I</span>N London there is a portion of the huge town that is called the City. +People do not live in the City—they do business there. That is where +the big banks are and the offices of the great merchants whose ships go +round the world. In the City the Lord Mayor of London rules, as he did +in the days when the gay apprentice, Dick Whittington, heard the bells +prophesying what he should be.</p> + +<p>On one of the streets of the City was a building that had an ancient +sign, Dombey and Son. It had been there many years, since the time when +the original Dombey had taken his son into partnership. The Dombeys +owned a great many ships that sailed to the West Indies and the East +Indies, and wherever they could make money on their voyages. Up to this +time, each Dombey had been a good business man and had taught his son +how to save and how to venture wisely. So that the Dombeys had become +richer and richer. All had gone well with them; but there had come a +time when there was a Dombey who hadn’t any son. Mr. and Mrs. Dombey +had a daughter named Florence, who was a very nice little girl. Her +mother loved her dearly, but her father thought she didn’t amount to +much, because he couldn’t put on the sign on his office the words, +“Dombey and Daughter.” That wouldn’t have sounded right in the days of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> +good Queen Victoria. He wanted the name to be always Dombey and Son.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i014" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i014.jpg" width="1200" height="1741" alt="A girl in a vibrant pink dress tenderly leans against a sick child +resting in a beach wheelchair, wrapped in a striped blanket."> +<figcaption class="caption"> +<p style="text-align:left"><i>Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons</i></p> +<p>PAUL DOMBEY AND FLORENCE ON THE BEACH AT BRIGHTON</p> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>When at last a boy was born, Mr. Dombey was delighted. He dreamed of a +time when little Paul would grow up to be a man just like himself, and +would take his place in the office and make everybody afraid of him. He +should be the Prince while his father was King in the Kingdom of Dombey +and Son. All this was very pleasant to think about, and it seemed as +if the business in the City would go on forever. But while Mr. Dombey +dreamed of what his son would do when he was grown up, he didn’t do +anything to help him grow. Paul was a poor little rich boy, who lived +in a big, uncomfortable house, and was sent to school with other poor +little rich boys. I’m sorry for little Paul, but I don’t care to read +about him very much.</p> + +<p>It’s a relief to meet the people who didn’t have any money, for they +seem so much more cheerful than any of the Dombeys. There was Toodles, +the husband of little Paul’s nurse. Mr. Dombey wanted to find out all +about him.</p> + +<p>“Mr. What’s-your-name, you have a son, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“Four on ’em, sir. Four hims and a her. All alive.”</p> + +<p>“Why, it’s as much as you can afford to keep them!” said Mr. Dombey.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t afford but one thing in the world less, sir.”</p> + +<p>“What is that?”</p> + +<p>“To lose ’em, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Can you read?” asked Mr. Dombey.</p> + +<p>“Why, not partik’ler, sir.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> + +<p>“Write?”</p> + +<p>“With chalk, sir?”</p> + +<p>“With anything.”</p> + +<p>“I could make shift to chalk a bit, I think, if I were put to it,” said +Toodles after some reflection.</p> + +<p>“And yet,” said Mr. Dombey, “you are two or three-and-thirty, I +suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Thereabouts, I suppose, sir,” answered Toodles after more reflection.</p> + +<p>“Then why don’t you learn?” asked Mr. Dombey.</p> + +<p>“So I’m agoing to, sir. One of my little boys is agoing to learn me +when he’s old enough, and been to school himself.”</p> + +<p>“Well!” said Mr. Dombey. It was all that he could say. It all seemed +so foolish. It would have surprised Mr. Dombey if he had been told +that Mr. Toodles’s children were more fortunate than his own, and that +they were having a great deal better time. But that was what Dickens +thought, and I agree with him.</p> + +<p>Little Paul was so carefully looked after that he had no adventures. +But his sister Florence had better luck. One of her adventures was +quite exciting, for she was lost in one of the worst parts of London, +and was rescued by a young gentleman who felt the romance of it. At the +time Paul was a baby, and Mrs. Toodles had a longing to see her own +children. So without asking permission she took Paul and Florence with +her. They found their way to the poor part of town where her family +lived, and all the little Toodleses greeted their mother with shouts, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> +and there was a great celebration. On going home they fell in with a +noisy and pushing crowd. Mrs. Toodles of course looked after little +Paul, who was very important, but she forgot Florence for a moment. +When she looked for her she wasn’t there. What followed let Dickens +tell.</p> + + +<h3>HOW FLORENCE DOMBEY WAS LOST IN LONDON</h3> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">A</span>S Susan Nipper and the two children were in the crowd, there came a +wild cry of “Mad bull!” With a wild confusion before her, of people +running up and down, and shouting, and wheels running over them, and +boys fighting, and mad bulls coming up, and the nurse in the midst of +all these dangers being torn to pieces, Florence screamed and ran. +She ran till she was exhausted, urging Susan to do the same; and +then, stopping and wringing her hands as she remembered they had left +the other nurse behind, found, with a sensation of terror not to be +described, that she was quite alone.</p> + +<p>“Susan! Susan!” cried Florence, clapping her hands in the very ecstasy +of her alarm. “Oh, where are they! where are they!”</p> + +<p>“Where are they?” said an old woman, coming hobbling across as fast as +she could from the opposite side of the way. “Why did you run away from +’em?”</p> + +<p>“I was frightened,” answered Florence. “I didn’t know what I did. I +thought they were with me. Where are they?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> + +<p>The old woman took her by the wrist, and said: “I’ll show you.”</p> + +<p>She was a very ugly old woman, with red rims round her eyes, and a +mouth that mumbled and chattered of itself when she was not speaking. +She was miserably dressed, and carried some skins over her arm. She +seemed to have followed Florence some little way at all events, for +she had lost her breath; and this made her uglier still, as she stood +trying to regain it: working her shrivelled, yellow face and throat +into all sorts of contortions.</p> + +<p>Florence was afraid of her, and looked, hesitating, up the street, of +which she had almost reached the bottom. It was a solitary place—more +a back road than a street—and there was no one in it but herself and +the old woman.</p> + +<p>“You needn’t be frightened now,” said the old woman, still holding her +tight. “Come along with me.”</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t know you. What’s your name?” asked Florence.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Brown,” said the old woman. “Good Mrs. Brown.”</p> + +<p>“Are they near here?” asked Florence, beginning to be led away.</p> + +<p>“Susan an’t far off,” said Good Mrs. Brown; “and the others are close +to her.”</p> + +<p>“Is anybody hurt?” cried Florence.</p> + +<p>“Not a bit of it,” said Good Mrs. Brown.</p> + +<p>The child shed tears of delight on hearing this, and accompanied the +old woman willingly; though she could not help glancing at her face as +they went along—particularly at that industrious mouth—and wondering +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> +whether Bad Mrs. Brown, if there were such a person, was at all like +her.</p> + +<p>They had not gone very far, but had gone by some very uncomfortable +places, such as brick-fields and tile-yards, when the old woman turned +down a dirty lane, where the mud lay in deep black ruts in the middle +of the road. She stopped before a shabby little house, as closely shut +up as a house that was full of cracks and crevices could be. Opening +the door with a key she took out of her bonnet, she pushed the child +before her into a back room, where there was a great heap of rags of +different colors lying on the floor; a heap of bones, and a heap of +sifted dust or cinders; but there was no furniture at all, and the +walls and ceiling were quite black.</p> + +<p>The child became so terrified that she was stricken speechless, and +looked as though about to swoon.</p> + +<p>“Now don’t be a young mule,” said Good Mrs. Brown, reviving her with a +shake. “I’m not a going to hurt you. Sit upon the rags.”</p> + +<p>Florence obeyed her, holding out her folded hands, in mute supplication.</p> + +<p>“I’m not a going to keep you, even, above an hour,” said Mrs. Brown. +“D’ye understand what I say?”</p> + +<p>The child answered with great difficulty, “Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Good Mrs. Brown, taking her own seat on the bones, “don’t +vex me. If you don’t, I tell you I won’t hurt you. But if you do, I’ll +kill you. I could have you killed at any time—even if you was in your +own bed at home. Now let’s know who you are, and what you are, and all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> +about it.”</p> + +<p>The old woman’s threats and promises; the dread of giving her offense; +and the habit, unusual to a child, but almost natural to Florence now, +of being quiet, and repressing what she felt, and feared, and hoped, +enabled her to do this bidding, and to tell her little history, or what +she knew of it. Mrs. Brown listened attentively, until she had finished.</p> + +<p>“So your name’s Dombey, eh?” said Mrs. Brown.</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“I want that pretty frock, Miss Dombey,” said Good Mrs. Brown, “and +that little bonnet, and a petticoat or two, and anything else you can +spare. Come! Take ’em off.”</p> + +<p>Florence obeyed, as fast as her trembling hands would allow; keeping, +all the while, a frightened eye on Mrs. Brown. When she had divested +herself of all the articles of apparel mentioned by that lady, Mrs. +B. examined them at leisure, and seemed tolerably well satisfied with +their quality and value.</p> + +<p>“Humph!” she said, running her eyes over the child’s slight figure. “I +don’t see anything else—except the shoes. I must have the shoes, Miss +Dombey.”</p> + +<p>Poor little Florence took them off with equal alacrity, only too glad +to have any more means of conciliation about her. The old woman then +produced some wretched substitutes from the bottom of the heap of +rags, which she turned up for that purpose; together with a girl’s +cloak, quite worn out and very old; and the crushed remains of a bonnet +that had probably been picked up from some ditch or dunghill. In this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> +dainty raiment, she instructed Florence to dress herself; and as such +preparation seemed a prelude to her release, the child complied with +increased readiness, if possible.</p> + +<p>In hurriedly putting on the bonnet, if that may be called a bonnet +which was more like a pad to carry loads on, she caught it in her hair +which grew luxuriantly, and could not immediately disentangle it. Good +Mrs. Brown whipped out a large pair of scissors, and fell into an +unaccountable state of excitement.</p> + +<p>“Why couldn’t you let me be!” said Mrs. Brown “when I was contented. +You little fool!”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon. I don’t know what I have done,” panted Florence. “I +couldn’t help it.”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t help it!” cried Mrs. Brown. “How do you expect I can help +it? Why, Lord!” said the old woman, ruffling her curls with a furious +pleasure, “anybody but me would have had ’em off, first of all.”</p> + +<p>Florence was so relieved to find that it was only her hair and not +her head which Mrs. Brown coveted, that she offered no resistance or +entreaty, and merely raised her mild eyes toward the face of that good +soul.</p> + +<p>“If I hadn’t once had a gal of my own—beyond seas now—that was proud +of her hair,” said Mrs. Brown, “I’d have had every lock of it. She’s +far away, she’s far away! Oho! Oho!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown’s was not a melodious cry, but, accompanied with a wild +tossing up of her lean arms, it was full of passionate grief, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> +thrilled to the heart of Florence, whom it frightened more than ever. +It had its part, perhaps, in saving her curls; for Mrs. Brown, after +hovering about her with the scissors for some moments, like a new kind +of butterfly, bade her hide them under the bonnet and let no trace +of them escape to tempt her. Having accomplished this victory over +herself, Mrs. Brown resumed her seat on the bones, and smoked a very +short black pipe, moving and mumbling all the time, as if she were +eating the stem.</p> + +<p>When the pipe was smoked out, she gave the child a rabbit-skin to +carry, that she might appear the more like her ordinary companion, and +told her that she was now going to lead her to a public street, whence +she could inquire her way to her friends. But she cautioned her, with +threats of summary and deadly vengeance in case of disobedience, not to +talk to strangers, nor to repair to her own home (which may have been +too near for Mrs. Brown’s convenience), but to her father’s office in +the City; also to wait at the street corner where she would be left, +until the clock struck three. These directions Mrs. Brown enforced with +assurances that there would be potent eyes and ears in her employment +cognizant of all she did; and these directions Florence promised +faithfully and earnestly to observe.</p> + +<p>At length, Mrs. Brown, issuing forth, conducted her changed and ragged +little friend through a labyrinth of narrow streets and lanes and +alleys, which emerged, after a long time, upon a stable-yard, with a +gateway at the end, whence the roar of a great thoroughfare made itself +audible. Pointing out this gateway, and informing Florence that when +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> +the clocks struck three she was to go to the left, Mrs. Brown, after +making a parting grasp at her hair which seemed involuntary and quite +beyond her own control, told her she knew what to do, and bade her go +and do it: remembering that she was watched.</p> + +<p>With a lighter heart, but still sore afraid, Florence felt herself +released, and tripped off to the corner. When she reached it, she +looked back and saw the head of Good Mrs. Brown peeping out of the +low wooden passage, where she had issued her parting injunctions; +likewise the fist of Good Mrs. Brown shaking toward her. But though she +often looked back afterward—every minute, at least, in her nervous +recollection of the old woman—she could not see her again.</p> + +<p>Florence remained there, looking at the bustle in the street, and more +and more bewildered by it; and in the meanwhile the clocks appeared +to have made up their minds never to strike three any more. At last +the steeples rang out three o’clock; there was one close by, so she +couldn’t be mistaken; and—after often looking over her shoulder, and +often going a little way, and as often coming back again, lest the +all-powerful spies of Mrs. Brown should take offense—she hurried off, +as fast as she could in her slipshod shoes, holding the rabbit-skin +tight in her hand.</p> + +<p>All she knew of her father’s offices was that they belonged to Dombey +and Son, and that that was a great power belonging to the City. So +she could only ask the way to Dombey and Son’s in the City; and as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> +she generally made inquiry of children—being afraid to ask grown +people—she got very little satisfaction indeed. But by dint of asking +her way to the City after a while, and dropping the rest of her inquiry +for the present, she really did advance, by slow degrees, toward the +heart of that great region which is governed by the terrible Lord Mayor.</p> + +<p>Tired of walking, repulsed and pushed about, stunned by the noise and +confusion, anxious for her brother and the nurses, terrified by what +she had undergone, and the prospect of encountering her angry father +in such an altered state; perplexed and frightened alike by what had +passed, and what was passing, and what was yet before her, Florence +went upon her weary way with tearful eyes, and once or twice could not +help stopping to ease her bursting heart by crying bitterly. But few +people noticed her at those times, in the garb she wore; or if they +did, believed that she was tutored to excite compassion, and passed on. +Florence, too, called to her aid all the firmness and self-reliance of +a character that her sad experience had prematurely formed and tried; +and keeping the end she had in view steadily before her, steadily +pursued it.</p> + +<p>It was full two hours later in the afternoon than when she had started +on this strange adventure, when, escaping from the clash and clangor +of a narrow street full of carts and wagons, she peeped into a kind of +wharf or landing-place upon the riverside, where there were a great +many packages, casks, and boxes strewn about; a large pair of wooden +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> +scales; and a little wooden house on wheels, outside of which, looking +at the neighboring masts and boats, a stout man stood whistling, with +his pen behind his ear, and his hands in his pockets, as if his day’s +work were nearly done.</p> + +<p>“Now then!” said this man, happening to turn round. “We haven’t got +anything for you, little girl. Be off!”</p> + +<p>“If you please, is this the City?” asked the trembling daughter of the +Dombeys.</p> + +<p>“Ah! it’s the City. You know that well enough, I dare say. Be off! We +haven’t got anything for you.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want anything, thank you,” was the timid answer. “Except to +know the way to Dombey and Son’s.”</p> + +<p>The man who had been strolling carelessly toward her, seemed surprised +by this reply, and looking attentively in her face, rejoined:</p> + +<p>“Why, what can <i>you</i> want with Dombey and Son’s?”</p> + +<p>“To know the way there, if you please.”</p> + +<p>The man looked at her yet more curiously, and rubbed the back of his +head so hard in his wonderment that he knocked his own hat off.</p> + +<p>“Joe!” he called to another man—a laborer—as he picked it up and put +it on again.</p> + +<p>“Joe it is!” said Joe.</p> + +<p>“Where’s that young spark of Dombey’s who’s been watching the shipment +of them goods?”</p> + +<p>“Just gone, by the t’other gate,” said Joe.</p> + +<p>“Call him back a minute.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p> + +<p>Joe ran up an archway, bawling as he went, and very soon returned with +a blithe-looking boy.</p> + +<p>“You’re Dombey’s jockey, an’t you?” said the first man.</p> + +<p>“I’m in Dombey’s House, Mr. Clark,” returned the boy.</p> + +<p>“Look ye here, then,” said Mr. Clark.</p> + +<p>Obedient to the indication of Mr. Clark’s hand, the boy approached +toward Florence, wondering, as well he might, what he had to do with +her. But she, who had heard what passed, and who, besides the relief +of so suddenly considering herself safe at her journey’s end, felt +reassured beyond all measure by his lively youthful face and manner, +ran eagerly up to him, leaving one of the slipshod shoes upon the +ground and caught his hand in both of hers.</p> + +<p>“I am lost, if you please!” said Florence.</p> + +<p>“Lost!” cried the boy.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I was lost this morning, a long way from here—and I have had my +clothes taken away, since—and I am not dressed in my own now—and my +name is Florence Dombey, my little brother’s only sister—and, oh dear, +dear, take care of me, if you please!” sobbed Florence, giving full +vent to the childish feelings she had so long suppressed, and bursting +into tears. At the same time her miserable bonnet falling off, her hair +came tumbling down about her face: moving to speechless admiration +and commiseration, young Walter, nephew of Solomon Gills, ships’ +instrument-maker in general.</p> + +<p>Mr. Clark stood rapt in amazement: observing under his breath, <i>I</i> +never saw such a start on <i>this</i> wharf before. Walter picked up +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> +the shoe, and put it on the little foot as the Prince in the story +might have fitted Cinderella’s slipper on. He hung the rabbit-skin over +his left arm; gave the right to Florence; and felt, not to say like +Richard Whittington—that is a tame comparison—but like Saint George +of England, with the dragon lying dead before him.</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry, Miss Dombey,” said Walter, in a transport of enthusiasm. +“What a wonderful thing for me that I am here. You are as safe now +as if you were guarded by a whole boat’s crew of picked men from a +man-of-war. Oh, don’t cry.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t cry any more,” said Florence. “I am only crying for joy.”</p> + +<p>“Crying for joy!” thought Walter, “and I’m the cause of it! Come along, +Miss Dombey. There’s the other shoe off now! Take mine, Miss Dombey.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, no,” said Florence, checking him in the act of impetuously +pulling off his own. “These do better. These do very well.”</p> + +<p>“Why, to be sure,” said Walter, glancing at her foot, “mine are a +mile too large. What am I thinking about! You never could walk in +<i>mine</i>! Come along, Miss Dombey. Let me see the villain who will +dare molest you now.”</p> + +<p>So Walter, looking immensely fierce, led off Florence, looking +very happy; and they went arm in arm along the streets, perfectly +indifferent to any astonishment that their appearance might or did +excite by the way.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span></p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>Then, though it was growing dark and foggy, Florence was perfectly +happy, and Walter felt that he was a knight escorting a princess to her +father’s castle.</p> + + +<h3>PAUL DOMBEY AT BRIGHTON</h3> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">L</span>ITTLE Paul Dombey was only six and very small for his age, when his +father sent him to a boarding-school at Brighton. The head master’s +name was Blimber, and he prided himself on giving information to his +pupils at all times. Here is a scene at the dinner table.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>Doctor Blimber was already in his place in the dining-room, at the top +of the table, with Miss Blimber and Mrs. Blimber on either side of him. +Mr. Feeder in a black coat was at the bottom. Paul’s chair was next to +Miss Blimber; but it being found, when he sat in it, that his eyebrows +were not much above the level of the table-cloth, some books were +brought in from the Doctor’s study, on which he was elevated, and on +which he always sat from that time—carrying them in and out himself on +after occasions, like a little elephant and castle.</p> + +<p>Grace having been said by the Doctor, dinner began. There was some +nice soup; also roast meat, boiled meat, vegetables, pie, and cheese. +Every young gentleman had a massive silver fork, and a napkin; and all +the arrangements were stately and handsome. In particular, there was +a butler in a blue coat and bright buttons, who gave quite a winey +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> +flavor to the table beer; he poured it out so superbly.</p> + +<p>Nobody spoke, unless spoken to, except Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, +and Miss Blimber, who conversed occasionally. Whenever a young +gentleman was not actually engaged with his knife and fork or spoon, +his eye, with an irresistible attraction, sought the eye of Doctor +Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, or Miss Blimber, and modestly rested there. +Toots appeared to be the only exception to this rule. He sat next Mr. +Feeder on Paul’s side of the table, and frequently looked behind and +before the intervening boys to catch a glimpse of Paul.</p> + +<p>Only once during dinner was there any conversation that included the +young gentlemen. It happened at the epoch of the cheese, when the +Doctor, having taken a glass of port wine and hemmed twice or thrice, +said:</p> + +<p>“It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder, that the Romans——”</p> + +<p>At the mention of this terrible people, their implacable enemies, every +young gentleman fastened his gaze upon the Doctor, with an assumption +of the deepest interest. One of the number who happened to be drinking, +and who caught the Doctor’s eye glaring at him through the side of his +tumbler, left off so hastily that he was convulsed for some moments, +and in the sequel ruined Doctor Blimber’s point.</p> + +<p>“It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder,” said the Doctor, beginning again +slowly, “that the Romans, in those gorgeous and profuse entertainments +of which we read in the days of the Emperors, when luxury had attained +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> +a height unknown before or since, and when whole provinces were ravaged +to supply the splendid means of one Imperial Banquet——”</p> + +<p>Here the offender, who had been swelling and straining, and waiting in +vain for a full stop, broke out violently.</p> + +<p>“Johnson,” said Mr. Feeder, in a low, reproachful voice, “take some +water.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor, looking very stern, made a pause until the water was +brought, and then resumed:</p> + +<p>“And when, Mr. Feeder——”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Feeder, who saw that Johnson must break out again, and who knew +that the Doctor would never come to a period before the young gentlemen +until he had finished all he meant to say, couldn’t keep his eye off +Johnson; and thus was caught in the act of not looking at the Doctor, +who consequently stopped.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Mr. Feeder, reddening. “I beg your +pardon, Doctor Blimber.”</p> + +<p>“And when,” said the Doctor, raising his voice, “when, sir, as we read, +and have no reason to doubt—incredible as it may appear to the vulgar +of our time—the brother of Vitellius prepared for him a feast, in +which were served, of fish, two thousand dishes——”</p> + +<p>“Take some water, Johnson—dishes, sir,” said Mr. Feeder.</p> + +<p>“Of various sorts of fowl, five thousand dishes.”</p> + +<p>“Or try a crust of bread,” said Mr. Feeder.</p> + +<p>“And one dish,” pursued Doctor Blimber, raising his voice still +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> +higher as he looked all round the table, “called, from its enormous +dimensions, the Shield of Minerva, and made, among other costly +ingredients, of the brains of pheasants——”</p> + +<p>“Ow, ow, ow!” (from Johnson).</p> + +<p>“Woodcocks,——”</p> + +<p>“Ow, ow, ow!”</p> + +<p>“The sounds of the fish called scari,——”</p> + +<p>“You’ll burst some vessel in your head,” said Mr. Feeder. “You had +better let it come.”</p> + +<p>“And the spawn of the lamprey, brought from the Carpathian Sea,” +pursued the Doctor, in his severest voice; “when we read of costly +entertainments such as these, and still remember, that we have a +Titus,——”</p> + +<p>“What would be your mother’s feelings if you died of apoplexy!” said +Mr. Feeder.</p> + +<p>“A Domitian,——”</p> + +<p>“And you’re blue, you know,” said Mr. Feeder.</p> + +<p>“A Nero, a Tiberius, a Caligula, a Heliogabalus, and many more,” +pursued the Doctor; “it is, Mr. Feeder—if you are doing me the honor +to attend—remarkable; <span class="allsmcap">VERY</span> remarkable, sir——”</p> + +<p>But Johnson, unable to suppress it any longer, burst at that moment +into such an overwhelming fit of coughing, that, although both his +immediate neighbors thumped him on the back, and Mr. Feeder himself +held a glass of water to his lips, and the butler walked him up and +down several times between his own chair and the sideboard, like a +sentry, it was full five minutes before he was moderately composed. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span> +Then there was a profound silence.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” said Doctor Blimber, “rise for grace! Cornelia, lift +Dombey down”—nothing of whom but his scalp was accordingly seen above +the table-cloth. “Johnson will repeat to me to-morrow morning before +breakfast, without book, and from the Greek Testament, the first +Epistle of Saint Paul to the Ephesians. We will resume our studies, Mr. +Feeder, in half-an-hour.”</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>No wonder that poor little Paul looked forward longingly to the happy +Saturdays, for then Florence always came at noon, and they had long +walks on the great beach, and watched the waves come in. Then Paul +forgot about Doctor Blimber and Nero, and Tiberius and the rest, and +only knew how much he loved his sister.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="JEMMY_JACKMAN_LIRRIPERS_STORY">JEMMY JACKMAN LIRRIPER’S STORY</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIX">XIX<br> +<br>JEMMY JACKMAN LIRRIPER’S STORY</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">M</span>RS. LIRRIPER kept a lodging-house at 81 Norfolk Street, London. Major +Jackman was one of the lodgers, and a very kindly gentleman he was. One +day a young woman left Jemmy at the house, and Mrs. Lirriper adopted +him as her grandchild, and when he was christened the Major stood as +godfather. Jemmy grew up to be a fine boy, and was sent to school in +Lincolnshire. Mrs. Lirriper and the Major were very lonely while he was +away, and there was great rejoicing when he came back for the Christmas +holidays. They sat by the Christmas fire and told stories. The Major +afterward repeated Jemmy’s story thus.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>Our first reunited Christmas Day was the most delightful one we have +ever passed together. Jemmy was never silent for five minutes, except +in church-time. He talked as we sat by the fire, he talked when we +were out walking, he talked as we sat by the fire again, he talked +incessantly at dinner, though he made a dinner almost as remarkable +as himself. It was the spring of happiness in his fresh young heart +flowing and flowing, and it fertilized (if I may be allowed so bold a +figure) my much-esteemed friend, and J. J. the present writer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span></p> + +<p>There were only we three. We dined, in my esteemed friend’s little +room, and our entertainment was perfect. But everything in the +establishment is, in neatness, order, and comfort, always perfect. +After dinner our boy slipped away to his old stool at my esteemed +friend’s knee, and there, with his hot chestnuts and his glass of brown +sherry (really, a most excellent wine!) on a chair for a table, his +face outshone the apples in the dish.</p> + +<p>We talked of these jottings of mine, which Jemmy had read through and +through by that time; and so it came about that my esteemed friend +remarked, as she sat smoothing Jemmy’s curls:</p> + +<p>“And as you belong to the house too, Jemmy,—and so much more than the +lodgers, having been born in it,—why your story ought to be added to +the rest I think, one of these days.”</p> + +<p>Jemmy’s eyes sparkled at this, and he said: “So <i>I</i> think, Gran.”</p> + +<p>Then he sat looking at the fire, and then he began to laugh in a sort +of confidence with the fire, and then he said, folding his arms across +my esteemed friend’s lap, and raising his bright face to hers: “Would +you like to hear a boy’s story, Gran?”</p> + +<p>“Of all things,” replied my esteemed friend.</p> + +<p>“Would you, Godfather?”</p> + +<p>“Of all things,” I too replied.</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” said Jemmy, “I’ll tell you one.”</p> + +<p>Here our indisputably remarkable boy gave himself a hug, and laughed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> +again, musically, at the idea of his coming out in that new line. Then +he once more took the fire into the same sort of confidence as before, +and began:</p> + +<p>“Once upon a time, When pigs drank wine, And monkeys chewed tobaccer, +’Twas neither in your time nor mine, But that’s no macker—”</p> + +<p>“Bless the child!” cried my esteemed friend, “what’s amiss with his +brain?”</p> + +<p>“It’s poetry, Gran,” returned Jemmy, shouting with laughter. “We always +begin stories that way at school.”</p> + +<p>“Gave me quite a turn, Major,” said my esteemed friend, fanning herself +with a plate. “Thought he was light-headed!”</p> + +<p>“In those remarkable times, Gran and Godfather, there was once a +boy,—not me, you know.”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” says my respected friend, “not you. Not him, Major, you +understand?”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” says I.</p> + +<p>“And he went to school in Rutlandshire——”</p> + +<p>“Why not Lincolnshire?” says my respected friend.</p> + +<p>“Why not, you dear old gran? Because <i>I</i> go to school in +Lincolnshire, don’t I?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, to be sure!” says my respected friend. “And it’s not Jemmy, you +understand, Major?”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Well!” our boy proceeded, hugging himself comfortably, and laughing +merrily (again in confidence with the fire), before he again looked +up in Mrs. Lirriper’s face, “and so he was tremendously in love with +his schoolmaster’s daughter, and she was the most beautiful creature +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> +that ever was seen, and she had brown eyes, and she had brown hair +all curling beautifully, and she had a delicious voice, and she was +delicious altogether, and her name was Seraphina.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the name of <i>your</i> schoolmaster’s daughter, Jemmy?” asks +my respected friend.</p> + +<p>“Polly!” replied Jemmy, pointing his forefinger at her. “There now! +Caught you! Ha, ha, ha!”</p> + +<p>When he and my respected friend had had a laugh and a hug together, our +admittedly remarkable boy resumed with a great relish:</p> + +<p>“Well! And so he loved her. And so he thought about her, and dreamed +about her, and made her presents of oranges and nuts, and would have +made her presents of pearls and diamonds if he could have afforded it +out of his pocket-money, but he couldn’t. And so her father—Oh, he was +a Tartar! Keeping the boys up to the mark, holding examinations once a +month, lecturing upon all sorts of subjects at all sorts of times, and +knowing everything in the world out of book. And so this boy——”</p> + +<p>“Had he any name?” asks my respected friend.</p> + +<p>“No, he hadn’t, Gran. Ha, ha! There now! Caught you again!”</p> + +<p>After this, they had another laugh and another hug, and then our boy +went on.</p> + +<p>“Well! And so this boy, he had a friend about as old as himself at the +same school, and his name (for he <i>had</i> a name, as it happened) +was—let me remember—was Bobbo.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span></p> + +<p>“Not Bob,” says my respected friend.</p> + +<p>“Of course not,” says Jemmy. “What made you think it was, Gran? Well! +And so this friend was the cleverest and bravest and best-looking and +most generous of all the friends that ever were, and so he was in love +with Seraphina’s sister, and so Seraphina’s sister was in love with +him, and so they all grew up.”</p> + +<p>“Bless us!” says my respected friend. “They were very sudden about +it.”</p> + +<p>“So they all grew up,” our boy repeated, laughing heartily, “and Bobbo +and this boy went away together on horseback to seek their fortunes, +and they partly got their horses by favor, and partly in a bargain; +that is to say, they had saved up between them seven and fourpence, +and the two horses, being Arabs, were worth more, only the man said he +would take that, to favor them. Well! And so they made their fortunes +and came prancing back to the school, with their pockets full of +gold, enough to last forever. And so they rang at the parents’ and +visitors’ bell (not the back gate), and when the bell was answered they +proclaimed ‘The same as if it was scarlet fever! Every boy goes home +for an indefinite period!’ And then there was great hurrahing, and then +they kissed Seraphina and her sister,—each his own love, and not the +other’s on any account,—and then they ordered the Tartar into instant +confinement.”</p> + +<p>“Poor man!” said my respected friend.</p> + +<p>“Into instant confinement, Gran,” repeated Jemmy, trying to look severe +and roaring with laughter; “and he was to have nothing to eat but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span> +the boys’ dinners, and was to drink half a cask of their beer every +day. And so then the preparations were made for the two weddings, and +there were hampers, and potted things, and sweet things, and nuts, and +postage-stamps, and all manner of things. And so they were so jolly, +that they let the Tartar out, and he was jolly too.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad they let him out,” says my respected friend, “because he had +only done his duty.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but hadn’t he overdone it, though!” cried Jemmy. “Well! And so +then this boy mounted his horse, with his bride in his arms, and +cantered away, and cantered on and on till he came to a certain place +where he had a certain gran and a certain godfather,—not you two, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” we both said.</p> + +<p>“And there he was received with great rejoicings, and he filled the +cupboard and the bookcase with gold, and he showered it out on his gran +and his godfather because they were the kindest and dearest people +that ever lived in this world. And so while they were sitting up to +their knees in gold, a knocking was heard at the street door, and who +should it be but Bobbo, also on horseback with his bride in his arms, +and what had he come to say but that he would take (at double rent) all +the lodgings forever, that were not wanted by this boy and this gran +and this godfather, and that they would all live together, and all be +happy! And so they were, and so it never ended!”</p> + +<p>“And was there no quarrelling?” asked my respected friend, as Jemmy sat +upon her lap and hugged her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p> + +<p>“No! Nobody ever quarrelled.”</p> + +<p>“And did the money never melt away?”</p> + +<p>“No! Nobody could ever spend it all.”</p> + +<p>“And did none of them ever grow older?”</p> + +<p>“No! Nobody ever grew older after that.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_THE_WAY_TO_GRETNA_GREEN">ON THE WAY TO GRETNA GREEN</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XX">XX<br> +<br>ON THE WAY TO GRETNA GREEN</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">H</span>ARRY was eight and Norah was seven. They lived on Shooters Hill, six +or seven miles from London. Harry’s father, Mr. Walmer, had a big +place called the Elms. The children read fairy-stories and delighted +in princes and dragons and wicked enchanters, and kings who had fair +daughters and offered them to any knights who were brave enough to come +and take them. And they liked to read about lovers who ran away to +Gretna Green and were married and lived happily ever after. Just where +Gretna Green was they didn’t know, but it must be a very romantic place +to run away to. Cobbs, the gardener, heard them talking about it all as +they sat under a tree. They intended to keep bees and a cow, and live +on milk and honey.</p> + +<p>Cobbs left Mr. Walmer, and went to work at the Holly Tree Inn up in +Yorkshire. One day the coach drew up and two little passengers got out. +Harry and Norah were on their way to Gretna Green.</p> + +<p>“We’ll stop here,” said Harry to the landlord. “Chops and cherry +pudding for two.” Then they went to the sitting-room.</p> + +<p>Cobbs found them there. Master Harry, on an enormous sofa, was drying +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> +the eyes of Miss Norah with his pocket-handkerchief. Their little legs +were entirely off the floor.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i015" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i015.jpg" width="1200" height="1712" alt="A young boy gently wipes tears from a little girl's cheek as they +sit on a sofa. She holds a pink umbrella and wears a blue dress and hat."> +<figcaption class="caption"> +<p style="text-align:left"> +<i>Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons</i></p> +<p>THE RUNAWAY COUPLE</p> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>“I see you a-getting out, sir,” said Cobbs. “I thought it was you. I +thought I couldn’t be mistaken in your height and figure. What’s the +object of your journey, sir? Matrimonial?”</p> + +<p>“We are going to be married, Cobbs, at Gretna Green. We have run away +on purpose. Norah has been in low spirits, Cobb, but she’ll be happy +now that we have found you to be our friend.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir, and thank <i>you</i>, miss, for your good opinion. Did +you bring any luggage with you?”</p> + +<p>The lady had got a parasol, a smelling-bottle, some buttered toast, +eight peppermint drops, and a small hair-brush. The gentleman had +got half a dozen yards of string, a knife, three or four sheets of +writing-paper, an orange, and a china mug with his name on it.</p> + +<p>“What may be the exact natur of your plans, sir?” said Cobb.</p> + +<p>“To go on,” said the boy, “in the morning and be married to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Just so, sir,” said Cobb. “Would it meet your views if I was to +accompany you?”</p> + +<p>When Cobbs said this, they both jumped for joy again, and cried out: +“Oh, yes, Cobbs, yes!”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said Cobbs, “if you will excuse my having to give an +opinion, what I should recommend would be this. I’m acquainted with a +pony, sir, which, put in a phaeton which I could borrow, would take +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> +you and Mrs. Harry Walmer Junior (myself driving, if you approved), to +the end of your journey in a very short space of time.”</p> + +<p>They clapped their hands and jumped for joy.</p> + +<p>“Is there anything you want, just at present, sir?”</p> + +<p>“We should like some cakes after dinner,” answered Master Harry, “and +two apples and jam. With dinner we should have toast and water. But +Norah has been accustomed to half a glass of currant wine for dessert, +and so have I.”</p> + +<p>“It shall be ordered at the bar, sir,” said Cobbs.</p> + +<p>“Cobbs, are there any good walks in this neighborhood?”</p> + +<p>“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Cobbs, “there is Love Lane. And a +pleasant walk it is, and proud shall I be to show it to yourself and +Mrs. Harry Walmer Junior.”</p> + +<p>“Norah, dear,” said Master Harry, “put on your bonnet, my sweetest +darling, and we’ll go there with Cobbs.”</p> + +<p>It was very pleasant walking down Love Lane gathering water-lilies, but +as the afternoon came on they both became a little homesick. Master +Harry kept up nobly, but Mrs. Harry Walmer Junior began to cry, “I +want to go home.” When Harry’s father and Norah’s mother appeared upon +the scene, every one was happy. Harry and Norah had been on the way to +Gretna Green, though they never got there.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="OUR_SCHOOL">OUR SCHOOL</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXI">XXI<br> +<br>OUR SCHOOL</h2> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">T</span>HE children who live now are fortunate in having schools that are +made for their happiness as well as for their mental improvement. Most +of the schools Dickens describes were dreary places like that which +Sissie Jupes attended. However, there were some memories that were +not altogether unpleasant, and I enjoy reading the chapter which he +entitles “Our School.”</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>It seems as if our schools were doomed to be the sport of change. We +have faint recollections of a Preparatory Day-School, which we have +sought in vain, and which must have been pulled down to make a new +street, ages ago. We have dim impressions, scarcely amounting to a +belief, that it was over a dyer’s shop. We know that you went up steps +to it; that you frequently grazed your knees in doing so; that you +generally got your leg over the scraper, in trying to scrape the mud +off a very unsteady little shoe. The mistress of the Establishment +holds no place in our memory; but, rampant on one eternal door-mat, in +an eternal entry long and narrow, is a puffy pug-dog, with a personal +animosity toward us, who triumphs over Time. The bark of that baleful +Pug, a certain radiating way he had of snapping at our undefended legs, +the ghastly grinning of his moist black muzzle and white teeth, and the +insolence of his crisp tail curled like a pastoral crook, all live +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span> +and flourish. From an otherwise unaccountable association of him with +a fiddle, we conclude that he was of French extraction, and his name +<i>Fidèle</i>. He belonged to some female, chiefly inhabiting a back +parlor, whose life appears to us to have been consumed in sniffing, and +in wearing a brown beaver bonnet. For her, he would sit up and balance +cake upon his nose, and not eat it until twenty had been counted. +To the best of our belief we were once called in to witness this +performance; when, unable, even in his milder moments, to endure our +presence, he instantly made at us, cake and all.</p> + +<p>Why a something in mourning, called “Miss Frost,” should still connect +itself with our preparatory school, we are unable to say. We retain no +impression of the beauty of Miss Frost—if she were beautiful; or of +the mental fascinations of Miss Frost—if she were accomplished; yet +her name and her black dress hold an enduring place in our remembrance. +An equally impersonal boy, whose name has long since shaped itself +unalterably into “Master Mawls,” is not to be dislodged from our brain. +Retaining no vindictive feeling toward Mawls—no feeling whatever, +indeed—we infer that neither he nor we can have loved Miss Frost....</p> + +<p>But, the School that was Our School before the Railroad came and +overthrew it, was quite another sort of place. We were old enough to +be put into Virgil when we went there, and to get prizes for a variety +of polishing on which the rust has long accumulated. It was a school +of some celebrity in its neighborhood—nobody could have said why—and +we had the honor to attain and hold the eminent position of first boy. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span> +The master was supposed among us to know nothing, and one of the ushers +was supposed to know everything. We are still inclined to think the +first-named supposition perfectly correct.</p> + +<p>We have a general idea that its subject had been in the leather trade, +and had bought us—meaning Our School—of another proprietor who was +immensely learned. Whether this belief had any real foundation, we are +not likely ever to know now. The only branches of education with which +he showed the least acquaintance were ruling and corporally punishing. +He was always ruling ciphering-books with a bloated mahogany ruler, or +smiting the palms of offenders with the same diabolical instrument, +or viciously drawing a pair of pantaloons tight with one of his large +hands, and caning the wearer with the other. We have no doubt whatever +that this occupation was the principal solace of his existence.</p> + +<p>A profound respect for money pervaded Our School, which was, of course, +derived from its Chief. We remember an idiotic goggle-eyed boy, +with a big head and half-crowns without end, who suddenly appeared +as a parlor-boarder, and was rumored to have come by sea from some +mysterious part of the earth where his parents rolled in gold. He was +usually called “Mr.” by the Chief, and was said to feed in the parlor +on steaks and gravy; likewise to drink currant wine. And he openly +stated that if rolls and coffee were ever denied him at breakfast, +he would write home to that unknown part of the globe from which he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span> +had come, and cause himself to be recalled to the regions of gold. +He was put into no form or class, but learned alone, as little as he +liked—and he liked very little—and there was a belief among us that +this was because he was too wealthy to be “taken down.” His special +treatment, and our vague association of him with the sea, and with +storms, and sharks, and coral reefs, occasioned the wildest legends to +be circulated as his history. A tragedy in blank verse was written on +the subject—if our memory does not deceive us, by the hand that now +chronicles these recollections—in which his father figured as Pirate, +and was shot for a voluminous catalogue of atrocities: first imparting +to his wife the secret of the cave in which his wealth was stored, and +from which his only son’s half-crowns now issued. Dumbledon (the boy’s +name) was represented as “yet unborn” when his brave father met his +fate; and the despair and grief of Mrs. Dumbledon at that calamity was +movingly shadowed forth as having weakened the parlor-boarder’s mind. +This production was received with great favor, and was twice performed +with closed doors in the dining-room. But it got wind, and was seized +as libellous, and brought the unlucky poet into severe affliction. Some +two years afterward, all of a sudden one day, Dumbledon vanished. It +was whispered that the Chief himself had taken him down to the docks, +and re-shipped him for the Spanish Main; but nothing certain was ever +known about his disappearance. At this hour, we cannot thoroughly +disconnect him from California.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span></p> + +<p>Our School was rather famous for mysterious pupils. There was +another—a heavy young man, with a large double-cased silver watch, +and a fat knife the handle of which was a perfect tool-box—who +unaccountably appeared one day at a special desk of his own, erected +close to that of the Chief, with whom he held familiar converse. He +lived in the parlor, and went out for his walks, and never took the +least notice of us—even of us, the first boy—unless to give us a +deprecatory kick, or grimly to take our hat off and throw it away, when +he encountered us out of doors, which unpleasant ceremony he always +performed as he passed—not even condescending to stop for the purpose. +Some of us believed that the classical attainments of this phenomenon +were terrific, but that his penmanship and arithmetic were defective, +and he had come there to mend them; others, that he was going to set +up a school, and had paid the Chief “twenty-five pound down,” for +leave to see Our School at work. The gloomier spirits even said that +he was going to buy us; against which contingency, conspiracies were +set on foot for a general defection and running away. However, he never +did that. After staying for a quarter during which period, though +closely observed, he was never seen to do anything but make pens out +of quills, write small-hand in a secret portfolio, and punch the point +of the sharpest blade in his knife into his desk all over it, he too +disappeared, and his place knew him no more.</p> + +<p>There was another boy, a fair, meek boy, with a delicate complexion and +rich curling hair, who, we found out, or thought we found out (we have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span> +no idea now, and probably had none then, on what grounds, but it was +confidentially revealed from mouth to mouth), was the son of a Viscount +who had deserted his lovely mother. It was understood that if he had +his rights he would be worth twenty thousand a year. And that if his +mother ever met his father she would shoot him with a silver pistol, +which she carried, always loaded to the muzzle, for that purpose. He +was a very suggestive topic. So was a young mulatto, who was always +believed (though very amiable) to have a dagger about him somewhere. +But we think they were both outshone, upon the whole, by another boy +who claimed to have been born on the twenty-ninth of February, and to +have only one birthday in five years. We suspect this to have been a +fiction—but he lived upon it all the time he was at Our School.</p> + +<p>The principal currency of Our School was slate pencil. It had some +inexplicable value, that was never ascertained, never reduced to a +standard. To have a great hoard of it, was somehow to be rich. We +used to bestow it in charity, and confer it as a precious boon upon +our chosen friends. When the holidays were coming, contributions were +solicited for certain boys whose relatives were in India, and who were +appealed for under the generic name of “Holiday-stoppers,”—appropriate +marks of remembrance that should enliven and cheer them in their +homeless state. Personally, we always contributed these tokens of +sympathy in the form of slate pencil, and always felt that it would be +a comfort and a treasure to them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p> + +<p>Our School was remarkable for white mice. Red-polls, linnets, and even +canaries, were kept in desks, drawers, hat-boxes, and other strange +refuges for birds, but white mice were the favorite stock. The boys +trained the mice, much better than the masters trained the boys. We +recall one white mouse, who lived in the cover of a Latin dictionary, +who ran up ladders, drew Roman chariots, shouldered muskets, turned +wheels, and even made a very creditable appearance on the stage as +the Dog of Montargis. He might have achieved greater things, but for +having the misfortune to mistake his way in a triumphal procession to +the Capitol, when he fell into a deep inkstand, and was dyed black and +drowned. The mice were the occasion of some most ingenious engineering, +in the construction of their houses and instruments of performance. +The famous one belonged to a company of proprietors, some of whom have +since made railroads, engines, and telegraphs; the chairman has erected +mills and bridges in New Zealand.</p> + +<p>The usher at Our School, who was considered to know everything as +opposed to the Chief, who was considered to know nothing, was a bony, +gentle-faced, clerical-looking young man in rusty black. It was +whispered that he was sweet upon one of Maxby’s sisters (Maxby lived +closed by, and was a day pupil), and further that he “favored Maxby.” +As we remember, he taught Italian to Maxby’s sisters on half-holidays. +He once went to the play with them, and wore a white waistcoat and a +rose: which was considered among us equivalent to a declaration. We +were of opinion on that occasion, that to the last moment he expected +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span> +Maxby’s father to ask him to dinner at five o’clock, and therefore +neglected his own dinner at half-past one, and finally got none. +We exaggerated in our imaginations the extent to which he punished +Maxby’s father’s cold meat at supper; and we agreed to believe that he +was elevated with wine and water when he came home. But we all liked +him; for he had a good knowledge of boys, and would have made it a +much better school if he had had more power. He was writing master, +mathematical master, English master, made out the bills, mended the +pens, and did all sorts of things. He divided the little boys with the +Latin master (they were smuggled through their rudimentary books, at +odd times when there was nothing else to do), and he always called at +parents’ houses to inquire after sick boys, because he had gentlemanly +manners. He was rather musical, and on some remote quarter-day had +bought an old trombone; but a bit of it was lost, and it made the +most extraordinary sounds when he sometimes tried to play it of an +evening. His holidays never began (on account of the bills) until long +after ours; but, in the summer vacations he used to take pedestrian +excursions with a knapsack; and at Christmas time, he went to see his +father at Chipping Norton, who we all said (on no authority) was a +dairy-fed pork-butcher. Poor fellow! He was very low all day on Maxby’s +sister’s wedding-day, and afterward was thought to favor Maxby more +than ever, though he had been expected to spite him. He has been dead +these twenty years. Poor fellow!</p> + +<p>Our remembrance of Our School presents the Latin master as a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span> +colorless, doubled-up, near-sighted man with a crutch, who was always +cold, and always putting onions into his ears for deafness, and always +disclosing ends of flannel under all his garments, and almost always +applying a ball of pocket-handkerchief to some part of his face with a +screwing action round and round. He was a very good scholar, and took +great pains where he saw intelligence and a desire to learn: otherwise, +perhaps not. Our memory presents him (unless teased into a passion) +with as little energy as color—as having been worried and tormented +into monotonous feebleness—as having had the best part of his life +ground out of him in a mill of boys. We remember with terror how he +fell asleep one sultry afternoon with the little smuggled class before +him, and awoke not when the footstep of the Chief fell heavy on the +floor; how the Chief aroused him, in the midst of a dread silence, and +said: “Mr. Blinkins, are you ill, sir?”; how he blushingly replied: +“Sir, rather so”; how the Chief retorted with severity: “Mr. Blinkins, +this is no place to be ill in” (which was very, very true), and walked +back solemn as the ghost in Hamlet, until, catching a wandering eye, +he caned that boy for inattention, and happily expressed his feelings +toward the Latin master through the medium of a substitute.</p> + +<p>There was a fat little dancing-master who used to come in a gig, and +taught the more advanced among us hornpipes (as an accomplishment in +great social demand in after life); and there was a brisk little French +master who used to come in the sunniest weather, with a handleless +umbrella, and to whom the Chief was always polite, because (as we +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span> +believed), if the Chief offended him, he would instantly address the +Chief in French, and forever confound him before the boys with his +inability to understand or reply.</p> + +<p>There was, besides, a serving man, whose name was Phil. Our +retrospective glance presents Phil as a shipwrecked carpenter, cast +away upon the desert island of a school, and carrying into practice an +ingenious inkling of many trades. He mended whatever was broken, and +made whatever was wanted. He was general glazier, among other things, +and mended all the broken windows—at the prime cost (as was darkly +rumored among us) of ninepence, for every square charged three-and-six +to parents. We had a high opinion of his mechanical genius, and +generally held that the Chief “knew something bad of him,” and on +pain of divulgence enforced Phil to be his bondsman. We particularly +remember that Phil had a sovereign contempt for learning; which +engenders in us a respect for his sagacity, as it implies his accurate +observation of the relative positions of the Chief and the ushers. +He was an impenetrable man, who waited at table between whiles, and +throughout “the half” kept the boxes in severe custody. He was morose, +even to the Chief, and never smiled, except at breaking-up, when, in +acknowledgment of the toast, “Success to Phil! Hooray!” he would slowly +carve a grin out of his wooden face, where it would remain until we +were all gone. Nevertheless, one time when we had the scarlet fever in +the school, Phil nursed all the sick boys of his own accord, and was +like a mother to them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span></p> + +<p>There was another school not far off, and of course Our School could +have nothing to say to that school. It is mostly the way with schools, +whether of boys or men. Well! the railway has swallowed up ours, and +the locomotives now run smoothly over its ashes.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“So fades and languishes, grows dim and dies,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All that this world is proud of.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>—and is not proud of, too. It had little reason to be proud of Our +School, and has done much better since in that way, and will do far +better yet.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ALICIA_IN_WONDERLAND">ALICIA IN WONDERLAND</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXII">XXII<br> +<br>ALICIA IN WONDERLAND</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">W</span>E all know Lewis Carroll’s <i>Alice in Wonderland</i>. Dickens had +an Alice too who was worth knowing. Her wonderland was a plain little +house in London. Her father, Mr. Watkins, was a poorly paid government +clerk who found it hard to support his large family. Her mother found +life too much for her nerves. So Alice had to take the responsibility +for the family happiness. While other people were worrying, she tried +to make things pleasant.</p> + +<p>But fortunately Alice had such a fortunate disposition that she could +live in London and in Wonderland at the same time. In Wonderland, her +father, Mr. Watkins, was king, and Mrs. Watkins was queen, and Mr. +Pickles the fish-dealer was a great merchant of untold wealth. Alice +had a doll who was a duchess, to whom she told her troubles, and with +whom she consulted about the fashions. The duchess was a very proud and +sympathetic person indeed.</p> + +<p>So it was very natural that Alice should have a visit from her fairy +godmother. The unusual thing was that she took the advice that was +given her, and so got out of trouble instead of getting into it through +heedlessness, as most people do in the fairy-stories. Alice was a +very wise little girl; in my judgment she was almost as wise as her +godmother. Indeed, it sometimes requires more wisdom to take good +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span> +advice than to give it.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>There was once a king, and he had a queen; and he was the manliest +of his sex, and she was the loveliest of hers. The king was, in his +private profession, under government. The queen’s father had been a +medical man out of town.</p> + +<p>They had nineteen children, and were always having more. Seventeen of +these children took care of the baby; and Alicia, the eldest, took care +of them all. Their ages varied from seven years to seven months.</p> + +<p>Let us now resume our story.</p> + +<p>One day the king was going to the office, when he stopped at the +fishmonger’s to buy a pound and a half of salmon, not too near the +tail, which the queen (who was a careful house-keeper) had requested +him to send home. Mr. Pickles, the fishmonger, said, “Certainly, sir, +is there any other article? Good morning.”</p> + +<p>The king went on toward the office in a melancholy mood; for +quarter-day was such a long way off, and several of the dear children +were growing out of their clothes. He had not proceeded far, when Mr. +Pickles’s errand-boy came running after him, and said, “Sir, you didn’t +notice the old lady in our shop.”</p> + +<p>“What old lady?” inquired the king. “I saw none.”</p> + +<p>Now, the king had not seen any old lady, because this old lady had been +invisible to him, though visible to Mr. Pickles’s boy. Probably because +he messed and splashed the water about to that degree, and flapped the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span> +pairs of soles down in that violent manner, that, if she had not been +visible to him, he would have spoiled her clothes.</p> + +<p>Just then the old lady came trotting up. She was dressed in shot silk +of the richest quality, smelling of dried lavender.</p> + +<p>“King Watkins the First, I believe?” said the old lady.</p> + +<p>“Watkins,” replied the king, “is my name.”</p> + +<p>“Papa, if I am not mistaken, of the beautiful Princess Alicia?” said +the old lady.</p> + +<p>“And of eighteen other darlings,” replied the king.</p> + +<p>“Listen. You are going to the office,” said the old lady.</p> + +<p>It instantly flashed upon the king that she must be a fairy, or how +could she know that?</p> + +<p>“You are right,” said the old lady, answering his thoughts. “I am +the good Fairy Grandmarina. Attend! When you return home to dinner, +politely invite the Princess Alicia to have some of the salmon you +bought just now.”</p> + +<p>“It may disagree with her,” said the king.</p> + +<p>The old lady became so very angry at this absurd idea, that the king +was quite alarmed, and humbly begged her pardon.</p> + +<p>“We hear a great deal too much about this thing disagreeing, and that +thing disagreeing,” said the old lady, with the greatest contempt it +was possible to express. “Don’t be greedy. I think you want it all +yourself.”</p> + +<p>The king hung his head under this reproof, and said he wouldn’t talk +about things disagreeing any more.</p> + +<p>“Be good, then,” said the Fairy Grandmarina, “and don’t! When the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span> +beautiful Princess Alicia consents to partake of the salmon—as I think +she will—you will find she will leave a fish-bone on her plate. Tell +her to dry it, and to rub it, and to polish it till it shines like +mother-of-pearl, and to take care of it as a present from me.”</p> + +<p>“Is that all?” asked the king.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be impatient, sir,” returned the Fairy Grandmarina, scolding him +severely. “Don’t catch people short before they have done speaking. +Just the way with you grown-up persons. You are always doing it.”</p> + +<p>The king again hung his head, and said he wouldn’t do so any more.</p> + +<p>“Be good, then,” said the Fairy Grandmarina, “and don’t! Tell the +Princess Alicia, with my love, that the fish-bone is a magic present +which can only be used once; but that it will bring her, that once, +whatever she wishes for, <span class="allsmcap">PROVIDED SHE WISHES FOR IT AT THE RIGHT +TIME</span>. That is the message. Take care of it.”</p> + +<p>The king was beginning, “Might I ask the reason?” when the fairy became +absolutely furious.</p> + +<p>“<i>Will</i> you be good, sir?” she exclaimed, stamping her foot on the +ground. “The reason for this, and the reason for that, indeed! You are +always wanting the reason. No reason. There! Hoity toity me! I am sick +of your grown-up reasons.”</p> + +<p>The king was extremely frightened by the old lady’s flying into such +a passion, and said he was very sorry to have offended her, and he +wouldn’t ask for reasons any more.</p> + +<p>“Be good, then,” said the old lady, “and don’t!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span></p> + +<p>With those words Grandmarina vanished, and the king went on and on +and on, till he came to the office. There he wrote and wrote and +wrote, till it was time to go home again. Then he politely invited +the Princess Alicia, as the fairy had directed him, to partake of the +salmon. And when she had enjoyed it very much, he saw the fish-bone on +her plate, as the fairy had told him he would, and he delivered the +fairy’s message, and the Princess Alicia took care to dry the bone, and +to rub it, and to polish it till it shone like mother-of-pearl.</p> + +<p>And so, when the queen was going to get up in the morning, she said, +“Oh, dear me, dear me; my head, my head!” and then she fainted away.</p> + +<p>The Princess Alicia, who happened to be looking in at the chamber-door +asking about breakfast, was very much alarmed when she saw her royal +mamma in this state, and she rang the bell for Peggy, which was the +name of the lord chamberlain. But remembering where the smelling-bottle +was, she climbed on the chair and got it; and after that she climbed +on another chair by the bedside, and held the smelling-bottle to the +queen’s nose; and after that she jumped down and got some water; and +after that she jumped up again and wetted the queen’s forehead; and +in short, when the lord chamberlain came in, that dear old woman said +to the little princess, “What a trot you are! I couldn’t have done it +better myself!”</p> + +<p>But that was not the worst of the good queen’s illness. Oh, no! She was +very ill indeed for a long time. The Princess Alicia kept the seventeen +young princes and princesses quiet, and dressed and undressed and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span> +danced the baby, and made the kettle boil, and heated the soup, and +swept the hearth, and poured out the medicine, and nursed the queen, +and did all that ever she could, and was as busy, busy, busy as busy +could be; for there were not many servants at that place for three +reasons: because the king was short of money, because a rise in his +office never seemed to come, and because quarter-day was so far off +that it looked almost as far off and as little as one of the stars.</p> + +<p>But on the morning when the queen fainted away, where was the magic +fish-bone? Why, there it was in the Princess Alicia’s pocket! She had +almost taken it out to bring the queen to life again, when she put it +back, and looked for the smelling-bottle.</p> + +<p>After the queen had come out of her swoon that morning and was dozing, +the Princess Alicia hurried up-stairs to tell a most particular secret +to a most particular confidential friend of hers, who was a duchess. +People did suppose her to be a doll, but she was really a duchess, +though nobody knew it except the princess.</p> + +<p>This most particular secret was the secret about the magic fish-bone, +the history of which was well known to the duchess, because the +princess told her everything. The princess kneeled down by the bed on +which the duchess was lying, full-dressed and wide awake, and whispered +the secret to her. The duchess smiled and nodded. People might have +supposed that she never smiled and nodded; but she often did, though +nobody knew it except the princess.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span></p> + +<p>Then the Princess Alicia hurried down-stairs again, to keep watch in +the queen’s room. She often kept watch by herself in the queen’s room; +but every evening, while the illness lasted, she sat there watching +with the king. And every evening the king sat looking at her with a +cross look, wondering why she never brought out the magic fish-bone. +As often as she noticed this, she ran up-stairs, whispered the secret +to the duchess over again, and said to the duchess, “They think we +children never have a reason or a meaning!” And the duchess, though the +most fashionable duchess that ever was heard of, winked her eye.</p> + +<p>“Alicia,” said the king, one evening when she wished him good night.</p> + +<p>“Yes, papa.”</p> + +<p>“What is become of your magic fish-bone?”</p> + +<p>“In my pocket, papa!”</p> + +<p>“I thought you had lost it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, papa.”</p> + +<p>“Or forgotten it?”</p> + +<p>“No, indeed, papa.”</p> + +<p>And so another time the dreadful little snapping pug-dog, next door, +made a rush at one of the young princes as he stood on the steps coming +home from school, and terrified him out of his wits; and he put his +hand through a pane of glass, and bled, bled, bled. When the seventeen +other young princes and princesses saw him bleed, bleed, bleed, they +were terrified out of their wits too, and screamed themselves black +in their seventeen faces all at once. But the Princess Alicia put +her hands over all their seventeen mouths, one after another, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span> +persuaded them to be quiet because of the sick queen. And then she put +the wounded prince’s hand in a basin of fresh cold water, while they +stared with their twice seventeen are thirty-four, put down four and +carry three, eyes, and then she looked in the hand for bits of glass, +and there were fortunately no bits of glass there. And then she said +to two chubby-legged princes, who were sturdy though small, “Bring me +in the royal rag-bag: I must snip and stitch and cut and contrive.” +So these two young princes tugged at the royal rag-bag, and lugged it +in; and the Princess Alicia sat down on the floor, with a large pair +of scissors and a needle and thread, and snipped and stitched and +cut and contrived, and made a bandage, and put it on, and it fitted +beautifully; and so when it was all done, she saw the king her papa +looking on by the door.</p> + +<p>“Alicia.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, papa.”</p> + +<p>“What have you been doing?”</p> + +<p>“Snipping, stitching, cutting, and contriving, papa.”</p> + +<p>“Where is the magic fish-bone?”</p> + +<p>“In my pocket, papa.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you had lost it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, papa!”</p> + +<p>“Or forgotten it?”</p> + +<p>“No, indeed, papa.”</p> + +<p>After that, she ran up-stairs to the duchess, and told her what had +passed, and told her the secret over again: and the duchess shook her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span> +flaxen curls, and laughed with her rosy lips.</p> + +<p>Well! and so another time the baby fell under the grate. The seventeen +young princes and princesses were used to it; for they were almost +always falling under the grate or down the stairs; but the baby was not +used to it yet, and it gave him a swelled face and a black eye. The +way the poor little darling came to tumble was, that he was out of the +Princess Alicia’s lap just as she was sitting, in a great coarse apron +that quite smothered her, in front of the kitchen fire, beginning to +peel the turnips for the broth for dinner; and the way she came to be +doing that was, that the king’s cook had run away that morning with +her own true love, who was a very tall but very tipsy soldier. Then +the seventeen young princes and princesses, who cried at every thing +that happened, cried and roared. But the Princess Alicia (who couldn’t +help crying a little herself) quietly called to them to be still, on +account of not throwing back the queen up-stairs, who was fast getting +well, and said: “Hold your tongues, you wicked little monkeys, every +one of you, while I examine baby!” Then she examined baby, and found +that he hadn’t broken anything; and she held cold iron to his poor dear +eye, and smoothed his poor dear face, and he presently fell asleep in +her arms. Then she said to the seventeen princes and princesses: “I am +afraid to let him down yet, lest he should wake and feel pain; be good, +and you shall all be cooks.” They jumped for joy when they heard that, +and began making themselves cooks’ caps out of old newspapers. So to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span> +one she gave the salt-box, and to one she gave the barley, and to one +she gave the herbs, and to one she gave the turnips, and to one she +gave the carrots, and to one she gave the onions, and to one she gave +the spice-box, till they were all cooks, and all running about at work, +she sitting in the middle, smothered in the great coarse apron, nursing +baby. By and by the broth was done; and the baby woke up, smiling +like an angel, and was trusted to the sedatest princess to hold, +while the other princes and princesses were squeezed into a far-off +corner to look at the Princess Alicia turning out the saucepanful +of broth, for fear (as they were always getting into trouble) they +should get splashed and scalded. When the broth came tumbling out, +steaming beautifully, and smelling like a nosegay good to eat, they +clapped their hands. That made the baby clap his hands; and that, and +his looking as if he had a comic toothache, made all the princes and +princesses laugh. So the Princess Alicia said: “Laugh and be good; +and after dinner we will make him a nest on the floor in a corner, +and he shall sit in his nest and see a dance of eighteen cooks.” That +delighted the young princes and princesses, and they ate up all the +broth, and washed up all the plates and dishes, and cleared away, and +pushed the table into a corner; and then they in their cooks’ caps, and +the Princess Alicia in the smothering coarse apron that belonged to the +cook that had run away with her own true love that was the very tall +but very tipsy soldier, danced a dance of eighteen cooks before the +angelic baby, who forgot his swelled face and his black eye, and crowed +with joy.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span></p> + +<p>And so then, once more the Princess Alicia saw King Watkins the First, +her father, standing in the doorway looking on, and he said, “What have +you been doing, Alicia?”</p> + +<p>“Cooking and contriving, papa.”</p> + +<p>“What else have you been doing, Alicia?”</p> + +<p>“Keeping the children light-hearted, papa.”</p> + +<p>“Where is the magic fish-bone, Alicia?”</p> + +<p>“In my pocket, papa.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you had lost it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, papa.”</p> + +<p>“Or forgotten it?”</p> + +<p>“No, indeed, papa.”</p> + +<p>The king then sighed so heavily, and seemed so low-spirited, and sat +down so miserably, leaning his head upon his hand, and his elbow upon +the kitchen-table pushed away in the corner, that the seventeen princes +and princesses crept softly out of the kitchen, and left him alone with +the Princess Alicia and the angelic baby.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter, papa?”</p> + +<p>“I am dreadfully poor, my child.”</p> + +<p>“Have you no money at all, papa?”</p> + +<p>“None, my child.”</p> + +<p>“Is there no way of getting any, papa?”</p> + +<p>“No way,” said the king. “I have tried very hard, and I have tried all +ways.”</p> + +<p>When she heard these last words, the Princess Alicia began to put her +hand into the pocket where she kept the magic fish-bone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span></p> + +<p>“Papa,” said she, “when we have tried very hard, and tried all ways, we +must have done our very, very best?”</p> + +<p>“No doubt, Alicia.”</p> + +<p>“When we have done our very, very best, papa, and that is not enough, +then I think the right time must have come for asking help of others.” +This was the very secret connected with the magic fish-bone, which she +had found out for herself from the good Fairy Grandmarina’s words, +and which she had so often whispered to her beautiful and fashionable +friend, the duchess.</p> + +<p>So she took out of her pocket the magic fish-bone that had been dried +and rubbed and polished till it shone like mother-of-pearl; and she +gave it one little kiss, and wished it was quarter-day. And immediately +it <i>was</i> quarter-day; and the king’s quarter’s salary came +rattling down the chimney, and bounced into the middle of the floor.</p> + +<p>But this was not half of what happened—no, not a quarter; for +immediately afterward the good Fairy Grandmarina came riding in, with +a carriage and four (peacocks), with Mr. Pickles’s boy up behind, +dressed in silver and gold, with a cocked hat, powdered hair, pink silk +stockings, a jewelled cane, and a nosegay. Down jumped Mr. Pickles’s +boy, with his cocked hat in his hand, and wonderfully polite (being +entirely changed by enchantment), and handed Grandmarina out; and there +she stood, in her rich shot silk smelling of dried lavender, fanning +herself with a sparkling fan.</p> + +<p>“Alicia, my dear,” said this charming old fairy, “how do you do? I hope +I see you pretty well? Give me a kiss.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span></p> + +<p>The Princess Alicia embraced her; and then Grandmarina turned to the +king, and said rather sharply, “Are you good?”</p> + +<p>The king said he hoped so.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you know the reason <i>now</i> why my goddaughter here,” +kissing the princess again, “did not apply to the fish-bone sooner?” +said the fairy.</p> + +<p>The king made a shy bow.</p> + +<p>“Ah! but you didn’t <i>then</i>?” said the fairy.</p> + +<p>The king made a shyer bow.</p> + +<p>“Any more reasons to ask for?” said the fairy.</p> + +<p>The king said, “No, and he was very sorry.”</p> + +<p>“Be good, then,” said the fairy, “and live happy ever afterward.”</p> + +<p>Then Grandmarina waved her fan, and the queen came in most splendidly +dressed; and the seventeen young princes and princesses, no longer +grown out of their clothes, came in, newly fitted out from top to toe, +with tucks in everything to admit of its being let out. After that, +the fairy tapped the Princess Alicia with her fan; and the smothering +coarse apron flew away, and she appeared exquisitely dressed, like a +little bride, with a wreath of orange flowers and a silver veil. After +that, the kitchen dresser changed of itself into a wardrobe, made of +beautiful woods and gold and looking-glass, which was full of dresses +of all sorts, all for her and all exactly fitting her. After that, +the angelic baby came in, running alone, with his face and eye not +a bit the worse, but much the better. Then Grandmarina begged to be +introduced to the duchess; and, when the duchess was brought down, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span> +many compliments passed between them.</p> + +<p>A little whispering took place between the fairy and the duchess; and +then the fairy said out loud, “Yes, I thought she would have told you.” +Grandmarina then turned to the king and queen, and said: “We are going +in search of Prince Certainpersonio. The pleasure of your company is +requested at the church in half an hour precisely.” So she and the +Princess Alicia got into the carriage; and Mr. Pickles’s boy handed +in the duchess, who sat by herself on the opposite seat; and then Mr. +Pickles’s boy put up the steps and got up behind, and the peacocks flew +away with their tails behind.</p> + +<p>Prince Certainpersonio was sitting by himself, eating barley-sugar, +and waiting to be ninety. When he saw the peacocks, followed by the +carriage, coming in at the window, it immediately occurred to him that +something uncommon was going to happen.</p> + +<p>“Prince,” said Grandmarina, “I bring you your bride.”</p> + +<p>The moment the fairy said those words, Prince Certainpersonio’s +face left off being sticky, and his jacket and corduroys changed to +peach-bloom velvet, and his hair curled, and a cap and feather flew +in like a bird and settled on his head. He got into the carriage by +the fairy’s invitation; and there he renewed his acquaintance with the +duchess, whom he had seen before.</p> + +<p>In the church were the prince’s relations and friends, and the +Princess Alicia’s relations and friends, and the seventeen princes and +princesses, and the baby, and a crowd of the neighbors. The marriage +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span> +was beautiful beyond expression. The duchess was bridesmaid, and beheld +the ceremony from the pulpit, where she was supported by the cushion of +the desk.</p> + +<p>Grandmarina gave a magnificent wedding-feast afterward, in which there +was everything and more to eat, and everything and more to drink. +The wedding-cake was delicately ornamented with white satin ribbons, +frosted silver, and white lilies, and was forty-two yards round.</p> + +<p>When Grandmarina had drunk her love to the young couple, and Prince +Certainpersonio had made a speech, and everybody had cried, hip, hip, +hip, hurrah! Grandmarina announced to the king and queen that in future +there would be eight quarter-days in every year, except leap-year, when +there would be ten. She then turned to Certainpersonio and Alicia, +and said, “My dears, you will have thirty-five children, and they +will be good and beautiful. Seventeen of your children will be boys, +and eighteen girls. The hair of the whole of your children will curl +naturally. They will never have the measles, and will have recovered +from the whooping-cough before being born.”</p> + +<p>On hearing such good news everybody cried out, “Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!” +again.</p> + +<p>“It only remains,” said Grandmarina in conclusion, “to make an end of +the fish-bone.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_INFANT_PHENOMENON">THE INFANT PHENOMENON</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIII">XXIII<br> +<br>THE INFANT PHENOMENON</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">I</span>N our day the moving picture and the radio have made it possible for +the people who live in the city and the people who live in the country +to see and hear the same things. Our amusements are very much alike. +But it was not so in Dickens’s day. The great actors were in the +theatres of the large cities; but companies of strolling players were +on the roads. They carried their stage scenery with them and did their +own advertising. They did not have to compete with those who could act +better.</p> + +<p>Dickens enjoyed these cheerful wanderers who went about giving +entertainments to people who were easily pleased. When Nicholas +Nickleby and his friend Smike were trudging along on the road from +London to Portsmouth they fell in with Mr. Vincent Crummles and his +dramatic company. Nicholas had almost come to the end of the little +money with which he started, and he was very glad when Mr. Crummles +invited him to share his supper at the inn. When Nicholas had told Mr. +Crummles his story he was invited to join the company, at a salary +which while not large was sufficient to keep him from starving. In +this way he became acquainted with the Infant Phenomenon. She was the +daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Crummles and was the pride of the family. +Nicholas was introduced to her when they came to the theatre in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span> +next town. It was a very dingy little theatre on a back street. Mrs. +Crummles led the way to the stage.</p> + +<p>There bounded on to the stage from some mysterious inlet, a little girl +in a dirty white frock with tucks up to the knees, short trousers, +sandled shoes, white spencer, pink gauze bonnet, green veil, and +curl-papers; who turned a pirouette, cut twice in the air, turned +another pirouette, then, looking off at the opposite wing, shrieked, +bounded forward to within six inches of the footlights, and fell into a +beautiful attitude of terror, as a shabby gentleman in an old pair of +buff slippers came in at one powerful slide, and chattering his teeth, +fiercely brandished a walking-stick.</p> + +<p>“They are going through the Indian Savage and the Maiden,” said Mrs. +Crummles.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said the manager, “the little ballet interlude. Very good, go on. +A little this way, if you please, Mr. Johnson. That’ll do. Now!”</p> + +<p>The manager clapped his hands as a signal to proceed, and the savage, +becoming ferocious, made a slide toward the maiden; but the maiden +avoided him in six twirls, and came down at the end of the last one +upon the very points of her toes. This seemed to make some impression +upon the savage; for, after a little more ferocity and chasing of the +maiden into corners, he began to relent, and stroked his face several +times with his right thumb and forefinger, thereby intimating that +he was struck with admiration of the maiden’s beauty. Acting upon +the impulse of this passion, he (the savage) began to hit himself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span> +severe thumps in the chest, and to exhibit other indications of being +desperately in love, which being rather a prosy proceeding, was very +likely the cause of the maiden’s falling asleep; whether it was or no, +asleep she did fall, sound as a church, on a sloping bank, and the +savage perceiving it, leaned his left ear on his left hand, and nodded +sideways, to intimate to all whom it might concern that she <i>was</i> +asleep, and no shamming. Being left to himself, the savage had a dance, +all alone. Just as he left off, the maiden woke up, rubbed her eyes, +got off the bank, and had a dance all alone too—such a dance that +the savage looked on in ecstasy all the while, and when it was done, +plucked from a neighboring tree some botanical curiosity, resembling +a small pickled cabbage, and offered it to the maiden, who at first +wouldn’t have it, but on the savage shedding tears relented. Then the +savage jumped for joy; then the maiden jumped for rapture at the sweet +smell of the pickled cabbage. Then the savage and the maiden danced +violently together, and, finally, the savage dropped down on one knee, +and the maiden stood on one leg upon his other knee; thus concluding +the ballet, and leaving the spectators in a state of pleasing +uncertainty, whether she would ultimately marry the savage, or return +to her friends.</p> + +<p>“Very well indeed,” said Mr. Crummles; “bravo!”</p> + +<p>“Bravo!” cried Nicholas, resolved to make the best of everything. +“Beautiful!”</p> + +<p>“This, sir,” said Mr. Vincent Crummles, bringing the maiden forward, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span> +“this is the Infant Phenomenon—Miss Ninetta Crummles.”</p> + +<p>“Your daughter?” inquired Nicholas.</p> + +<p>“My daughter—my daughter,” replied Mr. Vincent Crummles; “the idol +of every place we go into, sir. We have complimentary letters about +this girl, sir, from the nobility and gentry of almost every town in +England.”</p> + +<p>“I am not surprised at that,” said Nicholas; “she must be quite a +natural genius.”</p> + +<p>“Quite a—!” Mr. Crummles stopped; language was not powerful enough to +describe the Infant Phenomenon. “I’ll tell you what, sir,” he said; +“the talent of this child is not to be imagined. She must be seen, +sir—seen—to be ever so faintly appreciated. There; go to your mother, +my dear.”</p> + +<p>“May I ask how old she is?” inquired Nicholas.</p> + +<p>“You may, sir,” replied Mr. Crummles, looking steadily in his +questioner’s face, as some men do when they have doubts about being +implicitly believed in what they are going to say. “She is ten years of +age, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Not more?”</p> + +<p>“Not a day.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said Nicholas, “it’s extraordinary.”</p> + +<p>It was; for the Infant Phenomenon, though of short stature, had a +comparatively aged countenance, and had moreover been precisely the +same age—not perhaps to the full extent of the memory of the oldest +inhabitant, but certainly for five good years. But she had been kept up +late every night, and put upon an unlimited allowance of gin and water +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span> +from infancy, to prevent her growing tall, and perhaps this system +of training had produced in the Infant Phenomenon these additional +phenomena.</p> + +<p>Nicholas was invited to dinner with the Crummles family at their +lodgings. Mrs. Crummles, who always talked as if she were on the stage, +received him in a most dignified way.</p> + +<p>“You are welcome,” said Mrs. Crummles, turning round to Nicholas when +they reached the bow-windowed front room on the first floor.</p> + +<p>Nicholas bowed his acknowledgments, and was unfeignedly glad to see the +cloth laid.</p> + +<p>“We have but a shoulder of mutton with onion sauce,” said Mrs. +Crummles, in the same charnel-house voice; “but such as our dinner is, +we beg you to partake of it.”</p> + +<p>“You are very good,” replied Nicholas, “I shall do it ample justice.”</p> + +<p>“Vincent,” said Mrs. Crummles, “what is the hour?”</p> + +<p>“Five minutes past dinner-time,” said Mr. Crummles.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Crummles rang the bell. “Let the mutton and onion sauce appear.”</p> + +<p>The slave who attended upon Mr. Bulph’s lodgers disappeared, and after +a short interval reappeared with the festive banquet. Nicholas and the +Infant Phenomenon opposed each other at the pembroke-table, and Smike +and the Master Crummleses dined on the sofa-bedstead.</p> + +<p>“Are they very theatrical people here?” asked Nicholas.</p> + +<p>“No,” replied Mr. Crummles, shaking his head, “far from it—far from +it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span></p> + +<p>“I pity them,” observed Mrs. Crummles.</p> + +<p>“So do I,” said Nicholas; “if they have no relish for theatrical +entertainments, properly conducted.”</p> + +<p>“Then they have none, sir,” rejoined Mr. Crummles. “To the Infant’s +benefit, last year, on which occasion she repeated three of her +most popular characters, and also appeared in the Fairy Porcupine, +as originally performed by her, there was a house of no more than +four-pound-twelve.”</p> + +<p>“Is it possible?” cried Nicholas.</p> + +<p>“And two pound of that was trust, pa,” said the Phenomenon.</p> + +<p>“And two pound of that was trust,” repeated Mr. Crummles.</p> + +<p>The public did not always appreciate the genius of the Infant +Phenomenon, but that made no difference to the admiring father. When +Nicholas suggested that perhaps a boy phenomenon might be added to the +company, Mr. Crummles answered solemnly: “There is only one Phenomenon, +sir, and that is a girl.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_CHRISTMAS_TREE">A CHRISTMAS TREE</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIV">XXIV<br> +<br>A CHRISTMAS TREE</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="dropcap">M</span>OST people love Christmas trees, but the first Christmas trees one +sees are the most wonderful of all. Dickens tells about the tree he +saw when he was just the right age to appreciate its wonderfulness. He +never afterward saw anything that was equal to it in magnificence. All +sorts of objects clustered on the branches like magic fruit. And the +best thing about it all was that many of these things were for him.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * * </div> + +<p>All toys at first, I find. Up yonder, among the green holly and red +berries, is the Tumbler with his hands in his pockets, who wouldn’t +lie down, but whenever he was put upon the floor, persisted in rolling +his fat body about, until he rolled himself still, and brought those +lobster eyes of his to bear upon me—when I affected to laugh very +much, but in my heart of hearts was extremely doubtful of him. Close +beside him is that infernal snuff-box, out of which there sprang a +demoniacal Counsellor in a black gown, with an obnoxious head of hair, +and a red cloth mouth, wide open, who was not to be endured on any +terms, but could not be put away either; for he used suddenly, in a +highly magnified state, to fly out of mammoth snuff-boxes in dreams, +when least expected. Nor is the frog with cobbler’s wax on his tail, +far off; for there was no knowing where he wouldn’t jump; and when +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span> +he flew over the candle, and came upon one’s hand with that spotted +back—red on a green ground—he was horrible. The cardboard lady in a +blue-silk skirt, who was stood up against the candlestick to dance, +and whom I see on the same branch, was milder, and was beautiful; +but I can’t say as much for the larger cardboard man, who used to be +hung against the wall and pulled by a string; there was a sinister +expression in that nose of his; and when he got his legs round his neck +(which he very often did), he was ghastly, and not a creature to be +alone with.</p> + +<p>When did that dreadful Mask first look at me? Who put it on, and why +was I so frightened that the sight of it is an era in my life? It is +not a hideous visage in itself; it is even meant to be droll; why then +were its stolid features so intolerable? Surely not because it hid the +wearer’s face. An apron would have done as much; and though I should +have preferred even the apron away, it would not have been absolutely +insupportable, like the mask. Was it the immovability of the mask? +The doll’s face was immovable, but I was not afraid of <i>her</i>. +Perhaps that fixed and set change coming over a real face infused into +my quickened heart some remote suggestion and dread of the universal +change that is to come on every face and make it still? Nothing +reconciled me to it. No drummers, from whom proceeded a melancholy +chirping on the turning of a handle; no regiment of soldiers, with a +mute band, taken out of a box, and fitted, one by one, upon a stiff +and lazy little set of lazy-tongs; no old woman, made of wires and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span> +a brown-paper composition, cutting up a pie for two small children, +could give me a permanent comfort, for a long time. Nor was it any +satisfaction to be shown the Mask, and see that it was made of paper, +or to have it locked up and be assured that no one wore it. The mere +recollection of that fixed face, the mere knowledge of its existence +anywhere, was sufficient to awake me in the night all perspiration and +horror, with, “Oh, I know its coming! Oh, the mask!”</p> + +<p>I never wondered what the dear old donkey with the panniers—there he +is! was made of, then! His hide was real to the touch, I recollect. And +the great black horse with the round red spots all over him—the horse +that I could even get upon—I never wondered what had brought him to +that strange condition, or thought that such a horse was not commonly +seen at Newmarket. The four horses of no color, next to him, that went +into the wagon of cheeses, and could be taken out and stabled under the +piano, appear to have bits of fur-tippet for their tails, and other +bits for their manes, and to stand on pegs instead of legs; but it was +not so when they were brought home for a Christmas present. They were +all right, then; neither was their harness unceremoniously nailed into +their chests, as appears to be the case now. The tinkling works of the +music-cart, I <i>did</i> find out, to be made of quill toothpicks and +wire; and I always thought that little tumbler in his shirt-sleeves, +perpetually swarming up one side of a wooden frame, and coming down, +head foremost, on the other, rather a weak-minded person—though +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span> +good-natured; but the Jacob’s Ladder, next him, made of little squares +of red wood, that went flapping and clattering over one another, each +developing a different picture, and the whole enlivened by small bells, +was a mighty marvel and a great delight.</p> + +<p>Ah! The Doll’s house!—of which I was not proprietor, but where I +visited. I don’t admire the Houses of Parliament half so much as that +stone-fronted mansion with real glass windows and doorsteps, and a +real balcony—greener than I ever see now, except at watering-places; +and even they afford but a poor imitation. And though it <i>did</i> +open all at once, the entire house-front (which was a blow, I admit, +as cancelling the fiction of a staircase), it was but to shut it up +again, and I could believe. Even open, there were three distinct rooms +in it: a sitting-room and bedroom, elegantly furnished, and best of +all, a kitchen, with uncommonly soft fire-irons, a plentiful assortment +of diminutive utensils—oh, the warming-pan!—and a tin man-cook in +profile, who was always going to fry two fish! What Barmecide justice +have I done to the noble feasts wherein the set of wooden platters +figured, each with its own peculiar delicacy, as a ham or turkey, glued +tight on to it, and garnished with something green, which I recollect +as moss! Could all the Temperance societies of these later days, +united, give me such a tea-drinking as I have had through the means of +yonder little set of blue crockery, which really would hold liquid (it +ran out of the small wooden cask, I recollect, and tasted of matches), +and which made tea, nectar. And if the two legs of the ineffectual +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span> +little sugar-tongs did tumble over one another, and want purpose, like +Punch’s hands, what does it matter? And if I did once shriek out, as a +poisoned child, and strike the fashionable company with consternation, +by reason of having drunk a little teaspoon, inadvertently dissolved in +too hot tea, I was never the worse for it, except by a powder!</p> + +<p>Upon the next branches of the tree, lower down, hard by the green +roller and miniature gardening-tools, how thick the books begin to +hang. Thin books, in themselves, at first, but many of them, and with +deliciously smooth covers of bright red or green. What fat black +letters to begin with! “A was an Archer, and shot at a frog.” Of course +he was. He was an Apple-pie also, and there he is! He was a good many +things in his time, was A, and so were most of his friends, except +X, who had so little versatility that I never knew him to get beyond +Xerxes or Xantippe—like Y, who was always confined to a Yacht or a +Yew Tree; and Z condemned forever to be a Zebra or a Zany. But, now, +the very tree itself changes, and becomes a bean-stalk—the marvellous +bean-stalk up which Jack climbed to the Giant’s house! And now, those +dreadfully interesting, double-headed giants, with their clubs over +their shoulders, begin to stride along the boughs in a perfect throng, +dragging knights and ladies home for dinner by the hair of their heads. +And Jack—how noble, with his sword of sharpness, and his shoes of +swiftness! Again those old meditations come upon me as I gaze up at +him; and I debate within myself whether there was more than one Jack +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span> +(which I am loath to believe possible), or only one genuine original +admirable Jack, who achieved all the recorded exploits.</p> + +<p>Good for Christmas time is the ruddy color of the cloak, in which—the +tree making a forest of itself for her to trip through, with her +basket—Little Red Riding-Hood comes to me one Christmas Eve to give +me information of the cruelty and treachery of that dissembling Wolf +who ate her grandmother, without making any impression on his appetite, +and then ate her, after making that ferocious joke about his teeth. +She was my first love. I felt that if I could have married Little Red +Riding-Hood, I should have known perfect bliss. But it was not to be; +and there was nothing for it but to look out the Wolf in the Noah’s +Ark there, and put him late in the procession on the table, as a +monster who was to be degraded. Oh, the wonderful Noah’s Ark! It was +not found seaworthy when put in a washing-tub, and the animals were +crammed in at the roof, and needed to have their legs well shaken down +before they could be got in, even there—and then, ten to one but they +began to tumble out at the door, which was but imperfectly fastened +with a wire latch—but what was <i>that</i> against it! Consider the +noble fly, a size or two smaller than the elephant: the lady-bird, the +butterfly—all triumphs of art! Consider the goose, whose feet were so +small, and whose balance was so indifferent, that he usually tumbled +forward, and knocked down all the animal creation. Consider Noah and +his family, like idiotic tobacco-stoppers; and how the leopard stuck +to warm little fingers; and how the tails of the larger animals used +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span> +gradually to resolve themselves into frayed bits of string!</p> + +<p>Hush! Again a forest, and somebody up in a tree—not Robin Hood, +not Valentine, not the Yellow Dwarf (I have passed him and all +Mother Bunch’s wonders, without mention), but an Eastern King with a +glittering scimitar and turban. By Allah! two Eastern Kings, for I see +another, looking over his shoulder! Down upon the grass, at the tree’s +foot, lies the full length of a coal-black Giant, stretched asleep, +with his head in a lady’s lap; and near them is a glass box, fastened +with four locks of shining steel, in which he keeps the lady prisoner +when he is awake. I see the four keys at his girdle now. The lady makes +signs to the two kings in the tree, who softly descend. It is the +setting-in of the bright Arabian Nights.</p> + +<p>Oh, now all common things become uncommon and enchanted to me. All +lamps are wonderful; all rings are talismans. Common flower-pots are +full of treasure, with a little earth scattered on the top; trees are +for Ali Baba to hide in; beefsteaks are to throw down into the Valley +of Diamonds, that the precious stones may stick to them, and be carried +by the eagles to their nests, whence the traders, with loud cries, will +scare them. Tarts are made, according to the recipe of the Vizier’s +son of Bussorah, who turned pastrycook after he was set down in his +drawers at the gate of Damascus; cobblers are all Mustaphas, and in the +habit of sewing up people cut into four pieces, to whom they are taken +blindfold.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span></p> + +<p>Any iron ring let into stone is the entrance to a cave which only waits +for the magician, and the little fire, and the necromancy, that will +make the earth shake. All the dates imported come from the same tree +as that unlucky date with whose shell the merchant knocked out the +eye of the genie’s invisible son. All olives are of the stock of that +fresh fruit concerning which the Commander of the Faithful overheard +the boy conduct the fictitious trial of the fraudulent olive merchant; +all apples are akin to the apple purchased (with two others) from the +Sultan’s gardener for three sequins, and which the tall black slave +stole from the child. All dogs are associated with the dog, really +a transformed man, who jumped upon the baker’s counter, and put his +paw on the piece of bad money. All rice recalls the rice which the +awful lady, who was a ghoul, would only peck by grains, because of +her nightly feasts in the burial-place. My very rocking-horse—there +he is, with his nostrils turned completely inside-out, indicative of +Blood!—should have a peg in his neck, by virtue thereof to fly away +with me, as the wooden horse did with the Prince of Persia, in the +sight of all his father’s court.</p> + +<p>Yes, on every object that I recognize among those upper branches +of my Christmas tree, I see this fairy light! When I wake in bed, +at daybreak, on the cold, dark, winter mornings, the white snow +dimly beheld, outside, through the frost on the window-pane, I hear +Dinarzade: “Sister, sister, if you are yet awake, I pray you finish the +history of the Young King of the Black Islands.” Scheherazade replies: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span> +“If my lord the Sultan will suffer me to live another day, sister, I +will not only finish that, but tell you a more wonderful story yet.” +Then, the gracious sultan goes out, giving no orders for the execution, +and we all three breathe again.</p> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i016" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i016.jpg" width="1200" height="1686" alt="The image depicts a vintage street scene with half-timbered +buildings, a horse-drawn carriage labeled London, and cobblestone +roads."> +</figure> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="i017" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/i017.jpg" width="1200" height="1686" alt="The image depicts The Old Curiosity Shop, a quaint, +half-timbered building with a tiled roof. People walk along the +cobblestone street, some carrying baskets."> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="transnote spa1"> +<p class="nindc"><b>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</b></p> + + +<p>Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced +quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and +otherwise left unbalanced.</p> + +<p>Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant +preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not +changed.</p> + +<p>Inconsistent hyphens left as printed.</p> +</div></div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75856 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75856-h/images/cover.jpg b/75856-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc65cdb --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i001.jpg b/75856-h/images/i001.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..962250d --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i001.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i002.jpg b/75856-h/images/i002.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa08acc --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i002.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i003.jpg b/75856-h/images/i003.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7bd407b --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i003.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i004.jpg b/75856-h/images/i004.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..307886f --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i004.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i005.jpg b/75856-h/images/i005.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1eae147 --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i005.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i006.jpg b/75856-h/images/i006.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8517d1a --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i006.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i007.jpg b/75856-h/images/i007.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..14dbfc3 --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i007.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i008.jpg b/75856-h/images/i008.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ae0955a --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i008.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i009.jpg b/75856-h/images/i009.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3d2d4d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i009.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i010.jpg b/75856-h/images/i010.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f40de07 --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i010.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i011.jpg b/75856-h/images/i011.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..622a3e2 --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i011.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i012.jpg b/75856-h/images/i012.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..093d7c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i012.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i013.jpg b/75856-h/images/i013.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ed18c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i013.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i014.jpg b/75856-h/images/i014.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..aed8096 --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i014.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i015.jpg b/75856-h/images/i015.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..986f5d0 --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i015.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i016.jpg b/75856-h/images/i016.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..962250d --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i016.jpg diff --git a/75856-h/images/i017.jpg b/75856-h/images/i017.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa08acc --- /dev/null +++ b/75856-h/images/i017.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5dba15 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this book outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5dbafda --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +book #75856 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75856) |
