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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Rough Shaking, by George MacDonald
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Rough Shaking
+
+Author: George MacDonald
+
+
+Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8886]
+This file was first posted on August 20, 2003
+Last Updated: April 18, 2013
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A ROUGH SHAKING ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A ROUGH SHAKING
+
+By George MacDonald
+
+
+
+Contents.
+
+  Chap.
+  I. How I came to know Clare Skymer
+  II. With his parents
+  III. Without his parents
+  IV. The new family
+  V. His new home
+  VI. What did draw out his first smile
+  VII. Clare and his brothers
+  VIII. Clare and his human brothers
+  IX. Clare the defender
+  X. The black aunt
+  XI. Clare on the farm
+  XII. Clare becomes a guardian of the poor
+  XIII. Clare the vagabond
+  XIV. Their first helper
+  XV. Their first host
+  XVI. On the tramp
+  XVII. The baker's cart
+  XVIII. Beating the town
+  XIX. The blacksmith and his forge
+  XX. Tommy reconnoitres
+  XXI. Tommy is found and found out
+  XXII. The smith in a rage
+  XXIII. Treasure trove
+  XXIV. Justifiable burglary
+  XXV. A new quest
+  XXVI. A new entrance
+  XXVII. The baby has her breakfast
+  XXVIII. Treachery
+  XXIX. The baker
+  XXX. The draper
+  XXXI. An addition to the family
+  XXXII. Shop and baby
+  XXXIII. A bad penny
+  XXXIV. How things went for a time
+  XXXV. Clare disregards the interests of his employers
+  XXXVI. The policeman
+  XXXVII. The magistrate
+  XXXVIII. The workhouse
+  XXXIX. Away
+  XL. Maly
+  XLI. The caravans
+  XLII. Nimrod
+  XLIII. Across country
+  XLIV. A third mother
+  XLV. The menagerie
+  XLVI. The angel of the wild beasts
+  XLVII. Glum Gunn
+  XLVIII. The Puma
+  XLIX. Glum Gunn's revenge
+  L. Clare seeks help
+  LI. Clare a true master
+  LII. Miss Tempest
+  LIII. The gardener
+  LIV. The kitchen
+  LV. The wheel rests for a time
+  LVI. Strategy
+  LVII. Ann Shotover
+  LVIII. Child-talk
+  LIX. Lovers' walks
+  LX. The shoe-black
+  LXI. A walk with consequences
+  LXII. The cage of the puma
+  LXIII. The dome of the angels
+  LXIV. The panther
+  LXV. At home
+  LXVI. The end of Clare Skymer's boyhood
+
+
+  Illustrations.
+
+  Clare, Tommy, and the baby in custody
+  Mrs. Porson finds Clare by the side of his dead mother
+  Clare is heard talking to Maly
+  Clare makes friends during Mr. Porson's absence
+  The blacksmith gives Clare and Tommy a rough greeting
+  Clare and Abdiel at the locked pump
+  Clare proceeds to untie the ropes from the ring in the bull's nose
+  Clare finds the advantage of a powerful friend
+  The gardener's discomfiture
+  Clare asks Miss Shotover to let him carry Ann home
+  Clare is found giving the shoeblack a lesson
+  Clare asleep in the puma's cage
+
+
+
+Dedicated to my great-nephew, Norman MacKay Binney, aged seven,
+because his Godfather and Godmother love him dearly.
+
+Hampstead, August 26, 1890.
+
+
+
+
+A ROUGH SHAKING.
+
+
+
+Chapter I.
+
+How I Came to know Clare Skymer.
+
+
+It was a day when everything around seemed almost perfect: everything
+does, now and then, come nearly right for a moment or two, preparatory
+to coming all right for good at the last. It was the third week in
+June. The great furnace was glowing and shining in full force, driving
+the ship of our life at her best speed through the ocean of space. For
+on deck, and between decks, and aloft, there is so much more going on
+at one time than at another, that I may well say she was then going at
+her best speed, for there is quality as well as rate in motion. The
+trees were all well clothed, most of them in their very best. Their
+garments were soaking up the light and the heat, and the wind was
+going about among them, telling now one and now another, that all was
+well, and getting through an immense amount of comfort-work in a
+single minute. It said a word or two to myself as often as it passed
+me, and made me happier than any boy I know just at present, for I was
+an old man, and ought to be more easily made happy than any mere
+beginner.
+
+I was walking through the thin edge of a little wood of big trees,
+with a slope of green on my left stretching away into the sunny
+distance, and the shadows of the trees on my right lying below my
+feet. The earth and the grass and the trees and the air were together
+weaving a harmony, and the birds were leading the big orchestra--which
+was indeed on the largest scale. For the instruments were so
+different, that some of them only were meant for sound; the part of
+others was in odour, of others yet in shine, and of still others in
+motion; while the birds turned it all as nearly into words as they
+could. Presently, to complete the score, I heard the tones of a man's
+voice, both strong and sweet. It was talking to some one in a way I
+could not understand. I do not mean I could not understand the words:
+I was too far off even to hear them; but I could not understand how
+the voice came to be so modulated. It was deep, soft, and musical,
+with something like coaxing in it, and something of tenderness, and
+the intent of it puzzled me. For I could not conjecture from it the
+age, or sex, or relation, or kind of the person to whom the words were
+spoken. You can tell by the voice when a man is talking to himself; it
+ought to be evident when he is talking to a woman; and you can,
+surely, tell when he is talking to a child; you could tell if he were
+speaking to him who made him; and you would be pretty certain if he
+was holding communication with his dog: it made me feel strange that I
+could not tell the kind of ear open to the gentle manly voice saying
+things which the very sound of them made me long to hear. I confess to
+hurrying my pace a little, but I trust with no improper curiosity, to
+see--I cannot say the interlocutors, for I had heard, and still heard,
+only one voice.
+
+About a minute's walk brought me to the corner of the wood where it
+stopped abruptly, giving way to a field of beautiful grass; and then I
+saw something it does not need to be old to be delighted withal: the
+boy that would not have taken pleasure in it, I should count half-way
+to the gallows. Up to the edge of the wood came, I say, a large
+field--acres on acres of the sweetest grass; and dividing it from both
+wood and path stood a fence of three bars, which at the moment
+separated two as genuine lovers as ever wall of "stones with lime and
+hair knit up" could have sundered. On one side of the fence stood a
+man whose face I could not see, and on the other one of the loveliest
+horses I had ever set eyes upon. I am no better than a middling fair
+horseman, but, for this horse's sake, I may be allowed to mention that
+my friends will all have me look at any horse they think of buying.
+He was over sixteen hands, with well rounded barrel, clean limbs,
+small head, and broad muzzle; hollows above his eyes of hazy blue, and
+delicacy of feature, revealed him quite an old horse. His ears pointed
+forward and downward, as if they wanted on their own account to get a
+hold of the man the nose was so busily caressing. Neither, I presume,
+had heard my approach; for all true-love-endearments are shy, and the
+man had his arm round the horse's neck, and was caressing his face,
+talking to him much as Philip Sidney's lady, whose lips "seemed at
+once to kiss and speak," murmured to her pet sparrow, only here the
+voice was a musical baritone. That there was something between them
+more than an ordinary person would be likely to understand appeared
+patent.
+
+Whether or not I made an involuntary sound I cannot tell: I was so
+taken with the sight, bearing to me an aspect of something eternal,
+that I do not know how I carried myself; but the horse gave a little
+start, half lifted his head, saw me, threw it up, uttered a shrill
+neigh of warning, stepped hack a pace, and stood motionless, waiting
+apparently for an order from his master--if indeed I ought not rather
+to call them friends than master and servant.
+
+The man looked round, saw me, turned toward me, and showing no sign
+that my appearance was unexpected, lifted his hat with a courtesy most
+Englishmen would reserve for a lady, and advanced a step, almost as if
+to welcome a guest. I may have owed something of this reception to the
+fact that he saw before him a man advanced in years, for my beard is
+very gray, and that by no means prematurely. I saw before me one
+nearly, if not quite as old as myself. His hair and beard, both rather
+long, were quite white. His face was wonderfully handsome, with the
+stillness of a summer sea upon it. Its features were very marked and
+regular and fine, for the habit of the man was rather spare. What with
+his white hair and beard, and a certain radiance in his pale
+complexion, which, I learned afterward, no sun had ever more than
+browned a little, he reminded me for a moment as he turned, of Cato on
+the shore of Dante's purgatorial island.
+
+"I fear," I said, "I have intruded!" There was no path where I had
+come along.
+
+The man laughed--and his laugh was more friendly than an invitation to
+dinner.
+
+"The land is mine," he answered; "no one can say you intrude."
+
+"Thank you heartily. I live not very far off, and know the country
+pretty well, but have got into a part of which I am ignorant."
+
+"You are welcome to go where you will on my property," he answered.
+"I could not close a field without some sense of having thrown a
+fellow-being into a dungeon. Whatever be the rights of land, space can
+belong to the individual only '_as it were_,' to use a Shakspere-phrase.
+All the best things have to be shared. The house plainly was designed
+for a family."
+
+While he spoke I scarce heeded his words for looking at the man, so
+much he interested me. His face was of the palest health, with a faint
+light from within. He looked about sixty years of age. His forehead
+was square, and his head rather small, but beautifully modelled; his
+eyes were of a light hazel, friendly as those of a celestial
+dog. Though slender in build, he looked strong, and every movement
+denoted activity.
+
+I was not ready with an answer to what he said. He turned from me, and
+as if to introduce a companion and so render the interview easier, he
+called, in tone as gentle as if he spoke to a child, but with that
+peculiar intonation that had let me understand it was not to a child
+he was speaking, "Memnon! come;" and turned again to me. His movement
+and words directed my attention again to the horse, who had stood
+motionless. At once, but without sign of haste, the animal walked up
+to the rails, rose gently on his hind legs, came over without
+touching, walked up to his master, and laid his head on his shoulder.
+
+I bethought me now who the man was. He had been but a year or two in
+the neighbourhood, though the property on which we now stood had been
+his own for a good many years. Some said he had bought it; others knew
+he had inherited it. All agreed he was a very peculiar person, with
+ways so oddly unreasonable that it was evident he had, in his
+wanderings over the face of the earth, gradually lost hold of what
+sense he might at one time have possessed, and was in consequence a
+good deal cracked. There seemed nothing, however, in his behaviour or
+appearance to suggest such a conclusion: a man could hardly be counted
+beside himself because he was on terms of friendship with his
+horse. It took me but a moment to recall his name--Skymer--one odd
+enough to assist the memory. I caught it ere he had done mingling
+fresh caresses with those of his long-tailed friend. When I came to
+know him better, I knew that he had thus given me opportunity--such as
+he would to a horse--of thinking whether I should like to know him
+better: Mr. Skymer's way was not to offer himself, but to give easy
+opportunity to any who might wish to know him. I learned afterward
+that he knew my name and suspected my person: being rather prejudiced
+in my favour because of the kind of thing I wrote, he was now waiting
+to see whether approximation would follow.
+
+"Pardon my rude lingering," I said; "that lovely animal is enough to
+make one desire nearer acquaintance with his owner. I don't think I
+ever saw such a perfect creature!"
+
+I remembered the next moment that I had heard said of Mr. Skymer that
+he liked beasts better than men, but I soon found this was only one of
+the foolish things constantly said of honest men by those who do not
+understand them.
+
+There are women even who love dogs and dislike children; but, nauseous
+fact as this is, it is not so nauseous as the fact that there are men
+who believe in no animal rights, or in any God of the animals, and
+think we may do what we please with them, indulging at their cost an
+insane thirst after knowledge. Injustice may discover facts, but never
+truth.
+
+"I grant him nearly a perfect creature," he answered, "But he is far
+more nearly perfect than you yet know him! Excuse me for speaking so
+confidently; but if we were half as far on for men, as Memnon is for a
+horse, the kingdom of heaven would be a good deal nearer!"
+
+"He seems an old horse!"
+
+"He is an old horse--much older than you can think after seeing him
+come over that paling as he did. He is forty."
+
+"Is it possible!"
+
+"I know and can prove his age as certainly as my own. He is the son of
+an Arab mare and an English thoroughbred.--Come here, Memnon!"
+
+The horse, who had been standing behind like a servant in waiting, put
+his beautiful head over his master's shoulder.
+
+"Memnon," said Mr. Skymer, "go home and tell Mrs. Waterhouse I hope to
+bring a gentleman with me to lunch."
+
+The horse walked gently past us, then started at a quick trot, which
+almost immediately became a gallop.
+
+"The dear fellow," said his master, "would not gallop like that if he
+were on the hard road; he knows I would not like it."
+
+"But, excuse me, how can the animal convey your message?--how
+communicate what he knows, if he does understand what you say to him?"
+
+"He will at least take care that the housekeeper look in his mane for
+the knot which perhaps you did not observe me tie in it."
+
+"You have a code of signals by knots then?"
+
+"Yes--comprising about half a dozen possibilities.--I hope you do not
+object to the message I sent! You will do me the honour of lunching
+with me?"
+
+"You are most kind," I answered--with a little hesitation, I suppose,
+fearing to bore my new acquaintance.
+
+"Don't make me false to horse and housekeeper, Mr. Gowrie," he
+resumed.--"I put the horse first, because I could more easily explain
+the thing to Mrs. Waterhouse than to Memnon."
+
+"Could you explain it to Memnon?"
+
+"I should have a try!" he answered, with a peculiar smile.
+
+"You hold yourself bound then to keep faith with your horse?"
+
+"Bound just as with a man--that is, as far as the horse can understand
+me. A word understood is binding, whether spoken to horse, or man, or
+pig. It makes it the more important that we can do so little, must
+work so slowly, for the education of the lower animals. It seems to me
+an absolute horror that a man should lie to an inferior creature. Just
+think--if an angel were to lie to us! What a shock to find we had been
+reposing faith in a devil."
+
+"Excuse me--I thought you said _an angel_!"
+
+"When he lied, would he not be a devil?--But let us follow Memnon, and
+as we walk I will tell you more about him."
+
+He turned to the wood.
+
+"The horse," I said, pointing, "went that way!"
+
+"Yes," answered his master; "he knew it was nearer for him to take the
+long way round. If I had started him and one of the dogs together, the
+horse would have gone that way, and the dog taken the path we are now
+following."
+
+We walked a score or two of yards in silence.
+
+"You promised to tell me more about your wonderful horse!" I said.
+
+"With pleasure. I delight in talking about my poor brothers and
+sisters! Most of them are only savages yet, but there would be far
+fewer such if we did not treat them as slaves instead of friends. One
+day, however, all will be well for them as for us--thank God."
+
+"I hope so," I responded heartily. "But please tell me," I said,
+"something more about your Memnon."
+
+Mr. Skymer thought for a moment.
+
+"Perhaps, after all," he rejoined, "his best accomplishment is that he
+can fetch and carry like a dog. I will tell you one of his feats that
+way. But first you must know that, having travelled a good deal, and
+in some wild countries, I have picked up things it is well to know,
+even if not the best of their kind. A man may fail by not knowing the
+second best! I was once out on Memnon, five and twenty miles from
+home, when I came to a cottage where I found a woman lying ill. I saw
+what was wanted. The country was strange to me, and I could not have
+found a doctor. I wrote a little pencil-note, fastened it to the
+saddle, and told the horse to go home and bring me what the
+housekeeper gave him--and not to spare himself. He went off at a
+steady trot of ten or twelve miles an hour. I went into the cottage,
+and, awaiting his return, did what I could for the woman. I confess I
+felt anxious!"
+
+"You well might," I said: "why should you say _confess_?"
+
+"Because I had no business to be anxious."
+
+"It was your business to do all for her you could."
+
+"I was doing that! If I hadn't been, I should have had good cause to
+be anxious! But I knew that another was looking after her; and to be
+anxious was to meddle with his part!"
+
+"I see now," I answered, and said nothing more for some time.
+
+"What a lather poor Memnon came back in! You should have seen him! He
+had been gone nearly five hours, and neither time nor distance
+accounted for the state he was in. I did not let him do anything for a
+week. I should have had to sit up with him that night, if I had not
+been sitting up at any rate. The poor fellow had been caught, and had
+made his escape. His bridle was broken, and there were several long
+skin wounds in his belly, as if he had scraped the top of a wall set
+with bits of glass. How far he had galloped, there was no telling."
+
+"Not in vain, I hope! The poor woman?"
+
+"She recovered. The medicine was all right in a pocket under the flap
+of the saddle. Before morning she was much better, and lived many
+years after. Memnon and I did not lose sight of her.--But you should
+have seen the huge creature lying on the floor of that cabin like a
+worn-out dog, abandoned and content! I rubbed him down carefully, as
+well as I could, and tied my poncho round him, before I let him go to
+sleep. Then as soon as my patient seemed quieted for the night, I made
+up a big fire of her peats, and they slept like two babies, only they
+both snored.--The woman beat," he added with a merry laugh. "It was
+the first, almost the only time I ever heard a horse snore.--As we
+walked home next day he kept steadily behind me. In general we walked
+side by side. Either he felt too tired to talk to me, or he was not
+satisfied with himself because of something that had happened the day
+before. Perhaps he had been careless, and so allowed himself to be
+taken. I do not think it likely."
+
+"What a loss it will be to you when he dies!" I said.
+
+He looked grave for an instant, then replied cheerfully--
+
+"Of course I shall miss the dear fellow--but not more than he will
+miss me; and it will be good for us both."
+
+"Then," said I,--a little startled, I confess, "you really think--"
+and there I stopped.
+
+"Do _you_ think, Mr. Gowrie," he rejoined, answering my unpropounded
+question, "that a God like Jesus Christ, would invent such a delight
+for his children as the society and love of animals, and then let
+death part them for ever? I don't."
+
+"I am heartily willing to be your disciple in the matter," I replied.
+
+"I know well," he resumed, "the vulgar laugh that serves the poor
+public for sufficient answer to anything, and the common-place retort:
+'You can't give a shadow of proof for your theory!'--to which I
+answer, 'I never was the fool to imagine I could; but as surely as you
+go to bed at night expecting to rise again in the morning, so surely
+do I expect to see my dear old Memnon again when I wake from what so
+many Christians call the sleep that knows no waking.'--Think,
+Mr. Gowrie, just think of all the children in heaven--what a
+superabounding joy the creatures would be to them!--There is one
+class, however," he went on, "which I should like to see wait a while
+before they got their creatures back;--I mean those foolish women who,
+for their own pleasure, so spoil their dogs that they make other
+people hate them, doing their best to keep them from rising in the
+scale of God's creation."
+
+"They don't know better!" I said. For every time he stopped, I wanted
+to hear what he would say next.
+
+"True," he answered; "but how much do they want to know the right way
+of anything? They have good and lovely instincts--like their dogs, but
+do they care that there is a right way and a wrong way of following
+them?"
+
+We walked in silence, and were now coming near the other side of the
+small wood.
+
+"I hope I shall not interfere with your plans for the day!" I said.
+
+"I seldom have any plans for the day," he answered. "Or if I have,
+they are made to break easily. In general I wait. The hour brings its
+plans with it--comes itself to tell me what is wanted of me. It has
+done so now. And see, there is Memnon again in attendance on us!"
+
+There, sure enough, was the horse, on the other side of the paling
+that here fenced the wood from a well-kept country-road. His long neck
+was stretched over it toward his master.
+
+"Memnon," said Mr. Skymer as we issued by the gate, "I want you to
+carry this gentleman home."
+
+I had often enough in my youth ridden without a saddle, but seldom
+indeed without some sort of bridle, however inadequate: I did not, at
+the first thought of the thing, relish mounting without one a horse of
+which all I knew was that he and his master were on better terms than
+I had ever seen man and horse upon before. But even while the thought
+was passing through my head, Memnon was lying at my feet, flat as his
+equine rotundity would permit. Ashamed of my doubt, I lost not a
+moment in placing myself in the position suggested by Sir John
+Falstaff to Prince Hal for the defence of his own bulky
+carcase--astride the body of the animal, namely. At once he rose and
+lifted me into the natural relation of man and horse. Then he looked
+round at his master, and they set off at a leisurely pace.
+
+"You have me captive!" I said.
+
+"Memnon and I," answered Mr. Skymer, "will do what we can to make your
+captivity pleasant."
+
+A silence followed my thanks. In this procession of horse and foot, we
+went about half a mile ere anything more was said worth setting
+down. Then began evidence that we were drawing nigh to a house: the
+grassy lane between hedges in which we had been moving, was gradually
+changing its character. First came trees in the hedge-rows. Then the
+hedges gave way to trees--a grand avenue of splendid elms and beeches
+alternated. The ground under our feet was the loveliest sward, and
+between us and the sun came the sweetest shadow. A glad heave but
+instant subsidence of the live power under me, let me know Memnon's
+delight at feeling the soft elastic turf under his feet: he had said
+to himself, "Now we shall have a gallop!" but immediately checked the
+thought with the reflection that he was no longer a colt ignorant of
+manners.
+
+"What a lovely road the turf makes!" I said. "It is a lower
+sky--solidified for feet that are not yet angelic."
+
+My host looked up with a brighter smile than he had shown before.
+
+"It is the only kind of road I really like," he said, "--though turf
+has its disadvantages! I have as much of it about the place as it will
+bear. Such roads won't do for carriages!"
+
+"You ride a good deal, I suppose?"
+
+"I do. I was at one time so accustomed to horseback that, without
+thinking, I was not aware whether I was on my horse's feet or my own."
+
+"Where, may I ask, does my friend who is now doing me the favour to
+carry 'this weight and size,' come from?"
+
+"He was born in England, but his mother was a Syrian--of one of the
+oldest breeds there known. He was born into my arms, and for a week
+never touched the ground. Next month, as I think I mentioned, he will
+be forty years old!"
+
+"It is a great age for a horse!" I said.
+
+"The more the shame as well as the pity!" he answered.
+
+"Then you think horses might live longer?"
+
+"Much longer than they are allowed to live in this country," he
+answered. "And a part of our punishment is that we do not know
+them. We treat them so selfishly that they do not live long enough to
+become our friends. At present there are but few men worthy of their
+friendship. What else is a man's admiration, when it is without love
+or respect or justice, but a bitter form of despite! It is small
+wonder there should be so many stupid horses, when they receive so
+little education, have such bad associates, and die so much too young
+to have gained any ripe experience to transmit to their
+posterity. Where would humanity be now, if we all went before
+five-and-twenty?"
+
+"I think you must be right. I have myself in my possession at this
+moment, given me by one who loved her, an ink-stand made from the hoof
+of a pony that died at the age of at least forty-two, and did her part
+of the work of a pair till within a year or two of her death.--Poor
+little Zephyr!"
+
+"Why, Mr. Gowrie, you talk of her as if she were a Christian!"
+exclaimed Mr. Skymer.
+
+"That's how you talked of Memnon a moment ago! Where is the
+difference? Not in the size, though Memnon would make three of
+Zephyr!"
+
+"I didn't say _poor Memnon_, did I? You said _poor Zephyr_! That is
+the way Christians talk about their friends gone home to the grand old
+family mansion! Why they do, they would hardly like one to tell them!"
+
+"It is true," I responded. "I understand you now! I don't think I ever
+heard a widow speak of her departed husband without putting _poor_, or
+_poor dear_, before his name.--By the way, when you hear a woman speak
+of her _late_ husband, can you help thinking her ready to marry
+again?"
+
+"It does sound as if she had done with him! But here we are at the
+gate!--Call, Memnon."
+
+The horse gave a clear whinny, gentle, but loud enough to be heard at
+some distance. It was a tall gate of wrought iron, but Memnon's
+summons was answered by one who could clear it--though not open it any
+more than he: a little bird, which I was not ornithologist enough to
+recognize--mainly because of my short-sightedness, I hope--came
+fluttering from the long avenue within, perched on the top of the
+gate, looked down at our party for a moment as if debating the
+prudent, dropped suddenly on Memnon's left ear, and thence to his
+master's shoulder, where he sat till the gate was opened. The little
+one went half-way up the inner avenue with us, making several flights
+and returns before he left us.
+
+The boy that opened the gate, a chubby little fellow of seven, looked
+up in Mr. Skymer's face as if he had been his father and king in one,
+and stood gazing after him as long as he was in sight. I noticed
+also--who could have failed to notice?--that every now and then a bird
+would drop from the tree we were passing under, and alight for a
+minute on my host's head. Once when he happened to uncover it, seven
+or eight perched together upon it. One tiny bird got caught in his
+beard by the claws.
+
+"You cannot surely have tamed _all_ the birds in your grounds!" I
+said.
+
+"If I have," he answered, "it has been by permitting them to be
+themselves."
+
+"You mean it is the nature of birds to be friendly with man?"
+
+"I do. Through long ages men have been their enemies, and so have
+alienated them--they too not being themselves."
+
+"You mean that unfriendliness is not natural to men?"
+
+"It cannot be human to be cruel!"
+
+"How is it, then, that so many boys are careless what suffering they
+inflict?"
+
+"Because they have in them the blood of men who loved cruelty, and
+never repented of it."
+
+"But how do you account for those men loving cruelty--for their being
+what you say is contrary to their nature?"
+
+"Ah, if I could account for that, I should be at the secret of most
+things! All I meant to half-explain was, how it came that so many who
+have no wish to inflict suffering, yet are careless of inflicting it."
+
+I saw that we must know each other better before he would quite open
+his mind to me. I saw that though, hospitable of heart, he threw his
+best rooms open to all, there were others in his house into which he
+did not invite every acquaintance.
+
+The avenue led to a wide gravelled space before a plain, low, long
+building in whitish stone, with pillared portico. In the middle of the
+space was a fountain, and close to it a few chairs. Mr. Skymer begged
+me to be seated. Memnon walked up to the fountain, and lay down, that
+I might get off his back as easily as I had got on it. Once down, he
+turned on his side, and lay still.
+
+"The air is so mild," said my host, "I fancy you will prefer this to
+the house."
+
+"Mild!" I rejoined; "I should call it hot!"
+
+"I have been so much in real heat!" he returned. "Notwithstanding my
+love of turf, I keep this much in gravel for the sake of the desert."
+
+I took the seat he offered me, wondering whether Memnon was
+comfortable where he lay; and, absorbed in the horse, did not see my
+host go to the other side of the basin. Suddenly we were "clothed
+upon" with a house which, though it came indeed from the earth, might
+well have come direct from heaven: a great uprush of water spread
+above us a tent-like dome, through which the sun came with a cool,
+broken, almost frosty glitter. We seemed in the heart of a huge
+soap-bubble. I exclaimed with delight.
+
+"I thought you would enjoy my sun-shade!" said Mr. Skymer. "Memnon and
+I often come here of a hot morning, when nobody wants us. Don't we,
+Memnon?"
+
+The horse lifted his nose a little, and made a low soft noise, a chord
+of mingled obedience and delight--a moan of pleasure mixed with a
+half-born whinny.
+
+We had not been seated many moments, and had scarcely pushed off the
+shore of silence into a new sea of talk, when we were interrupted by
+the invasion of half a dozen dogs. They were of all sorts down to no
+sort. Mr. Skymer called one of them Tadpole--I suppose because he had
+the hugest tail, while his legs were not visible without being looked
+for.
+
+"That animal," said his master, "--he looks like a dog, but who would
+be positive what he was!--is the cleverest in the pack. He seems to me
+a rare individuality. His ancestors must have been of all sorts, and
+he has gathered from them every good quality possessed by each. Think
+what a man might be--made up that way!"
+
+"Why is there no such man?" I said.
+
+"There may be some such men. There must be many one day," he answered,
+"--but not for a while yet. Men must first be made willing to be
+noble."
+
+"And you don't think men willing to be made noble?"
+
+"Oh yes! willing enough, some of them, to be _made_ noble!"
+
+"I do not understand. I thought you said they were not!"
+
+"They are willing enough _to be made_ noble; but that is very
+different from being willing _to be_ noble: that takes trouble. How
+can any one become noble who desires it so little as not to fight for
+it!"
+
+The man drew me more and more. He had a way of talking about things
+seldom mentioned except in dull fashion in the pulpit, as if he cared
+about them. He spoke as of familiar things, but made you feel he was
+looking out of a high window. There are many who never speak of real
+things except in a false tone; this man spoke of such without an atom
+of assumed solemnity--in his ordinary voice: they came into his mind
+as to their home--not as dreams of the night, but as facts of the day.
+
+I sat for a while, gazing up through the thin veil of water at the
+blue sky so far beyond. I thought how like that veil was to our little
+life here, overdomed by that boundless foreshortening of space. The
+lines in Shelley's _Adonais_ came to me:
+
+  "Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
+   Stains the white radiance of Eternity,
+   Until Death tramples it to fragments."
+
+Then I thought of what my host had said concerning the too short lives
+of horses, and wondered what he would say about those of dogs.
+
+"Dogs are more intelligent than horses," I said: "why do they live a
+yet shorter time?"
+
+"I doubt if you would say so in an Arab's tent," he returned. "If you
+had said, 'still more affectionate,' I should have known better how to
+answer you."
+
+"Then I do say so," I replied.
+
+"And I return, that is just why they live no longer. They do not find
+the world good enough for them, die, and leave it."
+
+"They have a much happier life than horses!"
+
+"Many dogs than some horses, I grant."
+
+That instant arose what I fancied must be an unusual sound in the
+place: two of the dogs were fighting. The master got up. I thought
+with myself, "Now we shall see his notions of discipline!" nor had I
+long to wait. In his hand was a small riding-whip, which I afterward
+found he always carried in avoidance of having to inflict a heavier
+punishment from inability to inflict a lighter; for he held that in
+all wrong-doing man can deal with, the kindest thing is not only to
+punish, but, with animals especially, to punish at once. He ran to the
+conflicting parties. They separated the moment they heard the sound of
+his coming. One came cringing and crawling to his feet; the other--it
+was the nondescript Tadpole--stood a little way off, wagging his tail,
+and cocking his head up in his master's face. He gave the one at his
+feet several pretty severe cuts with the whip, and sent him off. The
+other drew nearer. His master turned away and took no notice of him.
+
+"May I ask," I said, when he returned to his seat, "why you did not
+punish both the animals for their breach of the peace?"
+
+"They did not both deserve it."
+
+"How could you tell that? You were not looking when the quarrel
+began!"
+
+"Ah, but you see I know the dogs! One of them--I saw at a glance how
+it was--had found a bone, and dog-rule about finding is, that what you
+find is yours. The other, notwithstanding, wanted a share. It was
+Tadpole who found the bone, and he--partly from his sense of
+justice--cannot endure to have his claims infringed upon. Every dog of
+them knows that Tadpole must be in the right."
+
+"He looked as if he expected you to approve of his conduct!"
+
+"Yes, that is the worst of Tadpole! he is so self-righteous as to
+imagine he deserves praise for standing on his rights! He is but a
+dog, you see, and knows no better!"
+
+"I noticed you disregarded his appeal."
+
+"I was not going to praise him for nothing!"
+
+"You expect them to understand your treatment?"
+
+"No one can tell how infinitesimally small the beginnings of
+understanding, as of life, may be. The only way to make animals
+reasonable--more reasonable, I mean--is to treat them as
+reasonable. Until you can go down into the abysses of creation, you
+cannot know when a nature begins to see a difference in quality
+of action."
+
+"I confess," I said, "Mr. Tadpole did seem a little ashamed as he went
+away."
+
+"And you see Blanco White at my feet, taking care not to touch
+them. He is giving time, he thinks, for my anger to pass."
+
+He laughed the merriest laugh. The dog looked up eagerly, but dropped
+his head again.
+
+If I go on like this, however, I shall have to take another book to
+tell the story for which I began the present! In short, I was drawn to
+the man as never to another since the friend of my youth went where I
+shall go to seek and find him one day--or, more likely, one solemn
+night. I was greatly his inferior, but love is a quick divider of
+shares: he that gathers much has nothing over, and he that gathers
+little has no lack. I soon ceased to think of him as my _new_ friend,
+for I seemed to have known him before I was born.
+
+I am going to tell the early part of his history. If only I could tell
+it as it deserves to be told! The most interesting story may be so
+narrated as that only the eyes of a Shakspere could spy the shine
+underneath its dull surface.
+
+He never told me any great portion of the tale of his life
+continuously. One thing would suggest another--generally with no
+connection in time. I have pieced the parts together myself. He did
+indeed set out more than once or twice to give me his history, but
+always we got discussing something, and so it was interrupted.
+
+I will not write what I have set in order as if he were himself
+narrating: the most modest man in the world would that way be put at a
+disadvantage. The constant recurrence of the capital _I_, is apt to
+rouse in the mind of the reader, especially if he be himself
+egotistic, more or less of irritation at the egotism of the
+narrator--while in reality the freedom of a man's personal utterance
+_may_ be owing to his lack of the egotistic. Partly for my
+friend's sake, therefore, I shall tell the story as--what indeed it
+is--a narrative of my own concerning him.
+
+
+
+Chapter II
+
+With his parents.
+
+
+The lingering, long-drawn-out _table d'hôte_ dinner was just over in
+one of the inns on the _cornice_ road. The gentlemen had gone into the
+garden, and some of the ladies to the _salotto_, where open windows
+admitted the odours of many a flower and blossoming tree, for it was
+toward the end of spring in that region. One had sat down to a
+tinkling piano, and was striking a few chords, more to her own
+pleasure than that of the company. Two or three were looking out into
+the garden, where the diaphanous veil of twilight had so speedily
+thickened to the crape of night, its darkness filled with thousands of
+small isolated splendours--fire-flies, those "golden boats" never seen
+"on a sunny sea," but haunting the eves of the young summer, pulsing,
+pulsing through the dusky air with seeming aimlessness, like sweet
+thoughts that have no faith to bind them in one. A tall, graceful
+woman stood in one of the windows alone. She had never been in Italy
+before, had never before seen fire-flies, and was absorbed in the
+beauty of their motion as much as in that of their golden
+flashes. Each roving star had a tide in its light that rose and ebbed
+as it moved, so that it seemed to push itself on by its own radiance,
+ever waxing and waning. In wide, complicated dance, they wove a huge,
+warpless tapestry with the weft of an ever vanishing aureate
+shine. The lady, an Englishwoman evidently, gave a little sigh and
+looked round, regretting, apparently, that her husband was not by her
+side to look on the loveliness that woke a faint-hued fairy-tale in
+her heart. The same moment he entered the room and came to her. He was
+a man above the middle height, and from the slenderness of his figure,
+looked taller than he was. He had a vivacity of motion, a readiness to
+turn on his heel, a free swing of the shoulders, and an erect carriage
+of the head, which all marked him a man of action: one that speculated
+on his calling would immediately have had his sense of fitness
+satisfied when he heard that he was the commander of an English
+gun-boat, which he was now on his way to Genoa to join. He was
+young--within the twenties, though looking two or three and thirty,
+his face was so browned by sun and wind. His features were regular and
+attractive, his eyes so dark that the liveliness of their movement
+seemed hardly in accord with the weight of their colour. His wife was
+very fair, with large eyes of the deepest blue of eyes. She looked
+delicate, and was very lovely. They had been married about five
+years. A friend had brought them in his yacht as far as Nice, and they
+were now going on by land. From Genoa the lady must find her way home
+without her husband.
+
+The lights in the room having been extinguished that the few present
+might better see the fire-flies, he put his arm round her waist.
+
+"I'm so glad you're come, Henry!" she said, favoured by the piano. "I
+was uncomfortable at having the lovely sight all to myself!"
+
+"It is lovely, darling!" he rejoined; then, after a moment's pause,
+added, "I hope you will be able to sleep without the sea to rock you!"
+
+"No fear of that!" she answered. "The stillness will be delightful. I
+was thoroughly reconciled to the motion of the yacht," she went on,
+"but there is a satisfaction in feeling the solid earth under you, and
+knowing it will keep steady all night."
+
+"I am glad you like the change. I never sleep the first night on
+shore.--I cannot tell what it is, but somehow I keep wishing Fyvie
+could have taken us all the way."
+
+"Never mind, love. I will keep awake with you."
+
+"It's not that! How could I mind lying awake with you beside me! Oh
+Grace, you don't know, you cannot know, what you are to me! I don't
+feel in the least that you're my other half, as people say. You're not
+like a part of myself at all; to think so would be sacrilege! You are
+quite another, else how could you be mine! You make me forget myself
+altogether. When I look at you, I stand before an enchanted mirror
+that cannot show what is in front of it."
+
+"No, Harry; I'm a true mirror, for I hold that inside me which remains
+outside me."
+
+"I fear you've got beyond me!" said her husband, laughing. "You always
+do!"
+
+"Yes, at nonsense, Harry."
+
+"Then your speech was nonsense, was it?"
+
+"No; it was full of sense. But think of something you would like me to
+say; I must fetch the boy to see the fire-flies; when I come back I
+will say it."
+
+She left the room. Her husband stood where he was, gazing out, with a
+tender look in his face that deepened to sadness--whether from the
+haunting thought of his wife's delicate health and his having to leave
+her, or from some strange foreboding, I cannot tell. When presently
+she returned with their one child in her arms, he made haste to take
+him from her.
+
+"My darling," he said, "he is much too heavy for you! How stupid of me
+not to think of it! If you don't promise me never to do that at home,
+I will take him to sea with me!"
+
+The child, a fair, bright boy, the sleep in whose eyes had turned to
+wonder, for they seemed to see everything, and be quite satisfied with
+nothing, went readily to his father, but looked back at his
+mother. The only sign he gave that he was delighted with the
+fire-flies was, that he looked now to the one, now to the other of his
+parents, speechless, with shining eyes. He knew they were feeling just
+like himself. Silent communion was enough.
+
+The father turned to carry him back to bed. The mother turned to look
+after them. As she did so, her eyes fell upon two or three delicate,
+small-leaved plants--I do not know what they were--that stood in pots
+on the balcony in front of the open window: they were shivering. The
+night was perfectly still, but their leaves trembled as with an
+ague-fit.
+
+"Look, Harry! What is that?" she cried, pointing to them.
+
+He turned and looked, said it must be some loaded wagon passing, and
+went off with the child.
+
+"I hope to-morrow will be just like to-day!" said his wife when he
+returned. "What shall we do with it?--our one real holiday, you know!"
+
+"I have a notion in my head," he answered. "That little town Georgina
+spoke of, is not far from here--among the hills: shall we go and see
+it?"
+
+
+
+Chapter III.
+
+Without his parents.
+
+
+The sun in England seems to shine because he cannot help it; the sun
+in Italy seems to shine because he means it, and wants to mean
+it. Thus he shone the next morning, including in his attentions a
+curious little couple, husband and wife, who, attended by a guide, and
+borne by animals which might be mules and might be donkeys, and were
+not lovely to look on except through sympathy with their ugliness,
+were slowly ascending a steep terraced and zigzagged road, with olive
+trees above and below them. They were on the south side of the hill,
+and the olives gave them none of the little shadow they have in their
+power, for the trees next the sun were always below the road. The man
+often wiped his red, innocent face, and looked not a little
+distressed; but the lady, although as stout as he, did not seem to
+suffer, perhaps because she was sheltered by a very large bonnet After
+a silence of a good many minutes, she was the first to speak.
+
+"I can't say but I'm disappointed in the olives, Thomas," she
+remarked. "They ain't much to keep the sun off you!"
+
+"They wouldn't look bad along a brookside in Essex!" returned her
+husband. "Here they do seem a bit out of place!"
+
+"Well, but, poor things! how are they to help it--with only a trayful
+of earth under their feet! If you planted a priest on a terrace he
+would soon be as thin as they!"
+
+They had just passed a very stout priest, in a low broad hat, and
+cassock, and she laughed merrily at her small joke. They were an
+English country parson and his wife, abroad for the first time in
+their now middle-aged lives, and happy as children just out of
+school. Incapable of disliking anybody, there was no unkindness in
+Mrs. Porson's laughter.
+
+"I don't see," she resumed, "how they ever can have a picnic in such a
+country!"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"There's no place to sit down!"
+
+"Here's a whole hill-side!"
+
+"But so hard!" she answered. "There's not an inch of turf or grass in
+any direction!"
+
+The pair--equally plump, and equally good-natured--laughed together.
+
+I need not give more of their talk. It was better than most talk, yet
+not worth recording. Their guide, perceiving that they knew no more of
+Italian than he did of English, had withdrawn to the rear, and stumped
+along behind them all the way, holding much converse with his donkeys
+however, admonishing now this one, now that one, and seeming not a
+little hurt with their behaviour, to judge from the expostulations
+that accompanied his occasionally more potent arguments. Assuredly the
+speed they made was small; but it was a festa, and hot.
+
+They were on the way to a small town some distance from the shore, on
+the crest of the hill they were now ascending. It would, from the
+number of its inhabitants, have been in England a village, but there
+are no villages in the Riviera. However insignificant a place may be,
+it is none the less a town, possibly a walled town. Somebody had told
+Mr. and Mrs. Person they ought to visit Graffiacane, and to
+Graffiacane they were therefore bound: why they ought to visit it, and
+what was to be seen there, they took the readiest way to know.
+
+The place was indeed a curious one, high among the hills, and on the
+top of its own hill, with approaches to it like the trenches of a
+siege. All the old towns in that region seem to have climbed up to
+look over the heads of other things. Graffiacane saw over hills and
+valleys and many another town--each with its church standing highest,
+the guardian of the flock of houses beneath it; saw over many a
+water-course, mostly dry, with lovely oleanders growing in the middle
+of it; saw over multitudinous oliveyards and vineyards; saw over mills
+with great wheels, and little ribbons of water to drive them--running
+sometimes along the tops of walls to get at their work; saw over
+rugged pines, and ugly, verdureless, raw hillsides--away to the sea,
+lying in the heat like a heavenly vat in which all the tails of all
+the peacocks God was making, lay steeped in their proper dye. Numerous
+were the sharp turns the donkeys made in their ascent; and at this
+corner and that, the sweetest life-giving wind would leap out upon the
+travellers, as if it had been lying there in wait to surprise them
+with the heavenliest the old earth, young for all her years, could
+give them. But they were getting too tired to enjoy anything, and were
+both indeed not far from asleep on the backs of their humble beasts,
+when a sudden, more determined yet more cheerful assault of their
+guide upon his donkeys, roused both them and their riders; and looking
+sleepily up, with his loud _heeoop_ ringing in their ears, and a sense
+of the insidious approach of two headaches, they saw before them the
+little town, its houses gathered close for protection, like a brood of
+chickens, and the white steeple of the church rising above them, like
+the neck of the love-valiant hen.
+
+Passing through the narrow arch of the low-browed gateway, hot as was
+the hour, a sudden cold struck to their bones. For not a ray of light
+shone into the narrow street. The houses were lofty as those of a
+city, and parted so little by the width of the street that friends on
+opposite sides might almost from their windows have shaken
+hands. Narrow, rough, steep old stone-stairs ran up between and inside
+the houses, all the doors of which were open to the air--here,
+however, none of the sweetest. Everywhere was shadow; everywhere one
+or another evil odour; everywhere a look of abject and dirty
+poverty--to an English eye, that is. Everywhere were pretty children,
+young, slatternly mothers, withered-up grandmothers, the gleam of
+glowing reds and yellows, and the coolness of subdued greens and fine
+blues. Such at least was the composite first impression made on Mr.
+and Mrs. Porson. As it was a festa, more men than usual were looking
+out of cavern-like doorways or over hand-wrought iron balconies, were
+leaning their backs against door-posts, and smoking as if too lazy to
+stop. Many of the women were at prayers in the church. All was
+orderly, and quieter than usual for a festa. None could have told the
+reason; the townsfolk were hardly aware that an undefinable oppression
+was upon them--an oppression that lay also upon their visitors, and
+the donkeys that had toiled with them up the hills and slow-climbing
+valleys.
+
+It added to the gloom and consequent humidity of the town that the
+sides of the streets were connected, at the height of two or perhaps
+three stories, by thin arches--mere jets of stone from the one house
+to the other, with but in rare instance the smallest superstructure to
+keep down the key of the arch. Whatever the intention of them, they
+might seem to serve it, for the time they had straddled there
+undisturbed had sufficed for moss and even grass to grow upon those
+which Mr. Porson now regarded with curious speculation. A bit of an
+architect, and foiled, he summoned at last what Italian he could,
+supplemented it with Latin and a terminational _o_ or _a_ tacked to
+any French or English word that offered help, and succeeded, as he
+believed, in gathering from a by-stander, that the arches were there
+because of the earthquakes.
+
+He had not language enough of any sort to pursue the matter, else he
+would have asked his informant how the arch they were looking at could
+be of any service, seeing it had no weight on the top, and but a
+slight endlong pressure must burst it up. Turning away to tell his
+wife what he had learned, he was checked by a low rumbling, like
+distant thunder, which he took for the firing of festa guns, having
+discovered that Italians were fond of all kinds of noises. The next
+instant they felt the ground under their feet move up and down and
+from side to side with confused motion. A sudden great cry arose. One
+moment and down every stair, out of every door, like animals from
+their holes, came men, women, and children, with a rush. The
+earthquake was upon them.
+
+But in such narrow streets, the danger could hardly be less than
+inside the houses, some of which, the older especially, were ill
+constructed--mostly with boulder-stones that had neither angles nor
+edges, hence little grasp on each other beyond what the friction of
+their weight, and the adhesion of their poor old friable cement, gave
+them; for the Italians, with a genius for building, are careless of
+certain constructive essentials. After about twenty seconds of
+shaking, the lonely pair began to hear, through the noise of the cries
+of the people, some such houses as these rumbling to the earth.
+
+They were far more bewildered than frightened. They were both of good
+nerve, and did not know the degree of danger they were in, while the
+strangeness of the thing contributed to an excitement that helped
+their courage. I cannot say how they might have behaved in an hotel
+full of their countrymen and countrywomen, running and shrieking, and
+altogether comporting themselves as if they knew there was no God. The
+fear on all sides might there have infected them; but the terror of
+the inhabitants who knew better than they what the thing meant, did
+not much shake them. For one moment many of the people stood in the
+street motionless, pale, and staring; the next they all began to run,
+some for the gateway, but the greater part up the street, staggering
+as they ran. The movement of the ground was indeed small--not more,
+perhaps, than half an inch in any direction--but fear and imagination
+weakened all their limbs. They had not run far, however, before the
+terrible unrest ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
+
+The English pair drew a long breath where they stood--for they had not
+stirred a step, or indeed thought whither to run--and imagining it
+over for a hundred years, looked around them. Their guide had
+disappeared. The two donkeys stood perfectly still with their heads
+hanging down. They seemed in deep dejection, and incapable of
+movement. A few men only were yet to be seen. They were running up the
+street. In a moment more it would be empty. They were the last of
+those that had let the women go to church without them. They were
+hurrying to join them in the sanctuary, the one safe place: the rest
+of the town might be shaken in heaps on its foundations, but the
+church would stand! Guessing their goal, the Porsons followed
+them. But they were neither of a build nor in a condition to make
+haste, and the road was uphill. No one place, however, was far from
+another within the toy-town, and they came presently to an open
+_piazza_, on the upper side of which rose the great church. It had a
+square front, masking with its squareness the triangular gable of the
+building. Upon this screen, in the brightest of colours, magenta and
+sky-blue predominating, was represented the day of judgment--the
+mother seated on the right hand of the judge, and casting a pitiful
+look upon the miserable assembly on her left. The square was a good
+deal on the slope, and as they went slowly up to the church, they kept
+looking at the picture. The last tatters of the skirt of the crowd had
+disappeared through the great door, and but for themselves the square
+was empty. All at once the picture at which they were gazing, the
+spread of wall on which it was painted, the whole bulk of the huge
+building began to shudder, and went on shuddering--"just," Mr. Porson
+used to say when describing the thing to a friend, "like the skin of a
+horse determined to get rid of a gad-fly." The same moment the tiles
+on the roof began to clatter like so many castanets in the hands of
+giants, and the ground to wriggle and heave. But they were too much
+absorbed in what was before their eyes to heed much what went on under
+their feet. The oscillatory displacement of the front of the church
+did not at most seem to cover more than a hand-breadth, but it was
+enough. Down came the plaster surface, with the judge and his mother,
+clashing on the pavement below, while the good and the bad yet stood
+trembling. A few of the people came running out, thinking the open
+square after all safer than the church, but there was no rush to the
+open air. The shaking had lasted about twenty seconds, or at most half
+a minute, when, without indication to the eyes watching the front,
+there came a roaring crash and a huge rumbling, through and far above
+which, rose a multitudinous shriek of terror, dismay, and agony, and a
+number of men and women issued as if shot from a catapult. Then a few
+came straggling out, and then--no more. The roof had fallen upon the
+rest.
+
+With the first rush from the church, the shaking ceased utterly, and
+the still earth seemed again the immovable thing the English
+spectators had conceived her. Of what had taken place there was little
+sign on the earth, no sign in the blue sun-glorious heaven; only in
+the air there was a cloud of dust so thick as to look almost solid,
+and from the cloud, as it seemed, came a ghastly cry, mingled of
+shrieks and groans and articulate appeals for help. The cry kept on
+issuing, while the calm front of the church, dominated by that
+frightful canopy, went on displaying the assembled nations delivered
+from their awful judge. While the multitude groaned within, it spread
+itself out to the sun in silent composure, welcoming and cherishing
+his rays in what was left of its gorgeous hues.
+
+The Porsons stood for a moment stunned, came to their senses, and made
+haste to enter the building. With white faces and trembling hands,
+they drew aside the heavy leather curtain that hung within the great
+door, but could for a moment see nothing; the air inside seemed filled
+with a solid yellow dust As their eyes recovered from the sudden
+change of sunlight for gloom, however, they began to distinguish the
+larger outlines, and perceived that the floor was one confused heap of
+rafters and bricks and tiles and stones and lime. The centre of the
+roof had been a great dome; now there was nothing between their eyes
+and the clear heaven but the slowly vanishing cloud of ruin. In the
+mound below they could at first distinguish nothing human--could not
+have told, in the dim chaos, limbs from broken rafters. Eager to help,
+they dared not set their feet upon the mass--not that they feared the
+walls which another shock might bring upon their heads, but that they
+shuddered lest their own added weight should crush some live human
+creature they could not descry. Three or four who had received little
+or no hurt, were moving about the edges of the heap, vaguely trying to
+lift now this, now that, but yielding each attempt in despair, either
+from its evident uselessness, or for lack of energy. They would give a
+pull at a beam that lay across some writhing figure, find it
+immovable, and turn with a groan to some farther cry. How or where
+were they to help? Others began to come in with white faces and
+terror-stricken eyes; and before long the sepulchral ruin had little
+groups all over it, endeavouring in shiftless fashion to bring rescue
+to the prisoned souls.
+
+The Porsons saw nothing they could do. Great beams and rafters which
+it was beyond their power to move an inch, lay crossed in all
+directions; and they could hold little communication with those who
+were in a fashion at work. Alas, they were little better than vainly
+busy, while the louder moans accompanying their attempts revealed that
+they added to the tortures of those they sought to deliver! The two
+saw more plainly now, and could distinguish contorted limbs, and here
+and there a countenance. The silence, more and more seldom broken, was
+growing itself terrible. Had they known how many were buried there,
+they would have wondered so few were left able to cry out. At moments
+there was absolute stillness in the dreadful place. The heart of
+Mrs. Porson began to sink.
+
+"Do come out," she whispered, afraid of her own voice. "I feel so sick
+and faint, I fear I shall drop."
+
+As she spoke something touched her leg. She gave a cry and started
+aside. It was a hand, but of the body to which it belonged nothing
+could be seen. It must have been its last movement; now it stuck there
+motionless. Then they spied amid sad sights a sadder still. Upon the
+heap, a little way from its edge, sat a child of about three, dressed
+like a sailor, gazing down at something--they could not see
+what. Going a little nearer, they saw it--the face of a fair woman,
+evidently English, who lay dead, with a great beam across her
+heart. The child showed no trace of tears; his white face seemed
+frozen. The stillness upon it was not despair, but suggested a world
+in which hope had never yet been born. Pity drove Mrs. Porson's
+sickness away.
+
+"My dear!" she said; but the child took no heed. Her voice, however,
+seemed to wake something in him. He started to his feet, and rushing
+at the beam, began to tug at it with his tiny hands. Mrs. Porson burst
+into tears.
+
+"It's no use, darling!" she cried.
+
+"Wake mamma!" he said, turning, and looking up at her.
+
+"She will not wake," sobbed Mrs. Porson.
+
+Her husband stood by speechless, choking back the tears of which,
+being an Englishman, he was ashamed.
+
+"She _will_ wake," returned the boy. "She always wakes when I kiss
+her."
+
+He knelt beside her, to prove upon her white face the efficacy of the
+measure he had never until now known to fail. That he had already
+tried it was plain, for he had kissed away much of the dust, though
+none of the death. When once more he found that she did not even close
+her lips to return his passionate salute, he desisted. With that
+saddest of things, a child's sigh, and a look that seemed to Mrs.
+Porson to embody the riddle of humanity, he reseated himself on the
+beam, with his little feet on his mother's bosom, where so often she
+had made them warm. He did not weep; he did not fix his eyes on his
+mother; his look was level and moveless and set upon nothing. He
+seemed to have before him an utter blank--as if the outer wall of
+creation had risen frowning in front, and he knew there was nothing
+behind it but chaos.
+
+"Where is your papa?" asked Mr. Porson.
+
+The boy looked round bewildered.
+
+"Gone," he answered; nor could they get anything more from him.
+
+"Was your papa with you here?" asked Mrs. Porson.
+
+He answered only with the word _Gone_, uttered in a dazed fashion.
+
+By this time all the men left in the town were doing their best, under
+the direction of an intelligent man, the priest of a neighbouring
+parish. They had already got one or two out alive, and their own
+priest dead. They worked well, their terror of the lurking earthquake
+forgotten in their eagerness to rescue. From their ignorance of the
+language, however, Mr. Porson saw they could be of little use; and in
+dread of doing more harm than good, he judged it better to go.
+
+They stood one moment and looked at each other in silence. The child
+had dropped from the beam, and lay fast asleep across his mother's
+bosom, with his head on a lump of mortar. Without a word spoken,
+Mrs. Person, picking her way carefully to the spot, knelt down by the
+dead mother, tenderly kissed her cheek, lifted the sleeping child, and
+with all the awe, and nearly all the tremulous joy of first
+motherhood, bore him to her husband. The throes of the earthquake had
+slain the parents, and given the child into their arms. Without look
+of consultation, mark of difference, or sign of agreement, they turned
+in silence and left the terrible church, with the clear summer sky
+looking in upon its dead.
+
+As they passed the door, the sun met them shining with all his
+might. The sea, far away across the tops of hills and the clefts of
+valleys, lay basking in his glory. The hot air quivered all over the
+wide landscape. From the flight of steps in front of the church they
+looked down on the streets of the town, and beyond them into space. It
+looked the best of all possible worlds--as neither plague, famine,
+pestilence, earthquakes, nor human wrongs, persuade me it is not,
+judged by the high intent of its existence. When a man knows that
+intent, as I dare to think I do, _then_ let him say, and not till
+then, whether it be a good world or not. That in the midst of the
+splendour of the sunny day, in the midst of olives and oranges, grapes
+and figs, ripening swiftly by the fervour of the circumambient air,
+should lie that charnel-church, is a terrible fact, neither to be
+ignored, nor to be explained by the paltry theory of the greatest good
+to the greatest number; but the end of the maker's dream is not this.
+
+When they turned into the street that led to the gate, they found the
+donkeys standing where they had left them. Their owner was not with
+them. He had gone into the church with the rest, and was killed. When
+they caught sight of the patient, dejected animals, unheeded and
+unheeding, then first they spoke, whispering in the awful stillness of
+the world: they must take the creatures, and make the best of their
+way back without a guide! They judged that, as the road was chiefly
+down hill, and the donkeys would be going home, they would not have
+much difficulty with them. At the worst, short and stout as they were,
+they were not bad walkers, and felt more than equal to carrying the
+child between them. Not a person was in the street when they mounted;
+almost all were in the church, at its strange, terrible service. Mrs.
+Porson mounted the strongest of the animals, her husband placed the
+sleeping child in her arms, and they started, he on foot by the side
+of his wife, and his donkey following. No one saw them pass through
+the gate of the town.
+
+They were not sure of the way, for they had been partly asleep as they
+came, but so long as they went downward, and did not leave the road,
+they could hardly go wrong! The child slept all the way.
+
+
+
+Chapter IV.
+
+The new family.
+
+
+How shall a man describe what passed in the mind of a childless wife,
+with a motherless boy in her arms! It is the loveliest provision,
+doubtless, that every child should have a mother of his own; but there
+is a mother-love--which I had almost called more divine--the love,
+namely, that a woman bears to a child because he is a child,
+regardless of whether he be her own or another's. It is that they may
+learn to love thus, that women have children. Some women love so
+without having any. No conceivable treasure of the world could have
+once entered into comparison with the burden of richness Mrs. Porson
+bore. She told afterward, with voice hushed by fear of irreverence,
+how, as they went down one of the hills, she slept for a moment, and
+dreamed that she was Mary with the holy thing in her arms, fleeing to
+Egypt on the ass, with Joseph, her husband, walking by her side. For
+years and years they had been longing for a child--and here lay the
+divinest little one, with every mark of the kingdom upon him! His
+father and mother lying crushed under the fallen dome of that fearful
+church, was it strange he should seem to belong to her?
+
+But there might be some one somewhere in the world with a better
+claim; possibly--horrible thought!--with more need of him than she! Up
+started a hideous cupidity, a fierce temptation to dishonesty, such as
+she had never imagined. We do not know what is in us until the
+temptation comes. Then there is the devil to fight. And Mrs. Porson
+fought him.
+
+Mr. Porson was, in a milder degree, affected much as his wife. He
+could not help wishing, nor was he wrong in wishing, that, since the
+child's father and mother were gone, they might take their place, and
+love their orphan. They were far from rich, but what was one child!
+They might surely manage to give him a good education, and set him
+doing for himself! But, alas, there might be others--others with
+love-property in the child! The same thoughts were working in each,
+but neither dared utter them in the presence of the sleeping treasure.
+
+As they descended the last slope above the town, with the wide
+sea-horizon before them, they beheld such a glory of after-sunset as,
+even on that coast, was unusual. A chord of colour that might have
+been the prostrate fragment of a gigantic rainbow, lay along a large
+arc of the horizon. The farther portion of the sea was an indigo blue,
+save for a grayish line that parted it from the dusky red of the
+sky. This red faded up through orange and dingy yellow to a pale green
+and pale blue, above which came the depth of the blue night, in which
+rayed resplendent the evening star. Below the star and nearer to the
+west, lay, very thin and very long, the sickle of the new moon. If
+death be what it looks to the unthinking soul, and if the heavens
+declare the glory of God, as they do indeed to the heart that knows
+him, then is there discord between heaven and earth such as no
+argument can harmonize. But death is not what men think it, for
+"Blessed are they that mourn for the dead."
+
+The sight enhanced the wonder and hope of the two honest good souls in
+the treasure they carried. Out of the bosom of the skeleton Death
+himself, had been given them--into their very arms--a germ of life, a
+jewel of heaven! At the thought of what lay up the hill behind them,
+they felt their joy in the child almost wicked; but if God had taken
+the child's father and mother, might they not be glad in the hope that
+he had chosen them to replace them? That he had for the moment at
+least, they were bound to believe!
+
+They travelled slowly on, through the dying sunset, and an hour or two
+of the star-bright night that followed, adorned rather than lighted by
+the quaint boat of the crescent moon. Weary, but lapt in a voiceless
+triumph, they came at last, guided by the donkeys, to their hotel.
+
+All were talking of the earthquake. A great part of the English had
+fled in a panic terror, like sheep that had no shepherd--hunted by
+their own fears, and betrayed by their imagined faith. The steadiest
+church-goer fled like the infidel he reviled. The fool said in his
+heart, "There is no God," and fled. The Christian said with his mouth,
+"Verily there is a God that ruleth in the earth!" and fled--far as he
+could from the place which, as he fancied, had shown signs of a
+special presence of the father of Jesus Christ.
+
+After the Persons were in the house, there came two or three small
+shocks. Every time, out with a cry rushed the inhabitants into the
+streets; every time, out into the garden of the hotel swarmed such as
+were left in it of Germans and English. But our little couple, who had
+that day seen so much more of its terrors than any one else in the
+place, and whose chamber was at the top of the house where the swaying
+was worst, were too much absorbed in watching and tending their lovely
+boy to heed the earthquake. Perhaps their hearts whispered, "Can that
+which has given us such a gift be unfriendly?"
+
+"If his father and mother," said Mrs. Person, as they stood regarding
+him, "are permitted to see their child, they shall see how we love
+him, and be willing he should love us!"
+
+As they went up the stairs with him, the boy woke When he looked and
+saw a face that was not his mother's, a cloud swept across the heaven
+of his eyes. He closed them again, and did not speak. The first of the
+shocks came as they were putting him to bed: he turned very white and
+looked up fixedly, as if waiting another fall from above, but sat
+motionless on his new mother's lap. The instant the vibration and
+rocking ceased, he drank from the cup of milk she offered him, as
+quietly as if but a distant thunder had rolled away. When she put him
+in the bed, he looked at her with such an indescribable expression of
+bewildered loss, that she burst into tears. The child did not cry. He
+had not cried since they took him. The woman's heart was like to break
+for him, but she managed to say,
+
+"God has taken her, my darling. He is keeping her for you, and I am
+going to keep you for her;" and with that she kissed him.
+
+The same moment came the second shock.
+
+Need wakes prophecy: the need of the child made of the parson a
+prophet.
+
+"It is God that does the shaking," he said. "It's all right. Nobody
+will be the worse--not much, at least!"
+
+"Not at all," rejoined the boy, and turned his face away.
+
+From the lips of such a tiny child, the words seemed almost awful.
+
+He fell fast asleep, and never woke till the morning. Mrs. Porson lay
+beside him, yielding him, stout as she was, a good half of the little
+Italian bed. She scarcely slept for excitement and fear of smothering
+him.
+
+The Persons were honest people, and for all their desire to possess
+the child, made no secret of how and where they had found him, or of
+as much of his name as he could tell them, which was only _Clare_. But
+they never heard of inquiry after him. On the gunboat at Genoa they
+knew nothing of their commander's purposes, or where to seek him. Days
+passed before they began to be uneasy about him, and when they did
+make what search for him they could, it was fruitless.
+
+
+
+Chapter V.
+
+His new home.
+
+
+The place to which the good people carried the gift of the
+earthquake--carried him with much anxiety and more exultation--had no
+very distinctive features. It had many fields in grass, many in crop,
+and some lying fallow--all softly undulating. It had some trees, and
+everywhere hedges dividing fields whose strange shapes witnessed to a
+complicated history, of which few could tell anything. Here and there
+in the hollows between the motionless earth-billows, flowed, but did
+not seem to flow, what they called a brook. But the brooks there were
+like deep soundless pools without beginning or end. There was no life,
+no gaiety, no song in them, only a sullen consent to exist. That at
+least is how they impress one accustomed to real brooks, lark-like,
+always on the quiver, always on the move, always babbling and gabbling
+and gamboling, always at their games, always tossing their pebbles
+about, and telling them to talk. A man that loved them might say there
+was more in the silence of these, than in the speech of those; but
+what silence can be better than a song of delight that we are, that we
+were, that we are to be! The stillness may be full of solemn fish,
+mysterious as itself, and deaf with secrets; but blessed is the brook
+that lets the light of its joy shine.
+
+Dull as the place must seem in this my description, it was the very
+country for the boy. He would come into more contact with its modest
+beauty in a day than some of us would in a year. Nobody quite knows
+the beauty of a country, especially of a quiet country, except one who
+has been born in it, or for whom at least childhood and boyhood and
+youth have opened door after door into the hidden phases of its
+life. There is no square yard on the face of the earth but some one
+can in part understand what God meant in making it; while the same
+changeful skies canopy the most picturesque and the dullest
+landscapes; the same winds wake and blow over desert and pasture land,
+making the bosoms of youth and age swell with the delight of their
+blowing. The winds are not all so full as are some of delicious odours
+gathered as they pass from gardens, fields, and hill-sides; but all
+have their burden of sweetness. Those that blew upon little Clare were
+oftener filled with the smell of farmyards, and burning weeds, and
+cottage-fires, than of flowers; but never would one of such odours
+revisit him without bringing fresh delight to his heart. Its mere
+memorial suggestion far out on the great sea would wake the old child
+in the man. The pollards along the brooks grew lovely to his heart,
+and were not the less lovely when he came to understand that they were
+not so lovely as God had meant them to be. He was one of those who,
+regarding what a thing _is_, and not comparing it with other things,
+descry the thought of God in it, and love it; for to love what is
+beautiful is as natural as to love our mothers.
+
+The parsonage to which his new father and mother brought him was like
+the landscape--humble. It was humble even for a parsonage--which has
+no occasion to be fine. For men and women whose business it is to
+teach their fellows to be true and fair, and not covet fine things,
+are but hypocrites, or at best intruders and humbugs, if they want
+fine things themselves. Jesus Christ did not care about fine
+things. He loved every lovely thing that ever his father made. If any
+one does not know the difference between fine things and lovely
+things, he does not know much, if he has all the science in the world
+at his finger-ends.
+
+One good thing about the parsonage was, that it was aid, and the
+swallows had loved it for centuries. That way Clare learned to love
+the swallows--and they are worth loving. Then it had a very old
+garden, nearly as old-fashioned as it was old, and many flowers that
+have almost ceased to be seen grew in it, and did not enjoy their
+lives the less that they were out of fashion. All the furniture in the
+house was old, and mostly shabby; it was possible, therefore, to love
+it a little. Who on earth could be such a fool as to love a new piece
+of furniture! One might prize it; one might admire it; one might like
+it because it was pretty, or because it was comfortable; but only a
+silly woman whose soul went to bed on her new sideboard, could say she
+loved it. And then it would not be true. It is impossible that any but
+an _old_ piece of furniture should be loved.
+
+His father and mother had a charming little room made for him in the
+garret, right up among the swallows, who soon admitted him a member of
+their society--an honorary member, that is, who was not expected to
+fly with them to Africa except he liked. His new parents did this
+because they saw that, when he could not be with them, he preferred
+being by himself; and that moods came upon him in which he would steal
+away even from them, seized with a longing for loneliness. In general,
+next to being with his mother anywhere, he liked to be with his father
+in the study. If both went out, and could not take him with them, he
+would either go to his own room, or sit in the study alone. It was a
+very untidy room, crowded with books, mostly old and dingy, and in
+torn bindings. Many of them their owner never opened, and they
+suffered in consequence; a few of them were constantly in his hands,
+and suffered in consequence. All smelt strong of stale tobacco, but
+that hardly accounts for the fact that Clare never took to smoking.
+Another thing perhaps does--that he was always too much of a man to
+want to look like a man by imitating men. That is unmanly. A boy who
+wants to look like a man is not a manly boy, and men do not care for
+his company. A true boy is always welcome to a true man, but a
+would-be man is better on the other side of the wall.
+
+His mother oftenest sat in a tiny little drawing-room, which smelt of
+withered rose-leaves. I think it must smell of them still. I believe
+it smelt of them a hundred years before she saw the place. Clare loved
+the smell of the rose-leaves and disliked the smell of the tobacco;
+yet he preferred the study with its dingy books to the pretty
+drawing-room without his mother.
+
+There was a village, a very small one, in the parish, and a good many
+farm-houses.
+
+Such was the place in which Clare spent the next few years of his
+life, and there his new parents loved him heartily. The only thing
+about him that troubled them, besides the possibility of losing him,
+was, that they could not draw out the tiniest smile upon his sweet,
+moonlight-face.
+
+
+
+Chapter VI.
+
+What did draw out his first smile.
+
+
+Mr. Porson was a man about five and forty; his wife was a few years
+younger. His theories of religion were neither large nor lofty; he
+accepted those that were handed down to him, and did not trouble
+himself as to whether they were correct. He did what was better: he
+tried constantly to obey the law of God, whether he found it in the
+Bible or in his own heart. Thus he was greater in the kingdom of
+heaven than thousands that knew more, had better theories about God,
+and could talk much more fluently concerning religion than he. By
+obeying God he let God teach him. So his heart was always growing; and
+where the heart grows, there is no fear of the intellect; there it
+also grows, and in the best fashion of growth. He was very good to his
+people, and not foolishly kind. He tried his best to help them to be
+what they ought to be, to make them bear their troubles, be true to
+one another, and govern themselves. He was like a father to them. For
+some, of course, he could do but little, because they were locked
+boxes with nothing in them; but for a few he did much. Perhaps it was
+because he was so good to his flock that God gave him little Clare to
+bring up. Perhaps it was because he and his wife were so good to
+Clare, that by and by a wonderful thing took place.
+
+About three years after the earthquake, Mrs. Porson had a baby-girl
+sent her for her very own. The father and mother thought themselves
+the happiest couple on the face of the earth--and who knows but they
+were! If they were not, so much the better! for then, happy as they
+were, there were happier yet than they; and who, in his greatest
+happiness, would not be happier still to know that the earth held
+happier than he!
+
+When Clare first saw the baby, he looked down on her with solemn,
+unmoved countenance, and gazed changeless for a whole minute. He
+thought there had been another earthquake, that another church-dome
+had fallen, and another child been found and brought home from the
+ruin. Then light began to grow somewhere under his face. His mother,
+full as was her heart of her new child, watched his countenance
+anxiously. The light under his face grew and grew, till his face was
+radiant. Then out of the midst of the shining broke the heavenliest
+smile she had ever seen on human countenance--a smile that was a
+clearer revelation of God than ten thousand books about him. For what
+must not that God be, who had made the boy that smiled such a smile
+and never knew it! After this he smiled occasionally, though it was
+but seldom. He never laughed--that is, not until years after this
+time; but, on the other hand, he never looked sullen. A quiet peace,
+like the stillness of a long summer twilight in the north, dwelt upon
+his visage, and appeared to model his every motion. Part of his life
+seemed away, and he waiting for it to come back. Then he would be
+merry!
+
+He was never in a hurry, yet always doing something--always, that is,
+when he was not in his own room. There his mother would sometimes find
+him sitting absolutely still, with his hands on his knees. Nor was she
+sorry to surprise him thus, for then she was sure of one of his rare
+smiles. She thought he must then be dreaming of his own mother, and a
+pang would go through her at the thought that he would one day love
+her more than herself. "He will laugh then!" she said. She did not
+think how the gratitude of that mother would one day overwhelm her
+with gladness.
+
+He never sought to be caressed, but always snuggled to one that drew
+him close. Never once did he push any one away. He learned what
+lessons were set him--not very fast, but with persistent endeavour to
+understand. He was greatly given to reading, but not particularly
+quick. He thus escaped much, fancying that he knew when he did not
+know--a quicksand into which fall so many clever boys and girls. Give
+me a slow, steady boy, who knows when he does not know a thing! To
+know that you do not know, is to be a small prophet. Such a boy has a
+glimmer of the something he does not know, or at least of the place
+where it is; while the boy who easily grasps the words that stand for
+a thing, is apt to think he knows the thing itself when he sees but
+the wrapper of it--thinks he knows the church when he has caught sight
+of the weather-cock. Mrs. Porson could see the understanding of a
+thing gradually burst into blossom on the boy's face. It did not
+smile, it only shone. Understanding is light; it needs love to change
+light into a smile.
+
+There was something in the boy that his parents hardly hoped to
+understand; something in his face that made them long to know what was
+going on in him, but made them doubt if ever in this life they
+should. He was not concealing anything from them. He did not know that
+he had anything to tell, or that they wanted to know anything. He
+never doubted that everybody saw him just as he felt himself; his soul
+seemed bare to all the world. But he knew little of what was passing
+in him: child or man never knows more than a small part of that.
+
+When first he was allowed to take the little one in his arms, he
+sitting on a stool at his mother's feet, it was almost a new start in
+his existence. A new confidence was born in his spirit. Mrs. Person
+could read, as if reflected in his countenance, the pride and
+tenderness that composed so much of her own conscious motherhood. A
+certain staidness, almost sternness, took possession of his face as he
+bent over the helpless creature, half on his knees, half in his
+arms--the sternness of a protecting divinity that knew danger not
+afar. He had taken a step upward in being; he was aware in himself,
+without knowing it, of the dignity of fatherhood. Even now he knew
+what so many seem never to learn, that a man is the defender of the
+weak; that, if a man is his brother's keeper, still more is he his
+sister's. She belonged to him, therefore he was hers in the slavery of
+love, which alone is freedom. So reverential and so careful did he
+show himself, that soon his mother trusted him, to the extent of his
+power, more than any nurse.
+
+By and by she made the delightful discovery that, when he was alone
+with the baby, the silent boy could talk. Where was no need or hope of
+being understood, his words began to flow--with a rhythmical cadence
+that seemed ever on the verge of verse. When first his mother heard
+the sweet murmur of his voice, she listened; and then first she
+learned what a hold the terrible thing that had given him into her
+arms had upon him. For she heard him half singing, half saying--
+
+"Baby, baby, do not grow. Keep small, and lie on my lap, and dream of
+walking, but never walk; for when you walk you will run, and when you
+run you will go away with father and mother--away to a big place where
+the ground goes up to the sky; and you will go up the ground that goes
+up to the sky, and you will come to a big church, and you will go into
+the church; and the ground and the church and the sky will go _hurr,
+hurr, hurr_; and the sky, full of angels, will come down with a great
+roar; and all the yards and sails will drop out of the sky, and tumble
+down father and mother, and hold them down that they cannot get up
+again; and then you will have nobody but me. I will do all I can, but
+I am only brother Clare, and you will want, want, want mother and
+father, mother and father, and they will be always coming, and never
+be come, not for ever so long! Don't grow a big girl, Maly!"
+
+The mother could not think what to say. She went in, and, in the hope
+of turning his thoughts aside, took the baby, and made haste to
+consult her husband.
+
+"We must leave it," said Mr. Person. "Experience will soon correct
+what mistake is in his notion. It is not so very far wrong. You and I
+must go from them one day: what is it but that the sky will fall down
+on us, and our bodies will get up no more! He thinks the time nearer
+at hand than for their sakes I hope it is; but nobody can tell."
+
+Clare never associated the church where the awful thing took place,
+with the church to which he went on Sundays. The time for it, he
+imagined, came to everybody. To Clare, nothing ever _happened_. The
+way out of the world was a church in a city set on a hill, and there
+an earthquake was always ready.
+
+The heart of his adoptive mother grew yet more tender toward him after
+the coming of her own child. She was not quite sure that she did not
+love him even more than Mary. She could not help the feeling that he
+was a child of heaven sent out to nurse on the earth; and that it was
+in reward for her care of him that her own darling was sent her. That
+their love to the boy had something to do with the coming of the girl,
+I believe myself, though what that something was, I do not precisely
+understand.
+
+She left him less often alone with the child. She would not have his
+thoughts drawn to the church of the earthquake; neither would she have
+the mournfulness of his sweet voice much in the ears of her baby. He
+never sang in a minor key when any one was by, but always and solely
+when the baby and he were alone together.
+
+
+
+Chapter VII.
+
+Clare and his brothers.
+
+
+After a year or two, Mr. Person became anxious lest the boy should
+grow up too unlike other boys--lest he should not be manly, but of a
+too gently sad behaviour. He began, therefore, to take him with him
+about the parish, and was delighted to find him show extraordinary
+endurance. He would walk many miles, and come home less fatigued than
+his companion. To be sure, he had not much weight to carry; but it
+seemed to Mr. Porson that his utter freedom from thought about himself
+had a large share in his immunity from weariness. He continued slight
+and thin--which was natural, for he was growing fast; but the muscles
+of his little bird-like legs seemed of steel. The spindle-shanks went
+striding, striding without a check, along the roughest roads, the pale
+face shining atop of them like a sweet calm moon. To Mr. Person's
+eyes, the moon, stooping, as she sometimes seems to do, downward from
+the sky, always looked like him. The child woke something new in the
+heart and mind of every one that loved him, but was himself
+unconscious of his influence. His company was no check to his father
+when meditating, after his habit as he walked, what he should say to
+his people the next Sunday. For the good man never wrote or read a
+sermon, but talked to his people as one who would meet what was in
+them with what was in him. Hence they always believed "the parson
+meant it." He never said anything clever, and never said anything
+unwise; never amused them, and never made them feel scornful, either
+of him or of any one else.
+
+Instead of finding the presence of Clare distract his thoughts, he had
+at times a curious sense that the boy was teaching him--that his
+sermon was running before, or walking sedately on this side of him or
+that. For Clare could run like the wind; and did run after
+butterflies, dragon-flies, or anything that offered a chance of seeing
+it nearer; but he never killed, and seldom tried to catch anything, if
+but for a moment's examination. The swiftest run would scarcely
+heighten the colour of his pale cheeks.
+
+He soon came to be known in the farm-houses of the parish. The
+farmer-families were a little shy of him at first, fancying him too
+fine a little gentleman for them; but as they got to know him, they
+grew fond of him. They called him "the parson's man," which pleased
+Clare. But one old woman called him "the parson's cherubim."
+
+One day Mr. Porson was calling at the house of the largest farm in the
+parish, the nearest house to the parsonage. The farmer's wife was ill,
+and having to go to her room to see her, he said to the boy--
+
+"Clare, you run into the yard. Give my compliments to any one you
+meet, and ask him to let you stay with him."
+
+When the time came for their departure, Mr. Porson went to find
+him. He did not call him; he wanted to see what he was about. Unable
+to discover him, and coming upon no one of whom he might inquire, for
+it was hay-time and everybody in the fields, he was at last driven to
+use his voice.
+
+He had not to call twice. Out of the covered part of the pigsty, not
+far from which the parson stood, the boy came creeping on all fours,
+followed by a litter of half-grown, grunting, gamboling pigs.
+
+"Here I am, papa!" he cried.
+
+"Clare," exclaimed his father, "what a mess you have made of
+yourself!"
+
+"I gave them your compliments," answered the boy, as he scrambled over
+the fence with his father's assistance, "and asked them if I might
+stay with them till you were ready. They said yes, and invited me
+in. I went in; and we've been having such games! They were very kind
+to me."
+
+His father turned involuntarily and looked into the sty. There stood
+all the pigs in a row, gazing after the boy, and looking as sorry as
+their thick skins and bony snouts would let them. Their mother rose in
+a ridge behind them, gazing too. Mr. Skymer always spoke of pigs as
+about the most intelligent animals in the world.
+
+I do not know when or where or how his love of the animals began, for
+he could not tell me. If it began with the pigs, it was far from
+ending with them.
+
+The next day he asked his father if he might go and call upon the
+pigs.
+
+"Have you forgotten, Clare," said his mother, "what a job Susan and I
+had with your clothes? I wonder still how you could have done such a
+thing! They were quite filthy. When I saw you, I had half a mind to
+put you in a bath, clothes and all. I doubt if they are sweet yet!"
+
+"Oh, yes, they are, indeed, mamma!" returned Clare; "and you know I
+shall be careful after this! I shall not go into their house, but get
+the farmer to let them out. I've thought of a new game with them!"
+
+His mother consented; the farmer did let the pigs out; and Clare and
+they had a right good game together among the ricks in the yard.
+
+His growing nature showed itself in a swiftly widening friendship for
+live things. The spreading ripples of his affection took in the cows
+and the horses, the hens and the geese, and every creature about the
+place, till at length it had to pull up at the moles, because he could
+not get at them. I doubt if he would have liked them if he had seen
+one eat a frog! He called the pigs little brothers, and the horses and
+cows big brothers, and was perfectly at home with them before people
+knew he cared for their company. I think his absolute simplicity
+brought him near to the fountain of life, or rather, prevented him
+from straying from it; and this kept him so alive himself, that he was
+delicately sensitive to all life. He felt himself pledged to all other
+life as being one with it. Its forms were therefore so open to him as
+to seem familiar from the first. He knew instinctively what went on in
+regions of life differing from his own--knew, without knowing how,
+what the animals were thinking and feeling; so was able to interpret
+their motions, even the sudden changes in their behaviour.
+
+There was one dangerous animal on the place--a bull, of which the
+farmer had often said he must part with him, or he would be the death
+of somebody. One morning he was struck with terror to find Clare in
+the stall with Nimrod. The brute was chained up pretty short, but was
+free enough for terrible mischief: Clare was stroking his nose, and
+the beast was standing as still as a bull of bronze, with one curved
+and one sharp, forward-set, wicked-looking horn in alarming proximity
+to the angelic face. The farmer stood in dismay, still as the bull,
+afraid to move. Clare looked up and smiled, but his delicate little
+hand went on caressing the huge head. It was one of God's small high
+creatures visiting with good news of hope one of his big low
+creatures--a little brother of Jesus Christ bringing a taste of his
+father's kingdom to his great dull bull of a brother. The farmer
+called him. The boy came at once. Mr. Goodenough told him he must not
+go near the bull; he was fierce and dangerous. Clare informed him that
+he and the bull had been friends for a long time; and to prove it ran
+back, and before the farmer could lay hold of him, was perched on the
+animal's shoulders. The bull went on eating the grass in the manger
+before him, and took as little heed of the boy as if it were but a fly
+that had lighted on him, and neither tickled nor stung him.
+
+By degrees he grew familiar with all the goings on at the farm, and
+drew nearer to a true relation with the earth that nourishes
+all. Where the soil was not too heavy, the ploughman would set him on
+the back of the near horse, and there he would ride in triumph to the
+music of the ploughman's whistle behind. His was not the pomp of the
+destroyer who rides trampling, but the pomp of the saviour drawing
+forth life from the earth. In the summer the hayfield knew him, and in
+the autumn the harvest-field, where busily he gathered what the earth
+gave, and for himself strength, a sense of wide life and large
+relations. The very mould, not to say the grass-blades and the
+daisies, was dear to him. He was more sympathetic with the daisies
+ploughed down than was even Burns, for he had a strong feeling that
+they went somewhere, and were the better for going; that this was the
+way their sky fell upon them.
+
+All the people on the farm, all the people of the village, every one
+in the parish knew the boy and his story. From his gentleness and
+lovingkindness to live things, there were who said he was half-witted;
+others said he saw ghosts. The boys of the village despised, and some
+hated him, because he was so unlike them. They called him a girl
+because where they tormented he caressed. At this he would smile, and
+they durst not lay hands on him.
+
+The days are long in boyhood, and Clare could do a many things in
+one. There was the morning, the forenoon, and the long afternoon and
+evening! He could help on the farm; he could play with ever so many
+animals; he could learn his lessons, which happily were not heavy; he
+could read any book he pleased in his father's library, where
+_Paradise Lost_ was his favourite; he could nurse little Maly. He had
+the more time for all these that he had no companion of his own age,
+no one he wanted to go about with after school-hours. His father was
+still his chief human companion, and neither of them grew tired of the
+other.
+
+The most remarkable thing in the child was the calm and gentle
+greatness of his heart. You often find children very fond of one or
+two people, who, perhaps, in evil return, want to keep them all to
+themselves, and reproach them for loving others. Many persons count it
+a sign of depth in a child that he loves only one or two. I doubt it
+greatly. I think that only the child who loves all life can love right
+well, can love deeply and strongly and tenderly the lives that come
+nearest him. Low nurses and small-hearted mothers dwarf and pervert
+their children, doing their worst to keep them from having big hearts
+like God. Clare had other teaching than this. He had lost his father
+and mother, but many were given him to love; and so he was helped to
+wait patiently till he found them again. God was keeping them for him
+somewhere, and keeping him for them here.
+
+The good for which we are born into this world is, that we may learn
+to love. I think Clare the most enviable of boys, because he loved
+more than any one of his age I have heard of. There are people--oh,
+such silly people they are!--though they may sometimes be
+pleasing--who are always wanting people to love them. They think so
+much of themselves, that they want to think more; and to know that
+people love them makes them able to think more of themselves. They
+even think themselves loving because they are fond of being loved!
+You might as soon say because a man loves money he is generous;
+because he loves to gather, therefore he knows how to scatter; because
+he likes to read a story, therefore he can write one. Such lovers are
+only selfish in a deeper way, and are more to blame than other selfish
+people; for, loving to be loved, they ought the better to know what an
+evil thing it is not to love; what a mean thing to accept what they
+are not willing to give. Even to love only those that love us, is, as
+the Lord has taught us, but a pinched and sneaking way of
+loving. Clare never thought about being loved. He was too busy loving,
+with so many about him to love, to think of himself. He was not the
+contemptible little wretch to say, "What a fine boy I am, to make
+everybody love me!" If he had been capable of that, not many would
+have loved him; and those that did would most of them have got tired
+of loving a thing that did not love again. Only great lovers like God
+are able to do that, and they help God to make love grow. But there is
+little truth in love where there is no wisdom in it. Clare's father
+and mother were wise, and did what they could to make Clare wise.
+
+Also the animals, though they were not aware of it, did much to save
+him from being spoiled by the humans whom the boy loved more than
+them. For Clare's charity began at home. Those who love their own
+people will love other people. Those who do not love children will
+never love animals right.
+
+Here I will set down a strange thing that befell Clare, and caused him
+a sore heart, making him feel like a traitor to the whole animal race,
+and influencing his life for ever. I was at first puzzled to account
+for the thing without attributing more imagination to the animals--or
+some of them--than I had been prepared to do; but probably the main
+factor in it was heart-disease.
+
+He had seen men go out shooting, but had never accompanied any
+killers. I do not quite understand how, as in my story, he came even
+to imitate using a gun. There was nothing in him that belonged to
+killing; and that is more than I could say for myself, or any other
+man I know except Clare Skymer.
+
+He was at the bottom of the garden one afternoon, where nothing but a
+low hedge came between him and a field of long grass. He had in his
+hand the stick of a worn-out umbrella. Suddenly a half-grown rabbit
+rose in the grass before him, and bolted. From sheer unconscious
+imitation, I believe, he raised the stick to his shoulder, and said
+_Bang_. The rabbit gave a great bound into the air, fell, and lay
+motionless. With far other feelings than those of a sportsman, Clare
+ran, got through the hedge, and approached the rabbit trembling. He
+could think nothing but that the creature was playing him a trick. Yet
+he was frightened. Only how could he have hurt him!
+
+"I dare say the little one knows me," he said to himself, "and wanted
+to give me a start! He couldn't tell what a start it would be, or he
+wouldn't have done it."
+
+When he drew near, however, "the little one" did not, as he had hoped
+and expected, jump up and run again. With sinking heart Clare went
+close up, and looked down on it. It lay stretched out, motionless.
+With death in his own bosom he stooped and tenderly lifted it. The
+rabbit was stone-dead! The poor boy gazed at it, pressed it tenderly
+to his heart, and went with it to find his mother. The tears kept
+pouring down his face, but he uttered no cry till he came to her. Then
+a low groaning howl burst from him; he laid the dead thing in her lap,
+and threw himself on the floor at her feet in an abandonment of
+self-accusation and despair.
+
+It was long before he was able to give her an intelligible account of
+what had taken place. She asked him if he had found it dead. In answer
+he could only shake his head, but that head-shake had a whole tragedy
+in it. Then she examined "the little one," but could find no mark of
+any wound upon it. When at length she learned how the case was, she
+tried to comfort him, insisting he was not to blame, for he did not
+mean to kill the little one. He would not hearken to her loving
+sophistry.
+
+"No, mother!" he said through his sobs; "I wouldn't have blamed
+myself, though I should have been very sorry, if I had killed him by
+accident--if I had stepped upon him, or anything of that kind; but I
+meant to frighten him! I looked bad at him! I made him think I was an
+enemy, and going to kill him! I shammed bad--and so was real bad."
+
+He stopped with a most wailful howl.
+
+"Perhaps he knew me," he resumed, "and couldn't understand it. It was
+much worse than if I had shot him. He wouldn't have known then till he
+was dead. But to die of terror was horrible. Oh, why didn't I think
+what I was doing?"
+
+"Nobody could have thought of such a thing happening."
+
+"No; but I ought to have thought, mother, of what I was doing. I was
+trying to frighten him! I must have been in a cruel mood. Why didn't I
+think love to the little one when I saw him, instead of thinking death
+to him? I shall never look a rabbit in the face again! My heart must
+have grown black, mother!"
+
+"I don't believe there is another rabbit in England would die from
+such a cause," persisted his mother thoughtfully.
+
+"Then what a superior rabbit he must have been!" said Clare. "To think
+that I pulled down the roof of his church upon him!"
+
+He burst into a torrent of tears, and ran to his own room. There his
+mother thought it better to leave him undisturbed. She wisely judged
+that a mind of such sensibility was alone capable of finding the
+comfort to fit its need.
+
+Such comfort he doubtless did find, for by the time his mother called
+him to tea, calmness had taken the place of the agony on his
+countenance. His mother asked him no questions, for she as well as her
+husband feared any possible encouragement to self-consciousness. I
+imagine the boy had reflected that things could not go so wrong that
+nobody could set them right. I imagine he thought that, if he had done
+the rabbit a wrong, as he never for a moment to the end of his life
+doubted he had, he who is at the head of all heads and the heart of
+all hearts, would contrive to let him tell the rabbit he was sorry,
+and would give him something to do for the rabbit that would make up
+for his cruelty to him. He did once say to his mother, and neither of
+them again alluded to the matter, that he was sure the rabbit had
+forgiven him.
+
+"Little ones are _so_ forgiving, you know, mother!" he added.
+
+Is it any wonder that my friend Clare Skymer should have been no
+sportsman?
+
+
+
+Chapter VIII.
+
+Clare and his human brothers
+
+
+Another anecdote of him, that has no furtherance of the story in it, I
+must yet tell.
+
+One cold day in a stormy March, the wind was wildly blowing broken
+clouds across the heavens, and now rain, now sleet, over the shivering
+blades of the young corn, whose tender green was just tinging the dark
+brown earth. The fields were now dark and wintry, heartless and cold;
+now shining all over as with repentant tears; one moment refusing to
+be comforted, and the next reviving with hope and a sense of new
+life. Clare was hovering about the plough. Suddenly he spied, from a
+mound in the field, a little procession passing along the
+highway. Those in front carried something on their shoulders which
+must be heavy, for it took six of them to carry it. He knew it was a
+coffin, for his home was by the churchyard, and a funeral was no
+unfamiliar sight. Behind it one man walked alone. For a moment Clare
+watched him, and saw his bowed head and heavy pace. His heart filled
+from its own perennial fount of pity, which was God himself in him. He
+ran down the hill and across the next field, making for a spot some
+distance ahead of the procession. As it passed him, he joined the
+chief mourner, who went plodding on with his arms hanging by his
+sides. Creeping close up to him, he slid his little soft hand into the
+great horny hand of the peasant. Instinctively the big hand closed
+upon the small one, and the weather-beaten face of a man of fifty
+looked down on the boy. Not a word was said between them. They walked
+on, hand in hand.
+
+Neither had ever seen the other. The man was following his wife and
+his one child to the grave. "Nothing almost sees miracles but misery,"
+says Kent in _King Lear_. Because this man was miserable, he saw a
+miracle where was no miracle, only something very good. The thing was
+true and precious, yea, a message from heaven. Those deep, upturned,
+silent eyes; the profound, divine sympathy that shone in them; the
+grasp of the tiny hand upon his large fingers, made the heart of the
+man, who happened to be a catholic, imagine, and for a few moments
+believe, that he held the hand of the infant Saviour. The cloud lifted
+from his heart and brain, and did not return when he came to
+understand that this was not _the_ lamb of God, only another lamb from
+the same fold.
+
+When they had walked about two miles, the boy began to fear he might
+be intruding, and would have taken his hand from the other, but the
+man held it tight, and stooping whispered it was not far now. The
+child, who, without knowing it, had taken the man under the
+protection of his love, yielded at once, went with him to the grave,
+joined in the service, and saw the grave filled. They went again as
+they had come. Not a word was spoken. The man wept a little now and
+then, drew the back of his brown hand across his eyes, and pressed a
+little closer the hand he held. At the gate of the parsonage the boy
+took his leave. He said they would be wondering what had become of
+him, or he would have gone farther. The man released him without a
+word.
+
+His mother had been uneasy about him, but when he told her how it was,
+she said he had done right.
+
+"Yes," returned the boy; "I belong there myself."
+
+The mother knew he was not thinking of the grave.
+
+One more anecdote I will give, serving to introduce the narrative of
+the following chapter, and helping to show the character of the
+boy. He was so unlike most boys, that one must know all he may about
+him, if he would understand him.
+
+Never yet, strange as the assertion must seem, had the boy shown any
+anger. His father was a little troubled at the fact, fearing such
+absence of resentment might indicate moral indifference, or, if not,
+might yet render him incapable of coping with the world. He had
+himself been brought up at a public school, and had not, with all his
+experience of life, come to see, any more than most of the readers of
+this story now see, or for a long time will see, that there lies no
+nobility, no dignity in evil retort of any kind; that evil is evil
+when returned as much as when given; that the only shining thing is
+good--and the most shining, good for evil.
+
+One day a coarse boy in the village gave him a sharp blow on the
+face. It forced water from his eyes and blood from his nose. He was
+wiping away both at once with his handkerchief, when a kindly girl
+stopped and said to him--
+
+"Never mind; don't cry."
+
+"Oh, no!" answered Clare; "it's only water, it's not crying. It would
+be cowardly to cry."
+
+"That's a brave boy! You'll give it him back one of these days."
+
+"No," he returned, "I shall not I couldn't."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because it hurts so. My nose feels as if it were broken. I know it's
+not broken, but it feels like it."
+
+The girl, as well as the boys who stood around him, burst into
+laughter. They saw no logic in his reasoning. Clare's was the divine
+reasoning that comes of loving your neighbour; theirs was the earthly
+reasoning that came of loving themselves. They did not see that to
+Clare another boy was another of himself; that he was carrying out the
+design of the Father of men, that his creatures should come together
+into one, not push each other away.
+
+The next time he met the boy who struck him, so far was he both from
+resentment and from the fear of being misunderstood, that he offered
+him a rosy-cheeked apple his mother had given him as he left for
+school. The boy was tyrant and sneak together--a combination to be
+seen sometimes in a working man set over his fellows, and in a rich
+man grown poor, and bent upon making money again. The boy took the
+apple, never doubted Clare gave it him to curry favour, ate it up
+grinning, and threw the core in his face. Clare turned away with a
+sigh, and betook himself to his handkerchief again, The boy burst into
+a guffaw of hideous laughter.
+
+
+
+Chapter IX.
+
+Clare the defender.
+
+
+This enemy was a trouble, more or less, to every decent person in the
+neighbourhood. It was well his mother was a widow, for where she was
+only powerless to restrain, the father would have encouraged. He was a
+big, idle, sneering, insolent lad--such that had there been two more
+of the sort, they would have made the village uninhabitable. It was
+all the peaceable vicar could do to keep his hands off him.
+
+One day, little Mary being then about five years old, Clare had her
+out for a walk. They were alone in a narrow lane, not far from the
+farm where Clare was so much at home. To his consternation, for he had
+his sister in charge, down the lane, meeting them, came the village
+tyrant. He strolled up with his hands in his pockets, and barred their
+way. But while, his eye chiefly on Clare, he "straddled" like
+Apollyon, but not "quite over the whole breadth of the way," Mary
+slipped past him. The young brute darted after the child. Clare put
+down his head, as he had seen the rams do, and as Simpson, who ill
+deserved the name of the generous Jewish Hercules, was on the point of
+laying hold of her, caught him in the flank, butted him into the
+ditch, and fell on the top of him.
+
+"Run, Maly!" he cried; "I'll be after you in a moment."
+
+"Will you, you little devil!" cried the bully; and taking him by the
+throat, so that he could not utter even a gurgle, got up and began to
+beat him unmercifully. But the sounds of their conflict had reached
+the ears of the bull Nimrod, who was feeding within the hedge. He
+recognized Clare's voice, perhaps knew from it that he was in trouble;
+but I am inclined to think pure bull-love of a row would alone have
+sent him tearing to the quarter whence the tyrant's brutal bellowing
+still came. There, looking over the hedge, he saw his friend in the
+clutches of an enemy of his own, for Simpson never lost a chance of
+teasing Nimrod when he could do so with safety. Over he came with a
+short roar and a crash. Looking up, the bully saw a bigger bully than
+himself, with his head down and horns level, retreating a step or two
+in preparation for running at him. Simpson shoved the helpless Clare
+toward the enemy and fled. Clare fell. Nimrod jumped over his
+prostrate friend and tore after Simpson. Clare got up and would at
+once have followed to protect his enemy, but that he must first see
+his sister safe. He ran with her to a cottage hard by, handed her to
+the woman at the door of it, and turning pursued Simpson and the bull.
+
+Nimrod overtook his enemy in the act of scrambling over a five-barred
+gate. Simpson saw the head of the bull coming down upon him like the
+bows of a Dutchman upon a fishing-boat, and, paralyzed with terror,
+could not move an inch further. Crash against the gate came the horns
+of Nimrod, with all the weight and speed of his body behind them. Away
+went the gate into the field, and away went Simpson and the bull with
+it, the latter nearly breaking his neck, for his horns were entangled
+in the bars, one of them by the diagonal bar. Simpson's right leg was
+jammed betwixt the gate and the head and horns of the bull. He roared,
+and his roars maddened Nimrod, furious already that he could not get
+his horns clear. Shake and pull as he might, the gate stuck to them;
+and Simpson fared little the better that the bull's quarrel was for
+the moment with the gate, and not with the leg between him and it.
+
+Clare had not seen the catastrophe, and did not know what had become
+of pursuer or pursued, until he reached the gap where the gate had
+been. He saw then the odd struggle going on, and ran to the aid of his
+foe, in terror of what might already have befallen him. The moment he
+laid hold of one of the animal's horns, infuriated as Nimrod was with
+his helpless entanglement, he knew at once who it was, and was quiet;
+for Clare always took him by the horn when first he went up to
+him. Without a moment's demur he yielded to the small hands as they
+pushed and pulled his head this way and that until they got it clear
+of the gate. But then they did not let him go. Clare proceeded to take
+him home, and Nimrod made no objection. Simpson lay groaning.
+
+When Clare returned, his enemy was there still. He had got clear of
+the gate, but seemed in much pain, for he lay tearing up the grass and
+sod in handfuls. When Clare stooped to ask what he should do for him,
+he struck him a backhanded blow on the face that knocked him
+over. Clare got up and ran.
+
+"Coward!" cried Simpson; "to leave a man with a broken leg to get home
+by himself!"
+
+"I'm going to find some one strong enough to help you," said Clare.
+
+But Simpson, after his own evil nature, imagined he was going to let
+the bull into the field again, and fell to praying him not to leave
+him. Clare knew, however, that, if his leg was broken, he could not
+get him home, neither could he get home by himself; so he made haste
+to tell the people at the farm, and Simpson lay in terror of the bull
+till help came.
+
+From that hour he hated Clare, attributing to him all the ill he had
+brought on himself. But he was out of mischief for a while. The
+trouble fell on his mother--who deserved it, for she would believe no
+ill of him, because he was _hers_. One good thing of the affair was,
+that the bully was crippled for life, and could do the less harm.
+
+It was a great joy to Mr. Person to learn how Clare had defended his
+sister. Clergyman as he was, and knowing that Jesus Christ would never
+have returned a blow, and that this spirit of the Lord was what saved
+the world, he had been uneasy that his adopted child behaved just like
+Jesus. That a man should be so made as not to care to return a blow,
+never occurred to Mr. Porson as possible. It was therefore an
+immeasurable relief to his feelings as an Englishman, to find that the
+boy was so far from being destitute of pluck, that in defence of his
+sister he had attacked a fellow twice his size.
+
+"Weren't you afraid of such a big rascal?" he said.
+
+"No, papa," answered the boy. "Ought I to have been?"
+
+He put his hand to his forehead, as if trying to understand. His
+father found he had himself something to think about.
+
+There was a certain quiescence about Clare, ill to describe,
+impossible to explain, but not the less manifest. Like an infant, he
+never showed surprise at anything. Whatever came to him he received,
+questioning nothing, marvelling at nothing, disputing nothing. What he
+was told to do he went to do, never with even a momentary show of
+disinclination, leaving book or game with readiness but no
+eagerness. He would do deftly what was required of him, and return to
+his place, with a countenance calm and sweet as the moon in highest
+heaven. He seldom offered a caress except to little Mary; yet would
+choose, before anything else, a place by his mother's knee. The moment
+she, or his father in her absence, entered the room and sat down, he
+would rise, take his stool, and set it as near as he thought he
+might. When caressed he never turned away, or looked as if he would
+rather be let alone; at the same time he received the caress so
+quietly, and with so little response, that often, when his heavenly
+look had drawn the heart of some mother, or spinster with motherly
+heart, he left an ache in the spirit he would have gone to the world's
+end to comfort. He never sought love--otherwise than by getting near
+the loved. When anything was given him, he would look up and smile,
+but he seldom showed much pleasure, or went beyond the regulation
+thanks. But if at such a moment little Mary were by, he had a curious
+way of catching her up and presenting her to the giver. Whether this
+was a shape his thanks took, whether Mary was to him an incorporate
+gratitude, or whether he meant to imply that she was the fitter on
+whom to shower favour, it were hard to say. His mother observed, and
+in her mind put the two things together, that he did not seem to prize
+much any mere possession. He looked pleased with a new suit of
+clothes, but if any one remarked on his care of them, he would answer,
+"I mustn't spoil what's papa and mamma's!" He made no hoard of any
+kind. He did once hoard marbles till he had about a hundred; then it
+was discovered that they were for a certain boy in the village who was
+counted half-witted--as indeed was Clare himself by many. When he
+learned that the boy had first been accused of stealing them--for no
+one would believe that another boy had given them to him--and after
+that robbed of them by the other boys, on the ground that he did not
+know how to play with them, Clare saw that it was as foolish to hoard
+for another as for himself.
+
+He was a favourite with few beyond those that knew him well. Many who
+saw him only at church, or about the village, did not take to him. His
+still regard repelled them. In Naples they would have said he had the
+evil eye. I think people had a vague sense of rebuke in his
+presence. Even his mother, passionately loving her foundling, was
+aware of a film between them through which she could not quite see
+him, beyond which there was something she could not get at, Clare knew
+nothing of such a separation. He seemed to himself altogether close to
+his mother, was aware of nothing between to part them. The cause of
+the thing was, that Clare was not yet in flower. His soul was a white
+half-blown bud, not knowing that it was but half-blown. It basked in
+the glory of the warm sun, but only with the underside of its
+flower-leaves; it had not opened its heart, the sun-side of its
+petals, to the love in which it was immerged. He received the love as
+a matter of course, and loved it as a matter of course. But for the
+cruel Simpson he would not have known there could be any other way of
+things. He did not yet know that one must not only love but mean to
+love, must not only bask in the warmth of love, but know it as love,
+and where it comes from--love again the fountain whence it flows.
+
+
+
+Chapter X.
+
+The black aunt.
+
+
+Clare was yet in his tenth year when an unhealthy summer came. The sun
+was bright and warm as in other summers, and the flowers in field and
+garden appeared as usual when the hour arrived for them to wake and
+look abroad; but the children of men did not fare so well as the
+children of the earth. A peculiar form of fever showed itself in the
+village. It was not very fatal, yet many were so affected as to be
+long unable to work. There was consequently much distress beyond the
+suffering of the fever itself. The parson and his wife went about from
+morning to night among the cottagers, helping everybody that needed
+help. They had no private fortune, but the small blanket of the
+benefice they spread freely over as many as it could be stretched to
+cover, depriving themselves of a good part of the food to which they
+had been accustomed, and of several degrees of necessary warmth. When
+at last the strength of the parson gave way, and the fever laid hold
+of him, he had to do without many comforts his wife would gladly have
+got for him. They were both of rather humble origin, having but one
+relative well-to-do, a sister of Mrs. Porson, who had married a rich
+but very common man. From her they could not ask help. She had never
+sent them any little present, and had been fiercely indignant with
+them for adopting Clare.
+
+Neither of them once complained, though Mrs. Person, whose strength
+was much spent, could not help weeping sometimes when she was alone
+and free to weep. They knew their Lord did not live in luxury, and a
+secret gladness nestled in their hearts that they were allowed to
+suffer a little with him for the sake of the flock he had given into
+their charge.
+
+The children of course had to share in the general gloom, but it did
+not trouble them much. For Clare, he was not easily troubled with
+anything. Always ready to help, he did not much realize what suffering
+was; and he had Mary to look after, which was labour and pleasure,
+work and play and pay all in one. His mother was at ease concerning
+her child when she knew her in Clare's charge, and was free to attend
+to her husband. She often said that if ever any were paid for being
+good to themselves, she and her husband were vastly overpaid for
+taking such a child from the shuddering arms of the earthquake.
+
+But John Porson's hour was come. He must leave wife and children and
+parish, and go to him who had sent him. If any one think it hard he
+should so fare in doing his duty, let him be silent till he learn what
+the parson himself thought of the matter when he got home. People talk
+about death as the gosling might about life before it chips its
+egg. Take up their way of lamentation, and we shall find it an
+endless injustice to have to get up every morning and go to bed every
+night. Mrs. Porson wept, but never thought him or herself
+ill-used. And had she been low enough to indulge in self-pity, it
+would have been thrown away, for before she had time to wonder how she
+was to live and rear her children, she too was sent for. In this world
+she was not one of those mothers of little faith who trust God for
+themselves but not for their children, and when again with her
+husband, she would not trust God less.
+
+Clare was in the garden when Sarah told him she was dead. He stood
+still for a moment, then looked up, up into the blue. Why he looked
+up, he could not have told; but ever since that terrible morning of
+which the vague burning memory had never passed, when the great dome
+into which he was gazing, burst and fell, he had a way every now and
+then of standing still and looking up. His face was white. Two slow
+tears gathered, rolled over, and dried upon his face. He turned to
+Mary, lifted her in his arms, and, carrying her about the garden, once
+more told her his strange version of what had happened in his
+childhood. Then he told her that her papa and mamma had gone to look
+for his papa and mamma--"somewhere up in the dome," he said.
+
+When they wanted to take Mary to see what was left of her mother, the
+boy contrived to prevent them. From morning till night he never lost
+sight of the child.
+
+One cold noon in October, when the clouds were miles deep in front of
+the sun, when the rain was falling thick on the yellow leaves, and all
+the paths were miry, the two children sat by the kitchen fire. Sarah
+was cooking their mid-day meal, which had come from her own
+pocket. She was the only servant either of them had known in the
+house, and she would not leave it until some one should take charge of
+them. The neighbours, dreading infection, did not come near
+them. Clare sat on a little stool with Mary on his knees, nestling in
+his bosom; but he felt dreary, for he saw no love-firmament over him;
+the cloud of death hid it.
+
+With a sudden jingle and rattle, up drove a rickety post-chaise to the
+door of the parsonage. Out of it, and into the kitchen, came stalking
+a tall middle-aged woman, in a long black cloak, black bonnet, and
+black gloves, with a face at once stern and peevish.
+
+"I am the late Mrs. Porson's sister," she said, and stood.
+
+Sarah courtesied and waited. Clare rose, with Mary in his arms.
+
+"This is little Maly, ma'am," he said, offering her the child.
+
+"Set her down, and let me see her," she answered.
+
+Clare obeyed. Mary put her finger in her mouth, and began to cry. She
+did not like the look of the black aunt, and was not used to a harsh
+voice.
+
+"Tut! tut!" said the black aunt. "Crying already! That will never do!
+Show me her things."
+
+Sarah felt stunned. This was worse than death! "If only the mistress
+had taken them with her!" she said to herself.
+
+Mary's things--they were not many--were soon packed. Within an hour
+she was borne off, shrieking, struggling, and calling Clay. The black
+aunt, however,--as the black aunt Clare always thought of her--cared
+nothing for her resistance; and Clare, who at her first cry was
+rushing to the rescue, ready once more to do battle for her, was
+seized and held back by Farmer Goodenough. Sarah had sent for him, and
+he had come--just in time to frustrate Clare's valour.
+
+The carriage was not yet out of sight, when Farmer Goodenough began to
+repent that he had come: his presence was an acknowledgment of
+responsibility! Something must be done with the foundling! There was
+nobody to claim him, and nobody wanted him! He had always liked the
+boy, but he did not want him! His wife was not fond of the boy, nor of
+any boy, and did not want him! He had said to her that Clare could not
+be left to starve, and she had answered, "Why not?"! What was to be
+done with him? Nobody knew--any more than Clare himself. But which of
+us knows what is going to be done with him?
+
+Clare was nobody's business. English farmers no more than French are
+proverbial for generosity; and Farmer Goodenough, no bad type of his
+class, had a wife in whose thoughts not the pence but the farthings
+dominated. She was one who at once recoiled and repelled--one of those
+whose skin shrinks from the skin of their kind, and who are specially
+apt to take unaccountable dislikes--a pitiable human animal of the
+leprous sort. She "never took to the foundling," she said. To have
+neither father nor mother, she counted disreputable. But I believe the
+main source of her dislike to Clare was a feeling of undefined reproof
+in the very atmosphere of the boy's presence, his nature was so
+different from hers. What urged him toward his fellow-creatures, made
+her draw back from him. In truth she hated the boy. The very look of
+him made her sick, she said. It was only a certain respect for the
+parson, and a certain fear of her husband, who, seldom angry, was yet
+capable of fury, that had prevented her from driving the child, "with
+his dish-clout face," off the premises, whenever she saw him from door
+or window. It was no wonder the farmer should he at his wits' end to
+know what, as churchwarden, guardian of the poor, and friend of the
+late vicar--as friendly also to the boy himself, he was bound to do.
+
+"Where are _you_ going?" he asked Sarah.
+
+"Where the Lord wills," answered the old woman. Her ark had gone to
+pieces, and she hardly cared what became of her.
+
+"We've got to look to ourselves!" said the farmer.
+
+"Parson used to say there was One as took that off our hands!" replied
+Sarah.
+
+"Yes, yes," assented Mr. Goodenough, fidgeting a little; "but the
+Almighty helps them as helps themselves, and that's sound
+doctrine. You really must do something, Sarah! We can't have you on
+the parish, you know!"
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir, but until the child here is provided for, or
+until they turn us out of the parsonage, I will not leave the place."
+
+"The furniture is advertised for sale. You'll have nothing but the
+bare walls!"
+
+"We'll manage to keep each other warm!--Shan't we, Clare?"
+
+"I will try to keep you warm, Sarah," responded the boy sadly.
+
+"But the new parson will soon be here. Our souls must be cared for!"
+
+"Is the Lord's child that came from heaven in an earthquake to be
+turned out into the cold for fear the souls of big men should perish?"
+
+"Something must be done about it!" said the farmer.
+
+"What it's to be I can't tell! It's no business o' mine any way!"
+
+"That's what the priest, and the Levite, and the farmer says!"
+returned Sarah.
+
+"Won't you ask Mr. Goodenough to stay to dinner?" said Clare.
+
+He went up to the farmer, who in his perplexity had seated himself,
+and laid his arm on his shoulder.
+
+"No, I can't," answered Sarah. "He would eat all we have, and not have
+enough!"
+
+"Now Maly is gone," returned Clare, "I would rather not have any
+dinner."
+
+The farmer's old feeling for the boy, which the dread of having him
+left on his hands had for the time dulled, came back.
+
+"Get him his dinner, Sarah," he said. "I've something to see to in the
+village. By the time I come back, he'll be ready to go with me,
+perhaps."
+
+"God bless you, sir!" cried Sarah. "You meant it all the time, an' I
+been behavin' like a brute!"
+
+The farmer did not like being taken up so sharply. He had promised
+nothing! But he had nearly made up his mind that, as the friend of the
+late parson, he could scarcely do less than give shelter to the child
+until he found another refuge. True, he was not the parson's child,
+but he had loved him as his own! He would make the boy useful, and so
+shut his wife's mouth! There were many things Clare could do about the
+place!
+
+
+
+Chapter XI.
+
+Clare on the farm.
+
+
+When Mr. Goodenough appeared at the house-door with the boy, his
+wife's face expressed what her tongue dared not utter without some
+heating of the furnace behind it. But Clare never saw that he was
+unwelcome. He had not begun to note outward and visible signs in
+regard to his own species; his observation was confined to the
+animals, to whose every motion and look he gave heed. But he was
+hardly aware of watching even them: his love made it so natural to
+watch, and so easy to understand them! He was not drawn to study
+Mrs. Goodenough, or to read her indications; he was content to hear
+what she said.
+
+True to her nature, Mrs. Goodenough, seeing she could not at once get
+rid of the boy, did her endeavour to make him pay for his
+keep. Nominally he continued to attend the village school, where the
+old master was doing his best for him; but, oftener than not, she
+interposed to prevent his going, and turned him to use about the
+house, the dairy, and the poultry-yard.
+
+His new mode of life occasioned him no sense of hardship. I do not
+mean because of his patient acceptance of everything that came; but
+because he had been so long accustomed to the ways of a farm, to all
+the phases of life and work in yard and field, that nothing there came
+strange to him--except having to stick to what he was put to, and
+having next to no time to read. Many boys who have found much
+amusement in doing this or that, find it irksome the moment it is
+required of them: Clare was not of that mean sort; he was a
+gentleman. Happily he was put to no work beyond his strength.
+
+At first, and for some time, he had to do only with the creatures more
+immediately under the care of "the mistress," whence his acquaintance
+with the poultry and the pigs, the pigeons and the calves--and
+specially with such as were delicate or had been hurt--with their ways
+of thinking and their carriage and conduct, rapidly increased.
+
+By and by, however, having already almost ceased to attend school, the
+farmer, requiring some passing help a boy could give, took him from
+his wife--not without complaint on her part, neither without sense of
+relief, and would not part with him again. He was so quick in doing
+what was required, so intelligent to catch the meaning not always
+thoroughly expressed, so cheerful, and so willing, that he was a
+pleasure to Mr. Goodenough--and no less a pleasure to the farmer that
+dwelt in Mr. Goodenough, and seemed to most men all there was of him;
+for, instead of an expense, he found him a saving.
+
+It was much more pleasant for Clare to be with his master than with
+his mistress, but he fared the worse for it in the house. The woman's
+dislike of the boy must find outlet; and as, instead of flowing all
+day long, it was now pent up the greater part of it, the stronger it
+issued when he came home to his meals. I will not defile my page with
+a record of the modes in which she vented her spite. It sought at
+times such minuteness of indulgence, that it was next to impossible
+for any one to perceive its embodiments except the boy himself.
+
+He now came more into contact with the larger animals about the place;
+and the comfort he derived from them was greater than most people
+would readily or perhaps willingly believe. He had kept up his
+relations with Nimrod, the bull, and there was never a breach of the
+friendship between them. The people about the farm not unfrequently
+sought his influence with the animal, for at times they dared hardly
+approach him. Clare even made him useful--got a little work out of him
+now and then. But his main interest lay in the horses. He had up to
+this time known rather less of them than of the other creatures on the
+place; now he had to give his chief attention to them, laying in love
+the foundation of that knowledge which afterward stood him in such
+stead when he came to dwell for a time among certain eastern tribes
+whose horses are their chief gladness and care. He used, when alone
+with them, to talk to this one or that about the friends he had
+lost--his father and mother and Maly and Sarah--and did not mind if
+they all listened. He would even tell them sometimes about his own
+father and mother--how the whole sky full of angels fell down upon
+them and took them away. But he said most about his sister. For her he
+mourned more than for any of the rest. Her screams as the black aunt
+carried her away, would sometimes come back to him with such
+verisimilitude of nearness, that, forgetting everything about him, he
+would start to run to her. He felt somehow that it was well with the
+others, but Maly had always needed _him_, and more than ever in the
+last days of their companionship. He wept for nobody but Maly. In the
+night he would wake up suddenly, thinking he heard her crying out for
+him. Then he would get out of bed, creep to the stable, go to
+Jonathan, and to him pour out his low-voiced complaint. Jonathan was
+the biggest and oldest horse on the farm.
+
+How much he thought they understood of what he told them, I cannot
+say. He was never silly; and where we cannot be sure, we may yet have
+reason to hope. He believed they knew when he was in trouble, and
+sympathized with him, and would gladly have relieved him of his
+pain. I suspect most animals know something of the significance of
+tears. More animals shed tears themselves than people think.
+
+For dogs, bless them, they are everywhere, and the boy had known them
+from time immemorial.
+
+In the village, some of Clare's old admirers began to remark that he
+no longer "looked the little gentleman." This was caused chiefly by
+the state of his clothes. They were not fit for the work to which he
+was put, and within a few weeks were very shabby. Besides, he was
+growing rapidly, so that he and his garments were in too evident
+process of parting company. Accustomed to a mother's attentions, he
+had never thought of his clothes except to take care of them for her
+sake; now he tried to mend them, but soon found his labour of little
+use. He had no wages to buy anything with. His clothes or his health
+or his education were nothing to Mrs. Goodenough. It was no concern of
+hers whether he looked decent or not. What right had such as he to
+look decent? It was more than enough that she fed him! The shabbiness
+of the beggarly creature was a consolation to her.
+
+But Clare's toil in the open air, and his constant and willing
+association with the animals, had begun to give him a bucolic
+appearance. He grew a trifle browner, and showed here and there a
+freckle. His health was splendid. Nothing seemed to hurt him. Hardship
+was wholesome to him. To the eyes that hated him, and grudged the hire
+of the mere food by which he grew, he seemed every day to enlarge
+visibly. Already he gave promise of becoming a man of more than
+ordinary strength and vigour. Possibly the animals gave him something.
+
+What may have been his outlook and hope all this time, who shall tell!
+He never grumbled, never showed sign of pain or unwillingness, gave
+his mistress no reason for fault-finding. She found it hard even to
+discover a pretext. She seemed always ready to strike him, but was
+probably afraid to do so without provocation her husband would count
+sufficient. Clare never showed discomfort, never even sighed except he
+were alone. Chequered as his life had been, if ever he looked forward
+to a fresh change, it was but as a far possibility in the slow current
+of events. But he was constantly possessed with a large dim sense of
+something that lay beyond, waiting for him; something toward which the
+tide of things was with certainty drifting him, but with which he had
+nothing more to do than wait. He did not see that to do the things
+given him to do was the only preparation for whatever, in the dim
+under-world of the future, might be preparing for him; but he did feel
+that he must do his work. He did not then think much about duty. He
+was actively inclined, had a strong feeling for doing a thing as it
+ought to be done; and was thoroughly loyal to any one that seemed to
+have a right over him. In this blind, enduring, vaguely hopeful way,
+he went on--sustained, and none the less certainly that he did not
+know it, from the fountain of his life. When the winter came, his
+sufferings, cared for as he had been, and accustomed to warmth and
+softness, must at times have been considerable. In the day his work
+was a protection, but at night the house was cold. He had, however,
+plenty to eat, had no ailment, and was not to be greatly pitied.
+
+
+
+Chapter XII.
+
+Clare becomes a guardian of the poor.
+
+
+Simpson, the bully of Clare's childhood, went limping about on a
+crutch, permanently lame, and full of hatred toward the innocent
+occasion of the injury he had brought upon himself. Ever since his
+recovery, he had, loitering about in idleness, watched the boy, to
+waylay and catch him at unawares. Not until Clare went to the farm,
+however, did he once succeed; for it was not difficult to escape him,
+so long as he had not laid actual hold on his prey. But he grew more
+and more cunning, and contrived at last, by creeping along hedges and
+lying in ambush like a snake, to get his hands upon him. Then the poor
+boy fared ill.
+
+He went home bleeding and torn. The righteous churchwarden rebuked him
+with severity for fighting. His mistress told him she was glad he had
+met with some one to give him what he deserved, for she could hardly
+keep her hands off him. He stared at her with wondering eyes, but said
+nothing. She turned from them: the devil in her could not look in the
+eyes of the angel in him. The next time he fell into the snare of his
+enemy, he managed to conceal what had befallen him. After that he was
+too wide awake to be caught.
+
+There was in the village a child whom nobody heeded. He was far more
+destitute than Clare, but had too much liberty. He lived with a
+wretched old woman who called him her grandson: whether he was or not
+nobody cared. She made her livelihood by letting beds, in a cottage or
+rather hovel which seemed to be her own, to wayfarers, mostly tramps,
+with or without trades. The child was thus thrown into the worst of
+company, and learned many sorts of wickedness. He was already a thief,
+and of no small proficiency in his art. Though village-bred, he could
+pick a pocket more sensitive than a clown's. Small and deft, he had
+never stood before a magistrate. He was a miserable creature,
+bare-footed and bare-legged; about eight years of age, but so stunted
+that to the first glance he looked less than six--with keen ferret
+eyes in red rims, red hair, pasty, freckled complexion, and a
+generally unhealthy look; from which marks all, Clare conceived a
+pitiful sympathy for him. Their acquaintance began thus:--
+
+One day, during his father's last illness, he happened to pass the
+door of the grandmother's hovel while the crone was administering to
+Tommy a severe punishment with a piece of thick rope: she had been
+sharp enough to catch him stealing from herself. Clare heard his
+cries. The door being partly open, he ran in, and gave him such
+assistance that they managed to bolt together from the hut. A
+friendship, for long almost a silent one, was thus initiated between
+them. Tommy--Clare never knew his other name, nor did the boy
+himself--would off and on watch for a sight of him all day long, but
+had the instinct, or experience, never to approach him if any one was
+with him. He was careful not to compromise him. The instant the most
+momentary _tête-à-tête_ was possible, he would rush up, offer him
+something he had found or stolen, and hurry away again. That he was a
+thief Clare had not the remotest suspicion. He had never offered him
+anything to suggest theft.
+
+By and by it came to the knowledge of Clare's enemy that there was a
+friendship between them, and the discovery wrought direness for
+both. One day Simpson saw Clare coming, and Tommy watching him. He
+laid hold of Tommy, and began cuffing him and pulling his hair, to
+make him scream, thinking thus to get hold of Clare. But
+notwithstanding the lesson he had received, the rascal had not yet any
+adequate notion of the boy's capacity for action where another was
+concerned. He flew to the rescue, caught up the crutch Simpson had
+dropped, and laid it across his back with vigour. The fellow let Tommy
+go and turned on Clare, who went backward, brandishing the crutch.
+
+"Run, Tommy," he cried.
+
+Tommy retreated a few steps.
+
+"Run yourself," he counselled, having reached a safe distance. "Take
+his third leg with you."
+
+Clare saw the advice was good, and ran. But the next moment reflection
+showed him the helplessness of his enemy. He turned, and saw him
+hobbling after him in such evident pain and discomfiture, that he went
+to meet him, and politely gave him his crutch. He might have thrown it
+to him and gone on, but he had a horror of rudeness, and handed it to
+him with a bow. Just as he regained his perpendicular, the crutch
+descended on his head, and laid him flat on the ground. There the
+tyrant belaboured him. Tommy stood and regarded the proceeding.
+
+"The cove's older an' bigger an' pluckier than me," he said to
+himself; "but he's an ass. He'll come to grief unless he's looked
+after. He'll be hanged else. He don't know how to dodge. I'll have to
+take him in charge!"
+
+When he saw Clare free, an event to which he had contributed nothing,
+he turned and ran home.
+
+Simpson redoubled now his persecution of Clare, and persecuted Tommy
+because of Clare. He lurked for Tommy now, and when he caught him,
+tormented him with choice tortures. In a word, he made his life
+miserable. After every such mischance Tommy would hurry to the farm,
+and lie about in the hope of a sight of Clare, or possibly a chance of
+speaking to him. His repute was so bad that he dared not show himself.
+
+Hot tears would come into Clare's eyes as he listened to the not
+always unembellished tale of Tommy's sufferings at the hands of
+Simpson; but he never thought of revenge, only of protection or escape
+for the boy. It comforted him to believe that he was growing, and
+would soon be a match for the oppressor.
+
+Whether at this time he felt any great interest in life, or recognized
+any personal advantage in growing, I doubt. But he had the friendship
+of the animals; and it is not surprising that creatures their maker
+thinks worth making and keeping alive, should yield consolation to one
+that understands them, or even fill with a mild joy the pauses of
+labour in an irksome life.
+
+Then each new day was an old friend to the boy. Each time the sun
+rose, new hope rose with him in his heart. He came every morning fresh
+from home, with a fresh promise. The boy read the promise in his great
+shining, and believed it; gazed and rejoiced, and turned to his work.
+
+But the hour arrived when his mistress could bear his presence no
+longer. Some petty loss, I imagine, had befallen her. Nothing touched
+her like the loss of money--the love of which is as dread a passion as
+the love of drink, and more ruinous to the finer elements of the
+nature. It was like the tearing out of her heart to Mrs. Goodenough to
+lose a shilling. Her self-command forsook her, perhaps, in some such
+moment of vexation; anyhow, she opened the sluices of her hate, and
+overwhelmed him with it in the presence of her husband.
+
+The farmer knew she was unfair, knew the orphan a good boy and a
+diligent, knew there was nothing against him but the antipathy of his
+wife. But, annoyed with her injustice, he was powerless to change her
+heart. Since the boy came to live with them, he had had no pleasure in
+his wife's society. She had always been moody and dissatisfied, but
+since then had been unbearable. Constantly irritated with and by her
+because of Clare, he had begun to regard him as the destroyer of his
+peace, and to feel a grudge against him. He sat smouldering with
+bodiless rage, and said nothing.
+
+Clare too was silent,--for what could he say? Where is the wisdom that
+can answer hatred? He carried to his friend Jonathan a heart heavy and
+perplexed.
+
+"Why does she hate me so, Jonathan?" he murmured.
+
+The big horse kissed his head all over, but made him no other answer.
+
+
+
+Chapter XIII.
+
+Clare the vagabond.
+
+
+The next morning Clare happened to do something not altogether to the
+farmer's mind. It was a matter of no consequence--only cleaning that
+side of one of the cow-houses first which was usually cleaned last. He
+gave him a box on the ear that made him stagger, and then stand
+bewildered.
+
+"What do you mean by staring that way?" cried the farmer, annoyed with
+himself and seeking justification in his own eyes. "Am I not to box
+your ears when I choose?" And with that he gave him another blow.
+
+Then first it dawned on Clare that he was not wanted, that he was no
+good to anybody. He threw down his scraper, and ran from the
+cow-house; ran straight from the farm to the lane, and from the lane
+to the high road. Buffets from the hand of his only friend, and the
+sudden sense of loneliness they caused, for the moment bereft Clare of
+purpose. It was as if his legs had run away with him, and he had
+unconsciously submitted to their abduction.
+
+At the mouth of the lane, where it opened on the high road, he ran
+against Tommy turning the corner, eager to find him. The eyes of the
+small human monkey were swollen with weeping; his nose was bleeding,
+and in size and shape scarce recognizable as a nose. At the sight, the
+consciousness of his protectorate awoke in Clare, and he stopped,
+unable to speak, but not unable to listen. Tommy blubbered out a
+confused, half-inarticulate something about "granny and the other
+devil," who between them had all but killed him.
+
+"What can I do?" said Clare, his heart sinking with the sense of
+having no help in him.
+
+Tommy was ready to answer the question. He had been hatching vengeance
+all the way. Eagerly came his proposition--that they should, in their
+turn, lie in ambush for Simpson, and knock his crutch from under
+him. That done, Clare should belabour him with it, while he ran like
+the wind and set his grandmother's house on fire.
+
+"She'll be drunk in bed, an' she'll be burned to death!" cried
+Tommy. "Then we'll mizzle!"
+
+"But it would hurt them both very badly, Tommy!" said Clare, as if
+unfolding the reality of the thing to a foolish child.
+
+"Well! all right! the worse the better! 'Ain't they hurt us?" rejoined
+Tommy.
+
+"That's how we know it's not nice!" answered Clare. "If they set it a
+going, we ain't to keep it a going!"
+
+"Then they'll be at it for ever," cried Tommy, "an' I'm sick of it!
+I'll _kill_ granny! I swear I will, if I'm hanged for it! She's said a
+hundred times she'd pull my legs when I was hanged; but _she_ won't be
+at the hanging!"
+
+"Why shouldn't you run for it first?" said Clare. "Then they wouldn't
+want to hang you!"
+
+"Then I shouldn't have nobody!" replied Tommy, whimpering.
+
+"I should have thought Nobody was as good as granny!" said Clare.
+
+"A big bilin' better!" answered Tommy bitterly. "I wasn't meanin'
+granny--nor yet stumpin' Simpson."
+
+"I don't know what you're driving at," said Clare. Tommy burst into
+tears.
+
+"Ain't you the only one I got, up or down?" he cried.
+
+Tommy had a little bit of heart--not much, but enough to have a chance
+of growing. If ever creature had less than that, he was not human. I
+do not think he could even be an ape.
+
+Some of the people about the parson used to think Clare had no heart,
+and Mrs. Goodenough was sure of it. He had not a spark of gratitude,
+she said. But the cause of this opinion was that Clare's affection
+took the shape of deeds far more than of words. Never were judges of
+their neighbours more mistaken. The chief difference between Clare's
+history and that of most others was, that his began at the unusual
+end. Clare began with loving everybody; and most people take a long
+time to grow to that. Hence, those whom, from being brought nearest to
+them, he loved specially, he loved without that outbreak of show which
+is often found in persons who love but a few, and whose love is
+defiled with partisanship. He loved quietly and constantly, in a
+fashion as active as undemonstrative. He was always glad to be near
+those he specially loved; beyond that, the signs of his love were
+practical--it came out in ministration, in doing things for
+them. There are those who, without loving, desire to be loved, because
+they love themselves; for those that are worth least are most precious
+to themselves. But Clare never thought of the love of others to
+him--from no heartlessness, but that he did not think about
+himself--had never done so, at least, until the moment when he fled
+from the farm with the new agony in his heart that nobody wanted him,
+that everybody would be happier without him. Happy is he that does not
+think of himself before the hour when he becomes conscious of the
+bliss of being loved. For it must be and ought to be a happy moment
+when one learns that another human creature loves him; and not to be
+grateful for love is to be deeply selfish. Clare had always loved, but
+had not thought of any one as loving him, or of himself as being loved
+by any one.
+
+"Well," rejoined Clare, struggling with his misery, "ain't I going
+myself?"
+
+"You going!--That's chaff!"
+
+"'Tain't chaff. I'm on my way."
+
+"What! Going to hook it? Oh golly! what a lark! Won't Farmer
+Goodenough look blue!"
+
+"He'll think himself well rid of me," returned Clare with a sigh. "But
+there's no time to talk. If you're going, Tommy, come along."
+
+He turned to go.
+
+"Where to?" asked Tommy, following.
+
+"I don't know. Anywhere away," answered Clare, quickening his pace.
+
+In spite of his swollen visage, Tommy's eyes grew wider.
+
+"You 'ain't cribbed nothing?" he said.
+
+"I don't know what you mean."
+
+"You 'ain't stole something?" interpreted Tommy.
+
+Clare stopped, and for the first time on his own part, lifted his hand
+to strike. It dropped immediately by his side.
+
+"No, you poor Tommy," he said. "I don't steal."
+
+"Thought you didn't! What are you running away for then?"
+
+"Because they don't want me."
+
+"Lord! what will you do?"
+
+"Work."
+
+Tommy held his tongue: he knew a better way than that! If work was the
+only road to eating, things would go badly with _him_! But he thought
+he knew a thing or two, and would take his chance! There were degrees
+of hunger that were not so bad as the thrashings he got, for in his
+granny's hands the rope might fall where it would; while all cripple
+Simpson cared for was to make him squeal satisfactorily. But work was
+worse than all! He would go with Clare, but not to work! Not he!
+
+Clare kept on in silence, never turning his head--out into the
+untried, unknown, mysterious world, which lay around the one spot he
+knew as the darkness lies about the flame of the candle. They walked
+more than a mile before either spoke.
+
+
+
+Chapter XIV.
+
+Their first helper
+
+
+It was a lovely spring morning. The sun was about thirty degrees above
+the horizon, shining with a liquid radiance, as if he had already
+drawn up and was shining through the dew of the morning, though it lay
+yet on all the grasses by the roadside, turning them into gem-plants.
+Every sort of gem sparkled on their feathery or beady tops, and their
+long slender blades. At the first cottages they passed, the women were
+beginning their day's work, sweeping clean their floors and
+door-steps. Clare noted that where were most flowers in the garden,
+the windows were brightest, and the children cleanest.
+
+"The flowers come where they make things nice for them!" he said to
+himself. "Where the flowers see dirt, they turn away, and won't come
+out."
+
+From childhood he had had the notion that the flowers crept up inside
+the stalks until they found a window to look out at. Where the
+prospect was not to their mind they crept down, and away by some door
+in the root to try again. For all the stalks stood like watch-towers,
+ready for them to go up and peep out.
+
+They came to a pond by a farm-house. Clare had been observing with
+pity how wretched Tommy's clothes were; but when he looked into the
+pond he saw that his own shabbiness was worse than Tommy's downright
+miserableness. Nobody would leave either of them within reach of
+anything worth stealing! What he wore had been his Sunday suit, and it
+was not even worth brushing!
+
+"I'm 'orrid 'ungry," said Tommy. "I 'ain't swallered a plug this
+mornin', 'xcep' a lump o' bread out o' granny's cupboard. That's what
+I got my weltin' for. It were a whole half-loaf, though--an' none so
+dry!"
+
+Clare had eaten nothing, and had been up since five o'clock--at work
+all the time till the farmer struck him: he was quite as hungry as
+Tommy. What was to be done? Besides a pocket-handkerchief he had but
+one thing alienable.
+
+The very day she was taken ill, he had been in the store-room with his
+mother, and she, knowing the pleasure he took in the scent of brown
+Windsor-soap, had made him a present of a small cake. This he had kept
+in his pocket ever since, wrapt in a piece of rose-coloured paper, his
+one cherished possession: hunger deadening sorrow, the time was come
+to bid it farewell. His heart ached to part with it, but Tommy and he
+were so hungry!
+
+They went to the door of the house, and knocked--first Clare very
+gently, then Tommy with determination. It was opened by a matron who
+looked at them over the horizon of her chin.
+
+"Please, ma'am," said Clare, "will you give us a piece of bread?--as
+large a piece, please, as you can spare; and I will give you this
+piece of brown Windsor-soap."
+
+As he ended his speech, he took a farewell whiff of his favourite
+detergent.
+
+"Soap!" retorted the dame. "Who wants your soap! Where did you get it?
+Stole it, I don't doubt! Show it here."
+
+She took it in her hand, and held it to her nose.
+
+"Who gave it you?"
+
+"My mother," answered Clare.
+
+"Where's your mother?"
+
+Clare pointed upward.
+
+"Eh? Oh--hanged! I thought, so!"
+
+She threw the soap into the yard, and closed the door. Clare darted
+after his property, pounced upon it, and restored it lovingly to his
+pocket.
+
+As they were leaving the yard disconsolate, they saw a cart full of
+turnips. Tommy turned and made for it.
+
+"Don't, Tommy," cried Clare.
+
+"Why not? I'm hungry," answered Tommy, "an' you see it's no use
+astin'!"
+
+He flew at the cart, but Clare caught and held him.
+
+"They ain't ours, Tommy," he said.
+
+"Then why don't you take one?" retorted Tommy.
+
+"That's why you shouldn't."
+
+"It's why you should, for then it 'ud be yours."
+
+"To take it wouldn't make it ours, Tommy."
+
+"Wouldn't it, though? I believe when I'd eaten it, it would be
+mine--rather!"
+
+"No, it wouldn't. Think of having in your stomach what wasn't yours!
+No, you must pay for it. Perhaps they would take my soap for a
+turnip. I believe it's worth two turnips."
+
+He spied a man under a shed, ran to him, and made offer of the soap
+for a turnip apiece.
+
+"I don't want your soap," answered the man, "an' I don't recommend
+cold turmits of a mornin'. But take one if you like, and clear
+out. The master's cart-whip 'ill be about your ears the moment he sees
+you!"
+
+"Ain't you the master, sir?"
+
+"No, I ain't."
+
+"Then the turnips ain't yours?" said Clare, looking at him with
+hungry, regretful eyes, for he could have eaten a raw potato.
+
+"You're a deal too impudent to be hungry!" said the man, making a blow
+at him with his open hand, which Clare dodged. "Be off with you, or
+I'll set the dog on you."
+
+"I'm very sorry," said Clare. "I did not mean to offend you."
+
+"Clear out, I say. Double trot!"
+
+Hungry as the boys were, they must trudge! No bread, no turnip for
+them! Nothing but trudge, trudge till they dropped!
+
+When they had gone about five miles further, they sat down, as if by
+common consent, on the roadside; and Tommy, used to crying, began to
+cry. Clare did not seek to stop him, for some instinct told him it
+must be a relief.
+
+By and by a working-man came along the road. Clare hesitated, but
+Tommy's crying urged him. He rose and stood ready to accost him. As
+soon as he came up, however, the man stopped of himself. He questioned
+Clare and listened to his story, then counselled the boys to go back.
+
+"I'm not wanted, sir," said Clare.
+
+"They'd kill _me_," said Tommy.
+
+"God help you, boys!" returned the man. "You may be telling me lies,
+and you may be telling me the truth!--A liar may be hungry, but
+somehow I grudge my dinner to a liar!"
+
+As he spoke he untied the knots of a blue handkerchief with white
+spots, gave them its contents of bread and cheese, wiped his face with
+it, and put it in his pocket; lifted his bag of tools, and went his
+way. He had lost his dinner and saved his life!
+
+The dinner, being a man's, went a good way toward satisfying them,
+though empty corners would not have been far to seek, had there been
+anything to put in them. As it was, they started again refreshed and
+hopeful. What had come to them once might reasonably come again!
+
+
+
+Chapter XV.
+
+Their first host.
+
+
+As the evening drew on, and began to settle down into night, a new
+care arose in the mind of the elder boy. Where were they to pass the
+darkness?--how find shelter for sleep? It was a question that gave
+Tommy no anxiety. He had been on the tramp often, now with one party,
+now with another of his granny's lodgers, and had frequently slept in
+the open air, or under the rudest covert. Tommy had not much
+imagination to trouble him, and in his present moral condition was
+possibly better without it; but to inexperienced Clare there was
+something fearful in having the night come so close to him. Sleep out
+of doors he had never thought of. To lie down with the stars looking
+at him, nothing but the blue wind between him and them, was like being
+naked to the very soul. Doubtless there would be creatures about, to
+share the night with him, and protect him from its awful bareness; but
+they would be few for the size of the room, and he might see none of
+them! It was the sense of emptiness, the lack of present life that
+dismayed him. He had never seen any creatures to shrink from. He
+disliked no one of the things that creep or walk or fly. Before long
+he did come to know and dislike at least one sort; and the sea held
+creatures that in after years made him shudder; but as yet, not even
+rats, so terrible to many, were a terror to Clare. It was Nothing that
+he feared.
+
+My reader may say, "But had no one taught him about God?" Yes, he had
+heard about God, and about Jesus Christ; had heard a great deal about
+them. But they always seemed persons a long way off. He knew, or
+thought he knew, that God was everywhere, but he had never felt his
+presence a reality. He seemed in no place where Clare's eyes ever
+fell. He never thought, "God is here." Perhaps the sparrows knew more
+about God than he did then. When he looked out into the night it
+always seemed vacant, therefore horrid, and he took it for as empty as
+it looked. And if there had been no God there, it would have been
+reasonable indeed to be afraid; for the most frightful of notions is
+_Nothing-at-all_.
+
+It grew dark, and they were falling asleep on their walking legs, when
+they came to a barn-yard. Very glad were they to creep into it, and
+search for the warmest place. It was a quiet part of the country, and
+for years nothing had been stolen from anybody, so that the people
+were not so watchful as in many places.
+
+They went prowling about, but even Tommy with innocent intent, eager
+only after a little warmth, and as much sleep as they could find, and
+came at length to an open window, through which they crawled into
+what, by the smell and the noises, they knew to be a stable. It was
+very dark, but Clare was at home, and felt his way about; while Tommy,
+who was afraid of the horses, held close to him. Clare's hand fell
+upon the hind-quarters of a large well-fed horse. The huge animal was
+asleep standing, but at the touch of the small hand he gave a low
+whinny. Tommy shuddered at the sound.
+
+"He's pleased," said Clare, and crept up on his near side into the
+stall. There he had soon made such friends with him, that he did not
+hesitate to get in among the hay the horse had for his supper.
+
+"Here, Tommy!" he cried in a whisper; "there's room for us both in the
+manger."
+
+But Tommy stood shaking. He fancied the darkness full of horses'
+heads, and would not stir. Clare had to get out again, and search for
+a place to suit his fancy, which he found in an untenanted loose-box,
+with remains of litter. There Tommy coiled himself up, and was soon
+fast asleep.
+
+Clare returned to the hospitality of the big horse. The great nostrils
+snuffed him over and over as he lay, and the boy knew the horse made
+him welcome. He dropped asleep stroking the muzzle of his
+chamber-fellow, and slept all the night, kept warm by the horse's
+breath, and the near furnace of his great body.
+
+In the morning the boys found they had slept too long, for they were
+discovered. But though they were promptly ejected as vagabonds, and
+not without a few kicks and cuffs, these were not administered without
+the restraint of some mercy, for their appearance tended to move pity
+rather than indignation.
+
+
+
+Chapter XVI.
+
+On the tramp.
+
+
+With the new day came the fresh necessity for breakfast, and the fresh
+interest in the discovery of it. But breakfast is a thing not always
+easiest to find where breakfasts most abound; nor was theirs when
+found that morning altogether of a sort to be envied, ill as they
+could afford to despise it. Passing, on their goal-less way, a
+flour-mill, the door of which was half-open, they caught sight of a
+heap, whether floury dust or dusty flour, it would have been hard to
+say, that seemed waiting only for them to help themselves from
+it. Fain to still the craving of birds too early for any worm, they
+swallowed a considerable portion of it, choking as it was, nor met
+with rebuke. There was good food in it, and they might have fared
+worse.
+
+Another day's tramp was thus inaugurated. How it was to end no one in
+the world knew less than the trampers.
+
+Before it was over, a considerable change had passed upon Clare; for a
+new era was begun in his history, and he started to grow more
+rapidly. Hitherto, while with his father or mother, or with his little
+sister, making life happy to her; even while at the farm, doing hard
+work, he had lived with much the same feeling with which he read a
+story: he was in the story, half dreaming, half acting it. The
+difference between a thing that passed through his brain from the
+pages of a book, or arose in it as he lay in bed either awake or
+asleep, and the thing in which he shared the life and motion of the
+day, was not much marked in his consciousness. He was a dreamer with
+open eyes and ready hands, not clearly distinguishing thought and
+action, fancy and fact. Even the cold and hunger he had felt at the
+farm had not sufficed to wake him up; he had only had to wait and they
+were removed. But now that he did not know whence his hunger was to be
+satisfied, or where shelter was to be had; now also that there was a
+hunger outside him, and a cold that was not his, which yet he had to
+supply and to frustrate in the person of Tommy, life began to grow
+real to him; and, which was far more, he began to grow real to
+himself, as a power whose part it was to encounter the necessities
+thus presented. He began to understand that things were required of
+him. He had met some of these requirements before, and had satisfied
+them, but without knowing them as requirements. He did it half awake,
+not as a thinking and willing source of the motion demanded. He did it
+all by impulse, hardly by response. Now we are put into bodies, and
+sent into the world, to wake us up. We might go on dreaming for ages
+if we were left without bodies that the wind could blow upon, that the
+rain could wet, and the sun scorch, bodies to feel thirst and cold and
+hunger and wounds and weariness. The eternal plan was beginning to
+tell upon Clare. He was in process of being changed from a dreamer to
+a man. It is a good thing to be a dreamer, but it is a bad thing
+indeed to be _only_ a dreamer. He began to see that everybody in the
+world had to do something in order to get food; that he had worked for
+the farmer and his wife, and they had fed him. He had worked willingly
+and eaten gladly, but had not before put the two together. He saw now
+that men who would be men must work.
+
+His eyes fell upon a congregation of rooks in a field by the
+roadside. "Are _they_ working?" he thought; "or are they stealing? If
+it be stealing they are at, it looks like hard work as well. It can't
+be stealing though; they were made to live, and _how_ are they to live
+if they don't grub? that's their work! Still the corn ain't theirs!
+Perhaps it's only worms they take! Are the worms theirs? A man should
+die rather than steal, papa said. But, if they are stealing, the crows
+don't know it; and if they don't know it, they ain't thieves! Is that
+it?"
+
+The same instant came the report of a gun. A crowd of rooks rose
+cawing. One of them dropped and lay.
+
+"He must have been stealing," thought Clare, "for see what comes of
+it! Would they shoot me if I stole? Better be shot than die of hunger!
+Yes, but better die of hunger than be a thief!"
+
+He had read stories about thieves and honest boys, and had never seen
+any difficulty in the matter. Nor had he yet a notion of how difficult
+it is not to be a thief--that is, to be downright honest. If anybody
+thinks it easy, either he has not known much of life, or he has never
+tried to be honest; he has done just like other people. Clare did not
+know that many a boy whose heart sided with the honest boy in the
+story, has grown up a dishonourable man--a man ready to benefit
+himself to the disadvantage of others; that many a man who passes for
+respectable in this disreputable world, is counted far meaner than a
+thief in the next, and is going there to be put in prison. But he
+began to see that it is not enough to mean well; that he must be
+sharp, and mind what he was about; else, with hunger worrying inside
+him, he might be a thief before he knew. He was on the way to discover
+that to think rightly--to be on the side of what is honourable when
+reading a story, is a very different thing from doing right, and being
+honourable, when the temptation is upon us. Many a boy when he reads
+this will say, "Of course it is!" and when the time comes, will be a
+sneak.
+
+Those crows set Clare thinking; and it was well; for if he had not
+done as those thinkings taught him, he would have given a very
+different turn to his history. Meditation and resolve, on the top of
+honourable habit, brought him to this, that, when he saw what was
+right, he just did it--did it without hesitation, question, or
+struggle. Every man must, who would be a free man, who would not be
+the slave of the universe and of himself.
+
+
+
+Chapter XVII.
+
+The baker's cart.
+
+
+The sweepings of the mill-floor did not last them long, and by the
+time they saw rising before them the spires and chimneys of the small
+county town to which the road had been leading them, they were very
+hungry indeed--as hungry as they well could be without having begun to
+grow faint. The moment he saw them, Clare began revolving in his mind
+once more, as many times on the way, what he was to do to get work:
+Tommy of course was too small to do anything, and Clare must earn
+enough for both. He could think of nothing but going into the shops,
+or knocking at the house-doors, and asking for something to do. So
+filled was he with his need of work, and with the undefined sense of a
+claim for work, that he never thought how much against him must be the
+outward appearance which had so dismayed himself when he saw it in the
+pond; never thought how unwilling any one would be to employ him, or
+what a disadvantage was the company of Tommy, who had every mark of a
+born thief.
+
+I do not know if, on his tramps, Tommy had been in a town before, but
+to Clare all he saw bore the aspect of perfect novelty,
+notwithstanding the few city-shapes that floated in faintest shadow,
+like memories of old dreams, in his brain. He was delighted with the
+grand look of the place, with its many people and many shops. His hope
+of work at once became brilliant and convincing.
+
+Noiselessly and suddenly Tommy started from his side, but so much
+occupied was he with what he beheld and what he thought, that he
+neither saw him go nor missed him when gone. He became again aware of
+him by finding himself pulled toward the entrance of a narrow lane.
+Tommy pulled so hard that Clare yielded, and went with him into the
+lane, but stopped immediately. For he saw that Tommy had under his arm
+a big loaf, and the steam of newly-baked bread was fragrant in his
+nostrils. Never smoke so gracious greeted those of incense-loving
+priest. Tommy tugged and tugged, but Clare stood stock-still.
+
+"Where did you get that beautiful loaf, Tommy?" he asked.
+
+"Off on a baker's cart," said Tommy. "Don't be skeered; he never saw
+me! That was my business, an' I seed to 't."
+
+"Then you stole it, Tommy?"
+
+"Yes," grumbled Tommy, "--if that's the name you put upon it when your
+trousers is so slack you've got to hold on to them or they'd trip you
+up!"
+
+"Where's the cart?"
+
+"In the street there."
+
+"Come along."
+
+Clare took the loaf from Tommy, and turned to find the baker's
+cart. Tommy's face fell, and he was conscious only of bitterness. Why
+had he yielded to sentiment--not that he knew the word--when he longed
+like fire to bury his sharp teeth in that heavenly loaf? Love--not to
+mention a little fear--had urged him to carry it straight to Clare,
+and this was his reward! He was going to give him up to the baker!
+There was gratitude for you! He ought to have known better than trust
+_anybody_, even Clare! Nobody was to be trusted but yourself! It did
+seem hard to Tommy.
+
+They had scarcely turned the corner when they came upon the cart. The
+baker was looking the other way, talking to some one, and Clare
+thought to lay down the loaf and say nothing about it: there was no
+occasion for the ceremony of apology where offence was unknown. But in
+the very act the baker turned and saw him. He sprang upon him, and
+collared him. The baker was not nice to look at.
+
+"I have you!" he cried, and shook him as if he would have shaken his
+head off.
+
+"It's quite a mistake, sir!" was all Clare could get out, so fierce
+was the earthquake that rattled the house of his life.
+
+"Mistaken am I? I like that!--Police!"
+
+And with that the baker shook him again.
+
+A policeman was not far off; he heard the man call, and came running.
+
+"Here's a gen'leman as wants the honour o' your acquaintance, Bob!"
+said the baker.
+
+But Tommy saw that, from his size, he was more likely to get off than
+Clare if he told the truth.
+
+"Please, policeman," he said, "it wasn't him; it was me as took the
+loaf."
+
+"You little liar!" shouted the baker. "Didn't I see him with his hand
+on the loaf?"
+
+"He was a puttin' of it back," said Tommy. "I wish he'd been
+somewheres else! See what he been an' got by it! If he'd only ha' let
+me run, there wouldn't ha' been nobody the wiser. I _am_ sorry I
+didn't run. Oh, I _ham_ so 'ungry!"
+
+Tommy doubled himself up, with his hands inside the double.
+
+"'Ungry, are you?" roared the baker. "That's what thieves off a
+baker's cart ought to be! They ought to be always 'ungry--'ungry to
+all eternity, they ought! An' that's what's goin' to be done to 'em!"
+
+"Look here!" cried a pale-faced man in the front of the crowd, who
+seemed a mechanic. "There's a way of tellin' whether the boy's
+speakin' the truth _now_!"
+
+He caught up the restored loaf, halved it cleverly, and handed each of
+the boys a part.
+
+"Now, baker, what's to pay?" he said, and drew himself up, for the man
+was too angry at once to reply.
+
+The boys were tearing at the delicious bread, blind and deaf to all
+about them.
+
+"P'r'aps you would like to give _me_ in charge?" pursued their
+saviour.
+
+"Sixpence," said the man sullenly.
+
+The mechanic laid sixpence on the cover of the cart.
+
+"I ought to ha' made you weigh and make up," he said. "Where's your
+scales?"
+
+"Mind your own business."
+
+"I mean to. Here! I want another sixpenny loaf--but I want it weighed
+this time!"
+
+"I ain't bound to sell bread in the streets. You can go to the
+shop. Them loaves is for reg'lar customers."
+
+He moved off with his cart, and the crowd began to disperse. The boys
+stood absorbed, each in what remained of his half-loaf.
+
+When he looked up, Clare saw that they were alone. But he caught sight
+of their benefactor some way off, and ran after him.
+
+"Oh, sir!" he said, "I was so hungry, I don't know whether I thanked
+you for the loaf. We'd had nothing to-day but the sweepings of a
+mill."
+
+"God bless my soul!" said the man. "People say there's a God!" he
+added.
+
+"I think there must be, sir, for you came by just then!" returned
+Clare.
+
+"How do you come to be so hard-up, my boy? Somebody's to blame
+somewheres!"
+
+"There ain't no harm in being hungry, so long as the loaf comes!"
+rejoined Clare. "When I get work we shall be all right!"
+
+"That's your sort!" said the man. "But if there had been a God, as
+people say, he would ha' made me fit to gi'e you a job, i'stead o'
+stan'in' here as you see me, with ne'er a turn o' work to do for
+myself!"
+
+"I'll work my hardest to pay you back your sixpence," said Clare.
+
+"Nay, nay, lad! Don't you trouble about that. I ha' got two or three
+more i' my pocket, thank God!"
+
+"You have two Gods, have you, sir?" said Clare;"--one who does things
+for you, and one who don't?"
+
+"Come, you young shaver! you're too much for me!" said the man
+laughing.
+
+Tommy, having finished his bread, here thought fit to join them. He
+came slyly up, looking impudent now he was filled, with his hands
+where his pockets should have been.
+
+"It was you stole the loaf, you little rascal!" said the workman,
+seeing thief in every line of the boy.
+
+"Yes," answered Tommy boldly, "an' I don't see no harm. The baker had
+lots, and he wasn't 'ungry! It was Clare made a mull of it! He's such
+a duffer you don't know! He acshally took it back to the brute! He
+deserved what he got! The loaf was mine. It wasn't his! _I_ stole it!"
+
+"Oh, ho! it wasn't his! it was yours, was it?--Why do you go about
+with a chap like this, young gentleman?" said the man, turning to
+Clare. "I know by your speech you 'ain't been brought up alongside o'
+sech as him!"
+
+"I had to go away, and he came with me," answered Clare.
+
+"You'd better get rid of him. He'll get you into trouble."
+
+"I can't get rid of him," replied Clare. "But I shall teach him not to
+take what isn't his. He don't know better now. He's been ill-used all
+his life."
+
+"You don't seem over well used yourself," said the man.
+
+He saw that Clare's clothes had been made for a boy in good
+circumstances, though they had been long worn, and were much
+begrimed. His face, his tone, his speech convinced him that they had
+been made for _him_, and that he had had a gentle breeding.
+
+"Look you here, young master," he continued; "you have no right to be
+in company with that boy. He'll bring you to grief as sure as I tell
+you."
+
+"I shall be able to bear it," answered Clare with a sigh.
+
+"He'll be the loss of your character to you."
+
+"I 'ain't got a character to lose," replied Clare. "I thought I had;
+but when nobody will believe me, where's my character then?"
+
+"Now you're wrong there," returned the man. "I'm not much, I know; but
+I believe every word you say, and should be very sorry to find myself
+mistaken."
+
+"Thank you, sir," said Clare. "May I carry your bag for you?"
+
+If Clare had seen what then passed in Tommy's mind, at the back of
+those glistening ferret-eyes of his, he would have been almost
+reconciled to taking the man's advice, and getting rid of him. Tommy
+was saying to himself that his pal wasn't such a duffer after all--he
+was on the lay for the man's tools!
+
+Tommy never reasoned except in the direction of cunning self-help--of
+fitting means and intermediate ends to the one main object of
+eating. It is wonderful what a sharpener of the poor wits hunger is!
+
+"I guess I'm the abler-bodied pauper!" answered the man; and picking
+up the bag he had dropped at his feet while they conversed, he walked
+away.
+
+There are many more generous persons among the poor than among the
+rich--a fact that might help some to understand how a rich man should
+find it hard to enter into the kingdom of heaven. It is hard for
+everybody, but harder for the rich. Men who strive to make money are
+unconsciously pulling instead of pushing at the heavy gate of the
+kingdom.
+
+"Tommy!" said Clare, in a tone new to himself, for a new sense of
+moral protection had risen in him, "if ever you steal anything again,
+either I give you a hiding, or you and I part company."
+
+Tommy bored his knuckles into his red eyes, and began to
+whimper. Again it was hard for Tommy! He had followed Clare, thinking
+to supply what was lacking to him; to do for him what he was not
+clever enough to do for himself; in short, to make an advantageous
+partnership with him, to which he should furnish the faculty of
+picking up unconsidered trifles. Tommy judged Clare defective in
+intellect, and quite unpractical. He was of the mind of the
+multitude. The common-minded man always calls the man who thinks of
+righteousness before gain, who seeks to do the will of God and does
+not seek to make a fortune, unpractical. He _will_ not see that the
+very essence of the practical lies in doing the right thing.
+
+Tommy, in a semi-conscious way, had looked to Clare to supply the
+strength and the innocent look, while he supplied the head and the
+lively fingers; and here was Clare knocking the lovely plan to pieces!
+He did well to be angry! But Clare was the stronger; and Tommy knew
+that, when Clare was roused, though it was not easy to rouse him, he
+could and would and did fight--not, indeed, as the little coward said
+to himself _he_ could fight, like a wild cat, but like a blundering
+hornless old cow defending her calf from a cur.
+
+In the heart of all his selfishness, however, Tommy did a little love
+Clare; and his love came, not from Tommy, but from the same source as
+his desire for food, namely, from the God that was in Tommy, the God
+in whom Tommy lived and had his being with Clare. Whether Tommy's love
+for Clare would one day lift him up beside Clare, that is, make him an
+honest boy like Clare, remained to be seen.
+
+Finding his demonstration make no impression, Tommy took his knuckles
+out of his eye-holes and thrust them into his pocket-holes, turned his
+back on his friend, and began to whistle--with a lump of self-pity in
+his throat.
+
+
+
+Chapter XVIII.
+
+Beating the town.
+
+
+They turned their faces again toward the centre of the town, and
+resumed their walk, taking in more of what they saw than while they
+had not yet had the second instalment of their daily bread. What a
+thing is food! It is the divineness of the invention--the need for the
+food, and the food for the need--that makes those who count their
+dinner the most important thing in the day, such low creatures:
+nothing but what is good in itself can be turned into vileness. It is
+a delight to see a boy with a good honest appetite; a boy that _loves_
+his dinner is a loathsome creature. Eat heartily, my boy, but be ready
+to share, even when you are hungry, and have only what you could eat
+up yourself, else you are no man. Remember that you created neither
+your hunger nor your food; that both came from one who cares for you
+and your neighbours as well.
+
+In the strength of the half-loaf he had eaten, the place looked to
+Clare far more wonderful, and his hopes of earning his bread grew yet
+more radiant. But he passed one shop after another, and always
+something prevented him from going in. One after another did not look
+just the right sort, did not seem to invite him: the next might be
+better! I dare say but for that half-loaf, he would have made a trial
+sooner, but I doubt if he would have succeeded sooner. He did not
+think of going to parson, doctor, or policeman for advice; he went
+walking and staring, followed by Tommy with his hands in his
+pocketless pocket-holes. Clare was not yet practical in device, though
+perfect in willingness, and thorough in design. Up one street and down
+another they wandered, seeing plenty of food through windows, and in
+carts and baskets, but never any coming their way, except in the form
+of tempting odours that issued from almost every house, and grew in
+keenness and strength toward one o'clock. Oh those odours!--agonizing
+angels of invisible yet most material good! Of what joys has not the
+Father made us capable, when the poorest necessity is linked with such
+pain! What a tormenting thing--and what a good must be meant to come
+out of it!--to be hungry, downright, cravingly hungry with the whole
+microcosm, and not a halfpenny to buy a mouthful of assuagement!--to
+be assailed with wafts of deliriously undefined promise, not one of
+which seems likely to be fulfilled!--promise true to men hurrying home
+to dinner or luncheon, but only rousing greater desire in such as
+Clare and Tommy. Not one opportunity of appropriation presented
+itself, else it would have gone ill with Tommy, now that the eyes and
+ears of his guardian were on the alert. For Clare thought of him now
+as a little thievish pup, for whose conduct, manners, and education he
+was responsible.
+
+The agony began at length to abate--ready to revive with augmented
+strength when the next hour for supplying the human furnace should
+begin to approach. Few even of those who know what hunger is,
+understand to what it may grow--how desire becomes longing, longing
+becomes craving, and craving a wild passion of demand. It must be
+terrible to be hungry, and not know God!
+
+As the evening came down upon them, worn out, faint with want,
+shivering with cold, and as miserable in prospect as at the moment,
+yet another need presented itself with equally imperative
+requisition--that of shelter that they might rest. It was even more
+imperative: they could not eat; they _must_ lie down!
+
+Whether it be a rudiment retained from their remote ancestry, I cannot
+tell, but any kind of suffering will wake in some a masterful impulse
+to burrow; and as the boys walked about in their misery, white with
+cold and hunger, Clare's eyes kept turning to every shallowest
+archway, every breach in wall or hedge that seemed to offer the least
+chance of covert, while, every now and then, Tommy would bolt from his
+side to peer into some opening whose depth was not immediately patent
+to his ferret-gaze. Once, in a lane on the outskirts of the town, he
+darted into a narrow doorway in the face of a wall, but instantly
+rushed back in horror: within was a well, where water lay still and
+dark. Then first Clare had a hint of the peculiar dread Tommy had of
+water, especially of water dark and unexpected. Possibly he had once
+been thrown into such water to be got rid of. But Clare at the moment
+was too weary to take much notice of his dismay.
+
+It was an old town in which they were wandering, and change in the
+channels of traffic had so turned its natural nourishment aside, that
+it was in parts withering and crumbling away. Not a few of the houses
+were, some from poverty, some from utter disuse, yielding fast to
+decay. But there were other causes for the condition of one, which,
+almost directly they came out of the lane I have just mentioned, into
+the end of a wide silent street, drew the roving, questing eyes of
+Clare and Tommy. The moon was near the full and shining clear, so that
+they could perfectly see the state it was in. Most of its windows were
+broken; its roof was like the back of a very old horse; its
+chimney-pots were jagged and stumped with fracture; from one of them,
+by its entangled string, the skeleton of a kite hung half-way down the
+front. But, notwithstanding such signs of neglect, the red-brick wall
+and the wrought-iron gate, both seven feet high, that shut the place
+off from the street, stood in perfect aged strength. The moment they
+saw it, the house seemed to say to them, "There's nobody here: come
+in!" but the gate and the wall said, "Begone!"
+
+
+
+Chapter XIX.
+
+The blacksmith and his forge.
+
+
+At the end of the wall was a rough boarded fence, in contact with it,
+and reaching, some fifty yards or so, to a hovel in which a
+blacksmith, of unknown antecedents, had taken possession of a forsaken
+forge, and did what odd jobs came in his way. The boys went along the
+fence till they came to the forge, where, looking in, they saw the
+blacksmith working his bellows. To one with the instincts of Clare's
+birth and breeding, he did not look a desirable acquaintance. Tommy
+was less fastidious, but he felt that the scowl on the man's brows
+boded little friendliness. Clare, however, who hardly knew what fear
+was, did not hesitate to go in, for he was drawn as with a cart-rope
+by the glow of the fire, and the sparks which, as they gazed, began,
+like embodied joys, to fly merrily from the iron. Tommy followed,
+keeping Clare well between him and the black-browed man, who rained
+his blows on the rosy iron in his pincers, as if he hated it.
+
+"What do you want, gutter-toads?" he cried, glancing up and seeing
+them approach. "This ain't a hotel."
+
+"But it's a splendid fire," rejoined Clare, looking into his face with
+a wan smile, "and we're so cold!"
+
+"What's that to me!" returned the man, who, savage about something,
+was ready to quarrel with anything. "I didn't make my fire to warm
+little devils that better had never been born!"
+
+"No, sir," answered Clare; "but I don't think we'd better not have
+been born. We're both cold, and nobody but Tommy knows how hungry I
+am; but your fire is so beautiful that, if you would let us stand
+beside it a minute or two, we wouldn't at all mind."
+
+"Mind, indeed! Mind what, you preaching little humbug?"
+
+"Mind being born, sir."
+
+"Why do you say _sir_ to me? Don't you see I'm a working man?"
+
+"Yes, and that's why. I think we ought to say _sir_ and _ma'am_ to
+every one that can do something we can't. Tommy and I can't make iron
+do what we please, and you can, sir! It would be a grand thing for us
+if we could!"
+
+"Oh, yes, a grand thing, no doubt!--Why?"
+
+"Because then we could get something to eat, and somewhere to lie
+down."
+
+"Could you? Look at me, now! I can do the work of two men, and can't
+get work for half a man!"
+
+"That's a sad pity!" said Clare. "I wish I had work! Then I would
+bring you something to eat."
+
+The man did not tell them why he had not work enough--that his
+drunkenness, and the bad ways to which it had brought him, with the
+fact that he so often dawdled over the work that was given him, caused
+people to avoid him.
+
+"Who said I hadn't enough to eat? I ain't come to that yet, young 'un!
+What made you say that?"
+
+"Because when I had work, I had plenty to eat; and now that I have
+nothing to do, I have nothing to eat. It's well I haven't work now,
+though," added Clare with a sigh, "for I'm too tired to do any. Please
+may I sit on this heap of ashes?"
+
+"Sit where you like, so long 's you keep out o' my way. I 'ain't got
+nothing to give you but a bar of iron. I'll toast one for you if you
+would like a bite."
+
+"No, thank you, sir," answered Clare, with a smile. "I'm afraid it
+wouldn't be digestible. They say toasted cheese ain't. I wish I had a
+try though!"
+
+"You're a comical shaver, you are!" said the blacksmith. "You'll come
+to the gallows yet, if you're a good boy! Them Sunday-schools is doin'
+a heap for the gallows!--That ain't your brother?"
+
+By this time Tommy had begun to feel at home with the blacksmith, from
+whose face the cloud had lifted a little, so that he looked less
+dangerous. He had edged nearer to the fire, and now stood in the light
+of it.
+
+"No," answered Clare, with an odd doubtfulness in his tone. "I ought
+to say _yes_, perhaps, for all men are my brothers; but I mean I
+haven't any particular one of my very own."
+
+"That ain't no pity; he'd ha' been no better than you. I've a brother
+I would choke any minute I got a chance."
+
+While they talked, the blacksmith had put his iron in the fire, and
+again stood blowing the bellows, when his attention was caught by the
+gestures of the little red-eyed imp, Tommy, who was making rapid signs
+to him, touching his forehead with one finger, nodding mysteriously,
+and pointing at Clare with the thumb of his other hand, held close to
+his side. He sought to indicate thus that his companion was an
+innocent, whom nobody must mind. In the blacksmith Tommy saw one of
+his own sort, and the blacksmith saw neither in Tommy nor in Clare any
+reason to doubt the hint given him. Not the less was he inclined to
+draw out the idiot.
+
+"Why do you let him follow you about, if he ain't your brother?" he
+said. "He ain't nice to look at!"
+
+"I want to make him nice," answered Clare, "and then he'll be nice to
+look at. You mustn't mind him, please, sir. He's a very little boy,
+and 'ain't been well brought up. His granny ain't a good woman--at
+least not very, you know, Tommy!" he added apologetically.
+
+"She's a damned old sinner!" said Tommy stoutly.
+
+The man laughed.
+
+"Ha, ha, my chicken! you know a thing or two!" he said, as he took his
+iron from the fire, and laid it again on the anvil.
+
+But besides the brother he would so gladly strangle, there was an
+idiot one whom he had loved a little and teazed so much, that, when he
+died, his conscience was moved. He felt therefore a little tender
+toward the idiot before him. He bethought himself also that his job
+would soon be at a stage where the fewer the witnesses the better, for
+he was executing a commission for certain burglars of his
+acquaintance. He would do no more that night! He had money in his
+pocket, and he wanted a drink!
+
+"Look here, cubs!" he said; "if you 'ain't got nowhere to go to, I
+don't mind if you sleep here. There ain't no bed but the bed of the
+forge, nor no blankets but this leather apron: you may have them, for
+you can't do them no sort of harm. I don't mind neither if you put a
+shovelful of slack and a little water now and then on the fire; and if
+you give it a blow or two with the bellows now and then, you won't be
+stone-dead afore the mornin'!--Don't be too free with the coals, now,
+and don't set the shed on fire, and take the bread out of my poor
+innocent mouth. Mind what I tell you, and be good boys."
+
+"Thank you, sir," said Clare. "I thought you would be kind to us! I've
+one friend, a bull, that's very good to me. So is Jonathan. He's a
+horse. The bull's name is Nimrod. He wants to gore always, but he's
+never cross with me."
+
+The blacksmith burst into a roar of laughter at the idiotic
+speech. Then he covered the fire with coal, threw his apron over
+Clare's head, and departed, locking the door of the smithy behind him.
+
+The boys looked at each other. Neither spoke. Tommy turned to the
+bellows, and began to blow.
+
+"Ain't you warm yet?" said Clare, who had seen his mother careful over
+the coals.
+
+"No, I ain't. I want a blaze."
+
+"Leave the fire alone. The coal is the smith's, and he told us not to
+waste it."
+
+"He ain't no count!" said Tommy, as heartless as any grown man or
+woman set on pleasure.
+
+"He has given us a place to be warm and sleep in! It would be a shame
+to do anything he didn't like. Have you no conscience, Tommy?"
+
+"No," said Tommy, who did not know conscience from copper. The germ of
+it no doubt lay in the God-part of him, but it lay deep. Tommy--no
+worse than many a boy born of better parents--was like a hill full of
+precious stones, that grows nothing but a few little dry shrubs, and
+shoots out cold sharp rocks every here and there.
+
+"If you have no conscience," answered Clare, "one must serve for
+both--as far as it will reach! Leave go of that bellows, or I'll make
+you."
+
+Tommy let the lever go, turned his back, and wandered, in such dudgeon
+as he was capable of, to the other side of the shed.
+
+"Hello!" he cried, "here's a door!--and it ain't locked, it's only
+bolted! Let's go and see!"
+
+"You may if you like," answered Clare, "but if you touch anything of
+the blacksmith's, I'll be down on you."
+
+"All right!" said Tommy, and went out to see if there was anything to
+be picked up.
+
+Clare got on the stone hearth of the forge, and lay down in the hot
+ashes, too far gone with hunger to care for the clothes that were
+almost beyond caring for. He was soon fast asleep; and warmth and
+sleep would do nearly as much for him as food.
+
+
+
+Chapter XX.
+
+Tommy reconnoitres.
+
+
+Tommy, out in the moonlight, found himself in a waste yard, scattered
+over with bits of iron, mostly old and rusty. It was not an
+interesting place, for it was not likely to afford him anything to
+eat. Yet, with the instinct of the human animal, he went shifting and
+prying and nosing about everywhere. Presently he heard a curious
+sound, which he recognized as made by a hen. More stealthily yet he
+went creeping hither and thither, feeling here and feeling there, in
+the hope of laying his hand on the fowl asleep. Urged by his natural
+impulse to forage, he had forgotten Clare's warning. His hand did find
+her, and had it been his grandmother instead of Clare in the smithy,
+he would at once have broken the bird's neck before she could cry out;
+but with the touch of her feathers came the thought of Clare, and by
+this time he understood that what Clare said, Clare would do.
+
+He had some knowledge of fowls; he had heard too much talk about them
+at his grandmother's not to know something of their habits; and
+finding she sat so still, he concluded that under her might be
+eggs. To his delight it was so. The hen belonged to a house at some
+distance, and had wandered from it, in obedience to the secretive
+instinct of animal maternity, strong in some hens, to seek a hidden
+shelter for her offspring. This she had found in the smith's yard,
+beneath the mould-board of a plough that had lain there for
+years. Slipping his hand under her, Tommy found five eggs. In greedy
+haste he took them, every one.
+
+I must do him the justice to say that his first impulse was to dart
+with them to Clare. But before he had taken a step toward him, again
+he remembered his threat. With the eggs inside him, he could run the
+risk; he would not mind a few blows--not much; but if he took them to
+Clare, the unbearable thing was, that he would assuredly give every
+one of them back to the hen. He was an idiot, and Tommy was there to
+look after him; but, in looking after Clare, was Tommy to neglect
+himself? If Clare would not eat the eggs Tommy carried him, as most
+certainly he would not, the best thing was for Tommy to eat them
+himself! What a good thing that it was no use to steal for Clare! The
+steal would be all for himself! Not a step from the spot did Tommy
+move till he had sucked every one of the five eggs. But he made one
+mistake: he threw away the shells.
+
+When he had sucked them, he found himself much lighter-hearted, but,
+alas, nearly as hungry as before! The spirit of research began again
+to move him: where were eggs, what might there not be beside?
+
+The moon was nearly at the full; the smith's yard was radiantly
+illuminated. But even the moon could lend little enchantment to a
+scene where nothing was visible but rusty, broken, deserted,
+despairful pieces of old iron. Tommy lifted his eyes and looked
+further.
+
+The enclosure was of small extent, bounded on one side by the garden
+wall of the house they had just passed, and at the bottom by a broken
+fence, dividing it from a piece of waste land that probably belonged
+to the house. As he roamed about, Tommy spied a great heap of old iron
+piled up against the wall, and made for it, in the hope of enlarging
+his horizon. He scrambled to the top, and looked over. His gaze fell
+right into a big but, full of dark water. Twice that evening he met
+the same horror! There was a legendary report, though he had not heard
+it, I fancy, that his mother drowned herself instead of him: she fell
+in, and he was fished out. Whether this was the origin of his fear or
+not, so far from getting down by means of the water-but, Tommy dared
+not cross at that point. With much trembling he got on the top of the
+wall, turned his back on the butt, and ran along like a cat, in search
+of a place where he could descend into the garden. He went right to
+the end, round the corner, and half-way along the bottom before he
+found one. There he came to a doorway that had been solidly walled up
+on the outside, while the door was left in position on the
+inside--ready for use when the court of chancery should have decided
+to whom the house belonged. Its frame was flush with the wall, so that
+its bolts and lock afforded Tommy foothold enough to descend, and
+confidence of being able to get up again.
+
+He landed in a moonlit wilderness--such a wilderness as a deserted
+garden speedily becomes, the wealth in the soil converting it the
+sooner to a savage chaos. Full of the impulse of discovery, and the
+hope of presenting himself with importance to Clare as the bringer of
+good tidings, Tommy forced his way through or crept under the
+overgrown bushes, until he reached a mossy rather than gravelly walk,
+where it was more easy to advance. It led him to the house.
+
+Had he been a boy of any imagination, he would have shuddered at the
+thought of attempting an entrance. All the windows had outside
+shutters. Those of the ground floor were closed--except one that swung
+to and fro, and must have swung in many a wind since the house was
+abandoned. The moon shone with a dull whitish gleam on the dusty
+windows of the first and second stories, and on the great dormers that
+shot out from the slope of the roof, and cast strange shadows upon
+it. The door to the garden had had a porch of trellis-work, over which
+jasmine and other creeping plants were trained; but whether anything
+of the porch was left, no one could have told in that thicket of
+creepers, interlaced and matted by antagonist forces of wind and
+growth so that not a hint of door was visible. Clearly there was
+nobody within.
+
+Tommy sought the window with the open shutter. Through the dirty
+glass, and the reflection of the moon, he could see nothing. He tried
+the sash, but could not stir it. He went round the corner to one end
+of the house, and saw another door. But an enemy stepped between: the
+moon shone suddenly up from the ground. In a hollow of the pavement
+had gathered a pool from the drip of the neglected gutters, and out of
+its hidden depth the staring round looked at him. It was the third
+time Tommy's nerves had been shaken that night, and he could stand no
+more. At the awful vision he turned and fled, fell, and rose and fled
+again. It was not imagination in Tommy; it was an undefined,
+inexplicable horror, that must have had a cause, but could have no
+reason. Young as he was he had already more than once looked on the
+face of death, and had felt no awe; he had listened to the gruesomest
+of tales, told not altogether without art, and had never moved a hair
+Only one material and two spiritual things had power with him; the one
+material thing was hunger, the two spiritual things were a feeble love
+for Clare, and a strong horror of water of any seeming depth. Now a
+new element was added to this terror by the meddling of the moon in
+the fiendish mystery--the secret of which must, I think, have been the
+bottomless depth she gave the water.
+
+He rushed down the garden. With frightful hindrance from the
+overgrowth, he found the prisoned door by strange perversion become a
+ladder, gained by it the top of the wall, and sped along as if pursued
+by an incarnate dread. Horror of horrors! all at once the moon again
+looked up at him from below: he was within a yard or two of the big
+water-butt! Right up to it he must go, for, close to it, on the other
+side of the wall, was the heap of iron by which alone he could get
+down. He tightened every nerve for the effort. He assured himself that
+the thing would be over in a moment; that the water was quiet, and
+could not follow him; that presently he would find himself in the
+smithy by the warm forge-fire. The scaring necessity was, that he must
+stoop and kneel right over the water-but, in order to send his legs in
+advance down the wall to the top of the mound. It was a moment of
+agony. That very moment, with an appalling unearthly cry, something
+dark, something hideous, something of inconceivable ghastliness, as it
+seemed to Tommy, sprang right out of the water into the air. He
+tumbled from the wall among the iron, and there lay.
+
+The stolen eggs were avenged. The hen, feverish and unhappy from the
+loss of her hope of progeny, had gone to the butt to sip a little
+water. Tommy, appearing on the wall above her, startled her. She,
+flying up with a screech, startled Tommy, and became her own unwitting
+avenger.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXI.
+
+Tommy is found and found out.
+
+
+When Clare woke from his first sleep, which he did within an hour--for
+he was too hungry to sleep straight on, and the door, imperfectly
+closed by Tommy, had come open, and let in a cold wind with the
+moonlight--he raised himself on his elbow, and peered from his stone
+shelf into the dreary hut. He could not at once tell where he was, but
+when he remembered, his first thought was Tommy. He looked about for
+him. Tommy was nowhere. Then he saw the open door, and remembered he
+had gone out. Surely it was time he had come back! Stiff and sore, he
+turned on his longitudinal axis, crept down from the forge, and went
+out shivering to look for his imp. The moon shone radiant on the rusty
+iron, and the glamour of her light rendered not a few of its shapes
+and fragments suggestive of cruel torture. Picking his way among
+spikes and corners and edges, he walked about the hideous wilderness
+searching for Tommy, afraid to call for fear of attracting attention.
+The hen too was walking about, disconsolate, but she took no notice of
+him, neither did the sight of her give him any hint or rouse in him
+the least suspicion: how could he suspect one so innocent and troubled
+for the avenging genius through whom Tommy's white face lay upturned
+to the white moon! Her egg-shells lay scattered, each a ghastly point
+in the moonshine, each a silent witness to the deed that had been
+done. Tommy scattered and forgot them; the moon gathered and noted
+them. But they told Clare nothing, either of Tommy's behaviour or of
+Tommy himself.
+
+He came at last to the heap of metal, and there lay Tommy, caught in
+its skeleton protrusions. A shiver went through him when he saw the
+pallid face, and the dark streak of blood across it. He concluded that
+in trying to get over the wall he had failed and fallen back. He
+climbed and took him in his arms. Tommy was no weight for Clare, weak
+with hunger as he was, to carry to the smithy. He laid him on the
+hearth, near the fire, and began to blow it up. The roaring of the
+wind in the fire did not wake him. Clare went on blowing. The heat
+rose and rose, and brought the boy to himself at last, in no
+comfortable condition. He opened his eyes, scrambled to his feet, and
+stared wildly around him.
+
+"Where is it?" he cried.
+
+"Where's what?" rejoined Clare, leaving the bellows, and taking a hold
+of him lest he should fall off.
+
+"The head that flew out of the water-but," answered Tommy with a
+shudder.
+
+"Have you lost your senses, Tommy?" remonstrated Clare. "I found you
+lying on a heap of old iron against the wall, with the moon shining on
+you."
+
+"Yes, yes!--the moon! She jumped out of the water-but, and got a hold
+of me as I was getting down. I knew she would!"
+
+"I didn't think you were such a fool, Tommy!" said Clare.
+
+"Well, you hadn't the pluck to go yourself! You stopt in!" cried
+Tommy, putting his hand to his head, but more sorely hurt that an
+idiot should call him a fool.
+
+"Come and let me see, Tommy," said Clare.
+
+He wanted to find out if he was much hurt; but Tommy thought he wanted
+to go to the water-but, and screamed.
+
+"Hold your tongue, you little idiot!" cried Clare. "You'll have all
+the world coming after us! They'll think I'm murdering you!"
+
+Tommy restrained himself, and gradually recovering, told Clare what he
+had discovered, but not what he had found.
+
+"There's something yellow on your jacket! What is it?" said Clare. "I
+do believe--yes, it is!--you've been eating an egg! Now I remember! I
+saw egg-shells, more than two or three, lying in the yard, and the
+poor hen walking about looking for her eggs! You little rascal! You
+pig of a boy! I won't thrash you this time, because you've fetched
+your own thrashing. But--!"
+
+He finished the sentence by shaking his fist in Tommy's face, and
+looking as black at him as he was able.
+
+"I do believe it was the hen herself that frighted you!" he added.
+"She served you right, you thief!"
+
+"I didn't know there was any harm," said Tommy, pretending to sob.
+
+"Why didn't you bring me my share, then?"
+
+"'Cos I knowed you'd ha' made me give 'em back to the hen!"
+
+"And you didn't know there was any harm, you lying little brute!"
+
+"No, I didn't."
+
+"Now, look here, Tommy! If you don't mind what I tell you, you and I
+part company. One of us two must be master, and I will, or you must
+tramp. Do you hear me?"
+
+"I can't do without wictuals!" whimpered Tommy. "I didn't come wi'
+_you_ a purpose to be starved to death!"
+
+"I dare say you didn't; but when I starve, you must starve too; and
+when I eat, you shall have the first mouthful. What did you come with
+me for?"
+
+"'Acos you was the strongest," answered Tommy, "an' I reckoned you
+would get things from coves we met!"
+
+"Well, I'm not going to get things from coves we meet, except they
+give them to me. But have patience, Tommy, and I'll get you all you
+can eat. You must give me time, you know! I 'ain't got work yet!--Come
+here. Lie down close to me, and we'll go to sleep."
+
+The urchin obeyed, pillowed his head on Clare's chest, and went fast
+asleep.
+
+Clare slept too after a while, but the necessities of his relation to
+Tommy were fast making a man of him.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXII.
+
+The smith in a rage.
+
+
+They had not slept long, when they were roused by a hideous clamour
+and rattling at the door, and thunderous blows on the wooden sides of
+the shed. Clare woke first, and rubbed his eyelids, whose hinges were
+rusted with sleep. He was utterly perplexed with the uproar and
+romage. The cabin seemed enveloped in a hurricane of kicks, and the
+air was in a tumult of howling and brawling, of threats and curses,
+whose inarticulateness made them sound bestial. There never came pause
+long enough for Clare to answer that they were locked in, and that the
+smith must have the key in his pocket. But when Tommy came to himself,
+which he generally did the instant he woke, but not so quickly this
+time because of his fall, he understood at once.
+
+"It's the blacksmith! He's roaring drunk!" he said.
+
+"Let's be off, Clare! The devil 'ill be to pay when he gets in! He'll
+murder us in our beds!"
+
+"We ought to let him into his own house if we can," replied Clare,
+rising and going to the door. It was well for him that he found no way
+of opening it, for every instant there came a kick against it that
+threatened to throw it from lock and hinges at once. He protested his
+inability, but the madman thought he was refusing to admit him, and
+went into a tenfold fury, calling the boys hideous names, and swearing
+he would set the shed on fire if they did not open at once. The boys
+shouted, but the man had no sense to listen with, and began such a
+furious battery on the door, with his whole person for a ram, that
+Tommy made for the rear, and Clare followed--prudent enough, however,
+in all his haste, to close the back-door behind them.
+
+Tommy was in front, and led the way to the bottom of the yard, and
+over the fence into the waste ground, hoping to find some point in
+that quarter where he could mount the wall. He could not face the
+water-but--with the moon in it, staring out of the immensity of the
+lower world. He ran and doubled and spied, but could find no
+foothold. Least of all was ascent possible at the spot where the door
+stood on the other side; the bricks were smoother than elsewhere. He
+turned the corner and ran along a narrow lane, Clare still following,
+for he thought Tommy knew what he was about; but Tommy could find no
+encouragement to attempt scaling the wall. They might have fled into
+the fields that lay around; but the burrowing instinct was strong, and
+the deserted house drew them. Then Clare, finding Tommy at fault,
+bethought him that the little rascal had got up by the heap on which
+he discovered him, and must be afraid to go that way again. He faced
+about and ran, in his turn become leader. Tommy wheeled also, and
+followed, but with misgiving. When they reached the farther corner of
+the bottom wall, they stopped and peeped round before they would turn
+it: they might run against the blacksmith in chase of them! But the
+sound of his continued hammering at the door came to them, and they
+went on. They crossed the fence and ran again, ran faster, for now
+every step brought them nearer to their danger: the heap of iron lay
+between them and the smithy, and any moment the smith might burst into
+the shed, rush through, and be out upon them.
+
+They reached the heap. Clare sprang up; and Tommy, urged on the one
+side by the fear of the drunken smith, and drawn on the other by the
+dread of being abandoned by Clare, climbed shuddering after him.
+
+"Mind the water-but, Clare!" he gasped; "an' gi' me a hand up."
+
+Clare had already turned on the top of the wall to help him.
+
+"Now let me go first!" said Tommy, the moment he had his foot on
+it. "I know how to get down."
+
+He scudded along the wall, glad to have Clare between him and the
+butt. Clare followed swiftly. He was not so quick on the cat-promenade
+as Tommy, but he had a good head, and was spurred by the apprehension
+of being seen up there in the moonlight.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIII.
+
+Treasure trove.
+
+
+In a few moments they were safe in the thicket at the foot of what had
+been their enemy and was now their friend--the garden-wall. How many
+things and persons there are whose other sides are altogether
+friendly! These are their true selves, and we must be true to get at
+them.
+
+Tommy again took the lead, though with a fresh sinking of the heart
+because of that other place with the moon in it. Through the tangled
+thicket they made or found their way--and there stood the house, with
+the moon looking down on its roof, and the drunkard's thunder
+troubling her still pale light--her _moon-thinking_. But for the noise
+and the haste, Clare would have been frightened at them. There seemed
+some secret between the house and the moon which they were determined
+no one else should share. They were of one mind to terrify man or boy
+who should attempt to cross the threshold! There was no time, however,
+to heed such fancies. "If we could only get in without spoiling
+anything!" thought Clare. Once in, they would hurt nothing, take but
+the shelter and rest lying there of no good to anybody, and leave them
+there all the same when they had done with them!
+
+While they stood looking at the house, the thundering at the door of
+the smithy ceased. Presently they heard voices in altercation. One
+voice was that of the smith, quieter than when last they heard it, but
+ill-tempered and growling as at first. The other seemed that of a
+woman. She had been able so far to quiet him, probably, that he
+remembered he had the key in his pocket; for they thought they heard
+the door of the smithy open. Then all was silent, and the outcasts
+pursued their quest of an entrance to the house.
+
+Clare went ferreting as Tommy had done. He also tried to get a peep
+through the window with the swinging shutter, but had no better
+success than Tommy. Then he started to go round the corner next the
+blacksmith's yard.
+
+"Look out!" cried Tommy in a loud whisper, when he saw where he was
+going.
+
+"Why?" asked Clare.
+
+"Because there's a horrible hole there, full of water," answered
+Tommy.
+
+"I'll keep a look out," returned Clare, and went.
+
+When he was about half-way along the end of the house, he heard a
+noise he did not understand, and stopped to listen. Some one seemed
+moving somewhere.
+
+Then came a kind of scrambling sound, and presently the noise of a
+great watery splash. Clare shivered from head to foot.
+
+"Something has fallen into the hole Tommy mentioned!" he said to
+himself, and ran on to see. A few steps brought him to what Tommy had
+taken for a great hole. It was nothing but a pool of rain-water: the
+splash could not have come from that!
+
+Then it occurred to him that the water-but could not be far off. He
+forced his way through shrubs of various kinds, and reaching the wall,
+went back along it until he came to the butt. A ray of moonlight showed
+him that the side of it was wet, as if the water had lately come over
+the edge. He looked about for some means of getting a peep into the
+huge thing. It stood on a brick stand, of which it left a narrow edge
+clear, but on this edge the bulge of the butt would not permit him to
+mount. With the help of a small tree, however, he got on the wall,
+which was better.
+
+Spying into the butt, he could see nothing at first, for a chimney was
+now between it and the moon. A moment more, however, and he descried
+something white in the dull iron gleam of the water. It was under the
+water, but floating near the surface. He lay down on the wall, plunged
+his arm into the butt, laid hold of it, and drew it out. It was a
+little heavy for the size, for what should it be but a tiny baby, in a
+flannel night-gown, which, as he drew it out, sent back little noisy
+streams into the butt! It lay perfectly still in his arms, he did not
+know whether dead or alive, but he thought it could hardly be drowned
+so soon after the splash. It had been drugged, and the antagonism of
+the two means employed to kill it was probably the saving of its life.
+
+Clare stood in stony bewilderment. What was he to do? Certainly not to
+go after the mother! The first thing was to get it down from the
+wall. That he could easily have done on the other side, by the heap;
+but that was the side whence it must have been thrown, and they would
+be but in worse difficulty there! He must get the baby down inside the
+wall! With at least one arm occupied, the tree-way was impracticable.
+There was only one other way, and that full of danger! But where there
+is only one way, that way must be taken, and Clare did not hesitate.
+He started along the top of the wall, with the poor unconscious germ
+of humanity in his arms. He had lifted it from its watery coffin, out
+of the cold arms of death, up into the clear air of life! True, that
+air was cold, and filled only with moonshine; but there was the house
+whose seal might be broken! and the moon saw the sun making warm the
+under world! Along the narrow way, through the still, keen glimmer,
+unseen, probably, by any eye in the sleeping town, he bore his burden,
+speeding as fast as he dared, for he must not set a foot down amiss!
+
+Had any one caught sight of him, what a commotion would not the tale
+have roused--of the spectre of a boy with a baby in his arms, gliding
+noiseless in the moon and the middle night, along the top of the high
+brick wall of a deserted house, where no one had lived within the
+memory of man!
+
+When he reached the door-ladder, he found descent difficult but
+possible. It was more difficult to make his way through the tangled
+bushes without scratching the baby, which, after all, might, alas, be
+beyond hurt! He held it close to his bosom, life coaxing life to "stay
+a little."
+
+Thus laden, he appeared before Tommy, who had heard the splash, and
+thought Clare had fallen into the deep hole, but had not had courage
+to go and see, partly from the fear of verifying his fear, but more
+from his horror of the watery abyss. He stood trembling where Clare
+had left him.
+
+To save the baby was now Clare's only thought. The baby was now the
+one thing in the universe! If only the light that shone on it were
+that of the hot sun instead of the cold moon, which looked far more
+like killing than bringing to life! "And," thought Clare with himself,
+"there ain't much more heat in my body than in that shivery moon!" But
+the sun would wake and mount the sky, and send the moon down, and all
+would be different! Only, if nothing could be done in the meantime,
+where would baby be by then!
+
+"Here, Tommy," he cried, "come and see what I found in the water-butt."
+
+At the word, Tommy turned to flee; but confidence in Clare, and
+curiosity to see what, in Clare's arms, could hardly hurt him,
+prevailed, and he drew near cautiously.
+
+"Lord, it's a kid!" he cried.
+
+"It's not a kid," said Clare, who had no slang; "it's a baby!"
+
+"Well! ain't a baby a kid, just?"
+
+Tommy did not know that the word stood for anything else than a child,
+which was indeed its meaning long before it was specially applied to
+the young of the goat. A _kidnapper_ or _kidnabber_ is a stealer of
+children. Mr. Skeat tells us that _kid_ meant at first just a young
+one.
+
+"You can't tell me what to do with it, I'm afraid, Tommy!" said Clare.
+
+Already it was as if from all eternity he had loved this helpless
+little waif of Time, with its small, thin, blue-gray, gin-drugged
+face; this tiny life, so hopeless, so miserable, yet so uncomplaining:
+the thing that was, was the thing for it to bear; it had come into the
+world to bear it! Ready to die, even Death would not have it; it must
+live where it was not wanted, where it was not welcome!
+
+"Yes, I can!" answered Tommy with evil promptitude. "Put it in again."
+
+"But that would drown it, you know, Tommy!" answered Clare, treating
+him like the child he was not. "We want it to live, Tommy!"
+
+His tenderness for the baby made him speak with foolish gentleness.
+
+"No, we don't!" returned Tommy. "What business has _it_ to live, when
+we can't get nothing to eat?"
+
+Clare held faster to the baby with one arm, and with the fist of the
+other struck straight out at Tommy, hit him between the eyes, and
+knocked him flat. It was a miserable thing to have to do, and it made
+Clare miserable, for Tommy was not half his size, and was still
+suffering from his fall on the iron. But then the dying baby was not
+half Tommy's size, and any milder argument would have been lost on
+him: he was thus sent on the way to understand that the baby had
+rights; and that if the baby could not enforce them, there was one in
+the world that could and would. Never in his life did Clare show more
+instinctive wisdom than in that knock-down blow to the hardly blamable
+little devil!
+
+Tommy got up at once. He was not much hurt, for he had a hard head
+though he was easily knocked over. From that moment he began to
+respect Clare. He had loved him before in a way; he had patronized
+him, and feared to offend him because he was stronger than he; but
+until now he had had no respect for him, believing little Tommy a much
+finer fellow than big Clare. There are thousands for whom a blow is a
+better thing than expostulation, persuasion, or any sort of
+kindness. They are such that nothing but a blow will set their door
+ajar for love to get in. That is why hardships, troubles,
+disappointments, and all kinds of pain and suffering, are sent to so
+many of us. We are so full of ourselves, and feel so grand, that we
+should never come to know what poor creatures we are, never begin to
+do better, but for the knock-down blows that the loving God gives us.
+We do not like them, but he does not spare us for that.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIV.
+
+Justifiable burglary.
+
+
+Tommy rose rubbing his forehead, and crying quietly. He did not dare
+say a word. It was well for him he did not. Clare, perplexed and
+anxious about the baby, was in no mood to accept annoyance from
+Tommy. But the urchin remaining silent, the elder boy's indignation
+began immediately to settle down.
+
+The infant lay motionless, its little heart beating doubtfully, like
+the ticking of a clock off the level, as if the last beat might be
+indeed the last.
+
+"We _must_ get into the house, Tommy!" said Clare.
+
+"Yes, Clare," answered Tommy, very meekly, and went off like a shot to
+renew investigation at the other end of the house. He was back in a
+moment, his face as radiant with success as such a face could be, with
+such a craving little body under it.
+
+"Come, come," he cried. "We can get in quite easy. I ha' _been_ in!"
+
+The keen-eyed monkey had found a cellar-window, sunk a little below
+the level of the ground--a long, narrow, horizontal slip, with a
+grating over its small area not fastened down. He had lifted it, and
+pushed open the window, which went inward on rusty hinges--so rusty
+that they would not quite close again. That he had been in was a
+lie. _He_ knew better than go first! He belonged to the school of
+_No. 1!_--all mean beggars.
+
+Clare hastened after him.
+
+"Gi' me the kid, an' you get in; you can reach up for it better,
+'cause ye're taller," said Tommy.
+
+"Is it much of a drop?" asked Clare.
+
+"Nothing much," answered Tommy.
+
+Clare handed him the baby, instructing him how to hold it, and
+threatening him if he hurt it; then laid himself on his front, shoved
+his legs across the area through the window, and followed with his
+body. Holding on to the edge of the window-sill, he let his feet as
+far down as he could, then dropped, and fell on a heap of coals,
+whence he tumbled to the floor of the cellar.
+
+"You should have told me of the coals!" he said, rising, and calling
+up through the darkness.
+
+"I forgot," answered Tommy.
+
+"Give me the baby," said Clare.
+
+When Tommy took the baby, he renewed that moment, and began to cherish
+the sense of an injury done him by the poor helpless thing. He did not
+pinch it, only because he dared not, lest it should cry. When he heard
+Clare fall on the coals, and then heard him call up from the depth of
+the cellar, he was greatly tempted to turn with it to the other end of
+the house, and throw it in the pool, then make for the wall and the
+fields, leaving Clare to shift for himself. But he durst not go near
+the pool, and Clare would be sure to get out again and be after him!
+so he stood with the hated creature in his unprotective arms. When
+Clare called for it, he got into the shallow area, and pushed the baby
+through the window, grasping the extreme of its garment, and letting
+it hang into the darkness of the cellar, head downward. I believe then
+the baby was sick, for, a moment after, and before Clare could get a
+hold of it, it began to cry. The sound thrilled him with delight.
+
+"Oh, the darling!--Can't you let her down a bit farther, Tommy?" he
+said, with suppressed eagerness.
+
+He had climbed on the heap of coals, and was stretching up his arms to
+receive her. In the faint glimmer from the diffused light of the moon,
+he could just distinguish the window, blocked up by Tommy; the baby he
+could not see.
+
+"No, I can't," answered Tommy. "Catch! There!"
+
+So saying he yielded to his spite, and waiting no sign of preparedness
+on the part of Clare, let go his hold, and dropped the little one. It
+fell on Clare and knocked him over; but he clasped it to him as he
+fell, and they hurtled to the bottom of the coals without much damage.
+
+"I have her!" he cried as he got up. "Now you come yourself, Tommy."
+
+He had known no baby but his lost sister, and thought of all babies as
+girls.
+
+"You'll catch me, won't you, Clare?" said Tommy.
+
+"The thing you've done once you can do again! I can't set down the
+baby to catch you!" replied the unsuspicious Clare, and turned to seek
+an exit from the cellar. He had not had time yet to wonder how Tommy
+had got out.
+
+Tommy came tumbling on the top of the coals: he dared not be left with
+the water-but and the pool and the moon.
+
+"Where are you, Clare?" he called.
+
+Clare answered him from the top of the stone stair that led to the
+cellar, and Tommy was soon at his heels. Going along a dark passage,
+where they had to feel their way, they arrived at the kitchen. The
+loose outside shutter belonged to it, and as it was open, a little of
+the moonlight came in. The place looked dreary enough and cold enough
+with its damp brick-floor and its rusty range; but at least they were
+out of the air, and out of sight of the moon! If only they had some of
+that coal alight!
+
+"I don't see as we're much better off!" said Tommy. "I'm as cold as
+pigs' trotters!"
+
+"Then what must baby be like!" said Clare, whose heart was brimful of
+anxiety for his charge. It seemed to him he had never known misery
+till now. Life or death for the baby--and he could do nothing! He was
+cold enough himself, what with hunger, and the night, and the wet and
+deadly cold little body in his arms; but whatever discomfort he felt,
+it seemed not himself but the baby that was feeling it; he imputed it
+all to the baby, and pitied the baby for the cold he felt himself.
+
+"We needn't stay here, though," he said. "There must be better places
+in the house! Let's try and find a bedroom!"
+
+"Come along!" responded Tommy.
+
+They left the kitchen, and went into the next room. It seemed warmer,
+because it had a wooden floor. There was hardly any light in it, but
+it felt empty. They went up the stair. When they turned on the landing
+half-way, they saw the moon shining in. They went into the first room
+they came to. Such a bedroom!--larger and grander than any at the
+parsonage!
+
+"Oh baby! baby!" cried Clare, "now you'll live--won't you?"
+
+He seemed to have his own Maly an infant again in his arms. The
+thought that the place was not his, and that he might get into trouble
+by being there, never came to him. Use was not theft! The room and its
+contents were to him as the water and the fire which even pagans
+counted every man bound to hand to his neighbour. There was the bed!
+Through all the cold time it had been waiting for them! The
+counterpane was very dusty; and oh, such moth-eaten blankets! But
+there were sheets under them, and they were quite clean, though dingy
+with age! The moths--that is, their legs and wings and dried-up
+bodies--flew out in clouds when they moved the blankets. Not the less
+had they discovered Paradise! For the moths, they must have found it
+an island of plum-cake!
+
+I do not know the history of the house--how it came to be shut up with
+so much in it. I only know it was itself shut up in chancery, and
+chancery is full of moths and dust and worms. I believe nobody in the
+town knew much about it--not even the thieves. It was of course said
+to be haunted, which had doubtless done something for its
+protection. No one knew how long it had stood thus deserted. Nobody
+thought of entering it, or was aware that there was furniture in
+it. It was supposed to be somebody's property, and that it was
+somebody's business to look after it: whether it was looked after or
+not, nobody inquired. Happily for Clare and the baby and Tommy, that
+was nobody's business.
+
+With deft hands--for how often had he not seen his baby-sister
+undressed!--Clare hurried off the infant's one garment, gently rubbed
+her little body till it was quite dry, if not very clean, and laid her
+tenderly in the heart of the blankets, among the remains and eggs and
+grubs of the mothy creatures--they were not wild beasts, or even
+stinging things--and covered her up, leaving a little opening for her
+to breathe through. She had not cried since Clare took her; she was
+too feeble to cry; but, alas, there was no question about feeding her,
+for he had no food to give her, were she crying ever so much! He threw
+off his clothes, and got into the mothy blankets beside her. In a few
+minutes he began to glow, for there was a thick pile of woolly
+salvation atop of him. He took the naked baby in his arms and held her
+close to his body, and they grew warmer together.
+
+"Now, Tommy," he said, "you may take off your clothes, and get in on
+the other side of me."
+
+Tommy did not need a second invitation, and in a moment they were all
+fast asleep. A few months, even a few days before, it would have been
+a right painful thing to Clare to lie so near a boy like Tommy, but
+suffering had taken the edge off nicety and put it on humanity. The
+temple of the Lord may need cleansing, but the temple of the Lord it
+is. Clare had in him that same spirit which made _the_ son of man go
+beyond the healingly needful, and lay his hand--the Sinaitic
+manuscript says his _hands_--upon the leper, where a word alone would
+have served for the leprosy: the hands were for the man's
+heart. Repulsive danger lay in the contact, but the flesh and bones
+were human, and very cold.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXV.
+
+A new quest.
+
+
+Though as comfortable as one could be who so sorely lacked food, Clare
+slept lightly. His baby was heavy on his mind, and he woke very
+early--woke at once to the anxious thought of a boy without food,
+money, or friends, and with a hungry baby. He woke, however, with a
+new train of reasoning in his mind. Babies could not work; babies
+always had their food given them; therefore babies who hadn't food had
+a right to ask for it; babies couldn't ask for it; therefore those who
+had the charge of them, and hadn't food to give them, had a right to
+do the asking for them. He could not beg for himself as long as he was
+able to ask for work; but for baby it was his duty to beg, because she
+could not wait: she would not live till he found work. If he got work
+that very day, he would have to work the whole day before he got the
+money for it, and baby would be dead by that time! He crept out, so as
+not to awake the sleepers, and put on his clothes. They were not dry,
+but they would dry when the sun rose. He did not at all like leaving
+his baby with Tommy, but what was he to do? She might as well die of
+Tommy as of hunger! Perhaps it might be easier!
+
+He thought over the nature of the boy, and what it would be best to
+say to him. He saw what many genial persons are slow to see, that
+kindness, in its natural shape, is to certain dispositions a great
+barrier in the way of learning either love or duty. With multitudes,
+nothing but undiluted fear or pain or shame can open the door for love
+to enter.
+
+He searched the house for a medicine-bottle, such as he had seen
+plenty of at the parsonage, and found two. He chose the smaller, lest
+size should provoke disinclination. Then he woke Tommy, and said to
+him,
+
+"Tommy, I'm going out to get baby's breakfast."
+
+"Ain't you going to give _me_ any? Is the kid to have _everything_?"
+
+"Tommy!" said Clare, with a steady look in his eyes that frightened
+him, "your turn will come next. You won't die of want for a day or two
+yet. I'll see to you as soon as I can. Only, remember, baby comes
+first! I'm going to leave her with you. You needn't take her up.
+You're not able to carry her. You would let her fall. But if, when I
+come home, I find anything has happened to her, _I'll put you in the
+water-butt_--I WILL. And I'll do it when the moon is in it."
+
+Tommy pulled a hideous face, and began to yell. Clare seized him by
+the throat.
+
+"Make that noise again, you rascal, and I'll choke you. If you're good
+to baby while I'm away, I won't eat a mouthful till you've had some;
+if you're not good to her, you know what will happen! You've got the
+thing in your own hands!"
+
+"She'll go an' do something I can't help, an' then you'll go for to
+drown me!"
+
+Again he began to howl, but Clare checked him as before. "If you wake
+her up, I'll--" He had no words, and shook him for lack of any. "I
+see," he resumed, "I shall have to lock you up in the coal-cellar till
+I come back! Here! come along!"
+
+Tommy was quiet instantly, and fell to pleading. Clare lent a gracious
+ear, and yielding to Tommy's protestations, left him with his
+treasure, and set out on his quest.
+
+He got out through the kitchen, the rustiness of the fastenings of its
+door delaying him a little, and over the wall by the imprisoned door,
+taking care to lift as little as possible of his person above the
+coping as he crossed. He dared not go along the wall in the daylight,
+or get down in the smith's yard; he dropped straight to the ground.
+
+The country was level, and casting his eyes about, he saw, at no great
+distance, what looked like a farmstead. He knew cows were milked
+early, but did not know what time it was. Hoping anyhow to reach the
+place before the milk was put away in the pans, he set out to run
+straight across the fields. But he soon found he could not run, and
+had to drop into a walk.
+
+When he got into the yard, he saw a young woman carrying a foaming
+pail of milk across to the dairy. He ran to her, and addressed her
+with his usual "Please, ma'am;" but the pail was heavy, and she kept
+on without answering him. Clare followed her, and looking into the
+dairy, saw an elderly woman.
+
+"Please, ma'am, could you afford me as much fresh milk as would fill
+that bottle?" he said, showing it.
+
+"Well, my man," she answered pleasantly, "I think we might venture as
+far without fear of the workhouse! But what on earth made you bring
+such a thimble of a bottle as that?"
+
+"I have no money to pay for it, you see, ma'am; and I thought a little
+bottle would be better to beg with; it wouldn't be so hard on the
+farmer!"
+
+"Bless the boy! Much good a drop of milk like that will do him!" said
+the woman, turning to the girl "Is it for your mother's tea?"
+
+"No, ma'am; it's for a baby--a very little baby, ma'am!--I think it
+will hold enough," he added, giving an anxious glance at the bottle in
+his hand, "to keep her alive till I get work."
+
+The woman looked, and her heart was drawn to the boy who stood gazing
+at her with his whole solemn, pathetic yet strong face--with his wide,
+clear eyes, his decided nose, large and straight, his rather long,
+fine mouth, trembling with eager anxiety, and his confident chin. She
+saw hunger in his grimy cheeks; she saw that his manners were those of
+a gentleman, and his clothes poor enough for any tramp, though
+evidently not made for a tramp. She would have concluded him escaped
+from cruel guardians, for she was a reader of _The Family Herald_; but
+that would not account for the baby! The baby did not tally!
+
+"How old's the baby?" she asked.
+
+"I don't know, ma'am; she only came to us last night."
+
+"Who brought her?"
+
+She imagined the boy a simpleton, and expected one of such answers as
+inconvenient questions in natural history receive from nurses.
+
+"I don't know, ma'am. I took her out of the water-butt."
+
+The thing grew bewildering.
+
+"Who put her there?"
+
+"I don't know, ma'am."
+
+"Whose baby is she, then?"
+
+"Mine, I think, ma'am."
+
+"God bless the boy!" said the woman impatiently, and stared at him
+speechless.
+
+Her daughter in the meantime had filled the phial with new milk. She
+handed it to him. He grasped it eagerly. Tears of joy came in his big
+hungry eyes.
+
+"Oh, _thank_ you, ma'am!" he said. "But, please, would you tell me,"
+he continued, looking from the one to the other, "how much water I
+must put in the milk to make it good for baby? I know it wants water,
+but I don't know how much!"
+
+"Oh, about half and half," answered the elder woman. "'Ain't she got
+no mother?" she resumed.
+
+"I think she must have a mother, but I daresay she's a tramp,"
+answered Clare.
+
+"I don't want to give my good milk to a tramp!" she rejoined.
+
+"_I_'m not a tramp, please, ma'am!--at least I wasn't till the day
+before yesterday."
+
+The woman looked at him out of motherly eyes, and her heart swelled
+into her bosom.
+
+"Wouldn't you like some milk yourself?" she said.
+
+"Oh, yes, ma'am!" answered Clare, with a deep sigh.
+
+She filled a big cup from the warm milk in the pail, and held it out
+to him. He took it as a man on the scaffold might a reprieve from
+death, half lifted it to his lips, then let his hand sink. It trembled
+so, as he set the cup down on a shelf beside him, that he spilled a
+little. He looked ruefully at the drops on the brick floor.
+
+"Please, ma'am, there's Tommy!" he faltered.
+
+His promise to Tommy had sprung upon him like a fiery flying serpent.
+
+"Tommy! I thought you said the baby was a girl?"
+
+"Yes, the baby's a girl; but there's Tommy as well! He's another of
+us."
+
+"Your brother, of course!"
+
+"No, ma'am; I'm afraid he's a tramp. But there he is, you see, and I
+must share with him!"
+
+It grew more and more inexplicable!
+
+A gruff, loud voice came from the yard. It was the farmer's. He was a
+bitter-tempered man, and his dislike of tramps was almost hatred. His
+wife and daughter knew that if he saw the boy he would be worse than
+rude to him.
+
+"There's the master!" cried the mother. "Drink, and make haste out of
+his way."
+
+"If it's stealing,--" said Clare.
+
+"Stealing! It's no stealing! The dairy's mine! I can give my milk
+where I please!"
+
+"Well, ma'am, if the milk's mine because you gave it me, it's not
+begging to ask you to give me a piece of bread for it! I could take a
+share of that to Tommy!"
+
+"Run, Chris," cried the mother, hurriedly; "take the innocent with
+you--round outside the yard. Give him a hunch of bread, and let him
+go. For God's sake don't let your father see him! Run, my boy, run!
+There's no time to drink the milk now!"
+
+She poured it back into the pail, and set the cup out of the way.
+
+There was a little passage and another door, by which they left as the
+farmer entered. The kick he would have given Clare with his heavy boot
+would, in its consequences, have reached the baby too. The girl ran
+with him to the back of the house.
+
+"Wait a moment at that window," she said.
+
+Now whether it was loving-kindness all, or that she dared not take the
+time to divide it, I cannot tell, but she handed Clare a whole loaf,
+and that a good big one, of home-made bread, and disappeared before he
+could thank her, telling him to run for his life.
+
+He was able now. With the farmer behind, and the hungry ones before
+him, he _must_ run; and with the phial in his pocket and the loaf in
+his hands, he _could_ run. Happily the farmer did not catch sight of
+him. His wife took care he should not. I believe, indeed, she got up a
+brand-new quarrel with him on the spur of the moment, that he might
+not have a chance.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVI.
+
+A new entrance.
+
+
+Clare sped jubilant. But soon came a check to his jubilation: it was
+one thing to drop from the wall, and quite another to climb to the top
+of it without the help of the door! The same moment he heard the clink
+of the smith's hammer on his anvil, and to go by his yard in daylight
+would be to risk too much! For what would become of them if their
+retreat was discovered! He stood at the foot of the brick precipice,
+and stared up with helpless eyes and failing strength. Baby was
+inside, hungry, and with no better nurse than ill conditioned Tommy;
+her milk was in his pocket, Tommy's bread in his hand, the
+insurmountable wall between him and them! He had the daylight now,
+however, and there was hardly any one about: perhaps he could find
+another entrance! Round the outside of the wall, therefore, like the
+Midianite in the rather comical hymn, did Clare prowl and prowl. But
+the wall rose straight and much too smooth wherever he looked.
+Searching its face he went all along the bottom of the garden, and
+then up the narrow lane between it and the garden of the next house,
+with increasing fear that there was no way but by the smith's yard,
+and no choice but risk it.
+
+A dozen yards or so, however, from the end of the lane, where it took
+a sharp turn before entering the street, he spied an opening in the
+wall--the same from which, the night before, Tommy had returned with
+such a frightened face. Clare went through, and found a narrow passage
+running to the left for a short distance between two walls. At the
+end, half on one side, half on the other of the second wall, lay the
+well that had terrified Tommy. The wall crossed it with a low arch. On
+the further side of the well was a third wall, with a space of about
+two feet and a half between it and the side of the round well. Through
+that wall there might be a door!--or, if not, there might be some way
+of getting over it! To cross the well would be awkward, but he must do
+it! He tied the loaf in his pocket-handkerchief--he was far past
+fastidiousness, and Tommy knew neither the word nor the thing--and
+knotted the ends of it round his neck. But his chief anxiety was not
+to break the bottle in his jacket-pocket. He got on his knees on the
+parapet. How deep and dark the water looked! For a moment he felt a
+fear of it something like Tommy's. How was he to cross the awful gulf?
+It was not like a free jump; he was hemmed in before and behind, and
+overhead also. But the baby drew him over the well, as the name of
+Beatrice drew Dante through the fire. The baby was waiting for him,
+and it had to be done! He made a cat-leap through beneath the arch,
+reaching out with his hands and catching at the parapet beyond. He did
+catch it, just enough of it to hold on by, so that his body did not
+follow his legs into the water. Oh, how cold they found it after his
+run! He held on, strained and heaved up, made a great reach across the
+width of the parapet with one hand, laid hold of its outer edge, made
+good his grasp on it, and drew himself out of the water, and out of
+the well.
+
+He was in a narrow space, closed in with walls much higher than his
+head, out of which he saw no way but that by which he had come
+in--across the fearful well, that seemed, so dark was its water, to go
+down and down for ever.
+
+He felt in his pocket. If then he had found baby's bottle broken, I
+doubt if Clare would ever have got out of the place, except by the
+door into the next world. What little strength he had was nearly gone,
+and I think it would then have gone quite. But the bottle was safe and
+his courage came back.
+
+He examined his position, and presently saw that the narrowness of his
+threatened prison would make it no prison at all. He found that, by
+leaning his back against one wall, pushing his feet against the
+opposite wall, and making of the third wall a rack for his shoulder,
+he could worm himself slowly up. It was a task for a strong man, and
+Clare, though strong for his years, was not at that moment strong. But
+there was the baby waiting, and here was her milk! He fell to, and,
+with an agony of exertion, wriggled himself at last to the top--so
+exhausted that he all but fell over on the other side. He pulled
+himself together, and dropped at once into, the garden. Happier boy
+than Clare was not in all England then. Hunger, wet, incipient
+nakedness, for he had torn his clothes badly, were nowhere. Baby was
+within his reach, and the milk within baby's!
+
+He ran, dripping like a spaniel, to find her, and shot up the stair to
+the room that held his treasure. To his joy he found both Tommy and
+the baby fast asleep, Tommy tired out with the weary tramping of the
+day before, and the baby still under the influence of the opiate her
+mother had given her to make her drown quietly.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVII.
+
+The baby has her breakfast.
+
+
+He waked Tommy, and showed him the loaf. Tommy sprang from his lair
+and snatched at it.
+
+"No, Tommy," said Clare, drawing back, "I can't trust you! You would
+eat it all; and if I died of hunger, what would become of baby, left
+alone with you? I don't feel at all sure you wouldn't eat _her_!"
+
+Baby started a feeble whimper.
+
+"You must wait now till I've attended to her," continued Clare. "If
+you had got up quietly without waking her, I would have given you your
+share at once."
+
+As he spoke, he pulled a blanket off the bed to wrap her in, and made
+haste to take her up. A series of difficulties followed, which I will
+leave to the imagination of mothers and aunts, and nurses in
+general--the worst being that there was no warm water to wash her in,
+and cold water would be worse than dangerous after what she had gone
+through with it the night before. Clare comforted himself that washing
+was a thing non-essential to existence, however desirable for
+well-being.
+
+Then came a more serious difficulty: the milk must be mixed with
+water, and water as cold as Clare's legs would kill the drug-dazed
+shred of humanity! What was to be done? It would be equally dangerous
+to give her the strong milk of a cow undiluted. There was but one way:
+he must feed her as do the pigeons. First, however, he must have
+water! The well was almost inaccessible: to get to it and return would
+fearfully waste life-precious time! The rain-water in the little pool
+must serve the necessity! It was preferable to that in the butt!
+
+Until many years after, it did not occur to Clare as strange that
+there should be even a drop of water in that water-butt. Whence was it
+fed? There was no roof near, from which the rain might run into it. If
+there had ever been a pipe to supply it, surely, in a house so long
+forsaken, its continuity must have given way One always sees such
+barrels empty, dry, and cracked: this one was apparently known to be
+full of water, for what woman in her senses, however inferior those
+senses, would throw her child into an empty butt! How did it happen to
+be full? Clare was almost driven to the conclusion that it had been
+filled for the evil purpose to which it was that night put. Against
+this was the fact that it would not have been easy to fill such a huge
+vessel by hand. I suggested that the blacksmith and his predecessors
+might have used it for the purposes of the forge, and kept it and its
+feeder in repair. Mr. Skymer endeavoured repeatedly to find out what
+had become of the blacksmith, but never with any approach to success;
+the probability being that he had left the world long before his
+natural time, by disease engendered or quarrel occasioned through his
+drunkenness.
+
+Clare laid the baby down, and fetched water from the pool. Then he
+mixed the milk with what seemed the right quantity, again took the
+baby up, who had been whimpering a little now and then all the time,
+laid a blanket, several times folded, on his wet knees, and laid her
+in her blanket upon it. These preparations made, he took a small
+mouthful of the milk and water, and held it until it grew warm. It was
+the only way, I condescend to remind any such reader as may think it
+proper to be disgusted. When then he put his mouth to the baby's,
+careful not to let too much go at once, they managed so between them
+that she successfully appropriated the mouthful. It was followed by a
+second, a third, and more, until, to Clare's delight, the child seemed
+satisfied, leaving some of the precious fluid for another meal. He put
+her in the bed again, and covered her up warm. All the time, Tommy had
+been watching the loaf with the eyes of a wild beast.
+
+"Now, Tommy," said Clare, "how much of this loaf do you think you
+ought to have?"
+
+"Half, of course!" answered Tommy boldly, with perfect conviction of
+his fairness, and pride in the same.
+
+"Are you as big as I am?"
+
+Tommy held his peace.
+
+"You ain't half as big!" said Clare.
+
+"I'm a bloomin' lot hungrier!" growled Tommy.
+
+"You had eggs last night, and I had none!"
+
+"That wurn't my fault!"
+
+"What did you do to get this bread?"
+
+"I staid at home with baby."
+
+"That's true," answered Clare. "But," he went on, "suppose a horse and
+a pony had got to divide their food between them, would the pony have
+a right to half? Wouldn't the horse, being bigger, want more to keep
+him alive than the pony?"
+
+"Don't know," said Tommy.
+
+"But you shall have the half," continued Clare; "only I hope, after
+this, when you get anything given to you, you'll divide it with me. I
+try to be fair, and I want you to be fair."
+
+Tommy made no reply. He did not trouble himself about fair play; he
+wanted all he could get--like most people; though, thank God, I know a
+few far more anxious to give than to receive fair play. Such men, be
+they noblemen or tradesmen, I worship.
+
+Clare carefully divided the loaf, and after due deliberation, handed
+Tommy that which seemed the bigger half. Without a word of
+acknowledgment, Tommy fell upon it like a terrier. He would love Clare
+in a little while when he had something more to give--but stomach
+before heart with Tommy! His sort is well represented in every
+rank. There are not many who can at the same time both love and be
+hungry.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVIII.
+
+Treachery.
+
+
+"Now, Tommy," said Clare, having eaten his half loaf, "I'm going out
+to look for work, and you must take care of baby. You're not to feed
+her--you would only choke her, and waste the good milk."
+
+"I want to go out too," said Tommy.
+
+"To see what you can pick up, I suppose?"
+
+"That's my business."
+
+"I fancy it mine while you are with me. If you don't take care of baby
+and be good to her, I'll put you in the water-butt I took her out
+of--as sure as you ain't in it now!"
+
+"That you shan't!" cried Tommy; "I'll bite first!"
+
+"I'll tie your hands and feet, and put a stick in your mouth," said
+Clare. "So you'd better mind."
+
+"I want to go with you!" whimpered Tommy.
+
+"You can't. You're to stop and look after baby. I won't be away longer
+than I can help; you may be sure of that."
+
+With repeated injunctions to him not to leave the room, Clare went.
+
+Before going quite, however, he must arrange for returning. To swarm
+up between the two walls as he had done before, would be to bid
+good-bye to his jacket at least, and he knew how appearances were
+already against him. Spying about for whatever might serve his
+purpose, he caught sight of an old garden-roller, and was making for
+it, when Tommy, never doubting he was gone, came whistling round the
+corner of the house with his hands in his pocket-holes, and an
+impudent air of independence. Clare away, he was a lord in his own
+eyes! He could kill the baby when he pleased! Plainly his mood was,
+"He thinks I'm going to do as he tells me! Not if I knows it!" Clare
+saw him before he saw Clare, and rushed at him with a roar.
+
+"You thought I was gone!" he cried. "I told you not to leave the room!
+Come along to the water-butt!"
+
+Tommy shivered when he heard him, and gave a shriek when he saw him
+coming. He shook till his teeth chattered. But terror not always
+paralyzes instinct in the wild animal. As Clare came running, he took
+one step toward him, and dropped on the ground at his feet. Clare shot
+away over his head, struck his own against a tree, and lay for a
+minute stunned. Tommy's success was greater than he had hoped. He
+scudded into the house, and closed and bolted the door to the kitchen.
+
+When Clare came to himself, he found he had a cut on his head. It
+would never do to go asking for work with a bloody face! The little
+pool served at once for basin and mirror, and while he washed he
+thought.
+
+He had no inclination to punish Tommy for the trick he had played him;
+he had but done after his kind! It would serve a good end too: Tommy
+would imagine him lurking about to have his revenge, and would not
+venture his nose out. He discovered afterward that the little wretch
+had made fast the cellar-door, so that, if he had entered that way, he
+would have been caught in a trap, and unable to go or return.
+
+He got the iron roller to the foot of the wall, where he had come over
+the night before, and where now first he perceived there had once been
+a door; managed, with its broken handle for a lever, to set it up on
+end, filled it with earth, and heaped a mound of earth about it to
+steady it, placed a few broken tiles and sherds of chimney-pots upon
+it, and from this rickety perch found he could reach the top easily.
+
+The next thing was to arrange for getting up from the other side. For
+this he threw over earth and stones and whatever rubbish came to his
+hand, the sole quality required in his material being, that it should
+serve to lift him any fraction of an inch higher. The space was so
+narrow that his mound did not require to be sustained by the width of
+its base except in one direction; everywhere else the walls kept in
+the heap, and he made good speed. At length he descended by it, sure
+of being able to get up again.
+
+He had been gone an hour before Tommy dared again leave the room where
+the baby was. He had planned what to do if Clare got into it: he would
+threaten, if he came a step nearer, to kill the baby! But if he had
+him in the coal-cellar, he would make his own conditions! A tramp
+would not keep a promise, but Clare would! and until he promised not
+to touch him, he should not come out--not if he died of hunger!
+
+At length he could bear imprisonment no longer. He opened the
+room-door with the caution of one who thought a tiger might be lying
+against it. He saw no one, and crept out with half steps. By slow
+degrees, interrupted by many an inroad of terror and many a swift
+retreat, he got down the stair and out into the garden; whence, after
+closest search, he was at length satisfied his enemy had departed. For
+a time he was his own master! To one like Tommy--and such are not
+rare--it is a fine thing to be his own master. But the same person who
+is the master is the servant--and what a master to serve! Tommy,
+however, was quite satisfied with both master and servant, for both
+were himself. What was he to do? Go after something to eat, of course!
+He would be back long before Clare! He had gone to look for work--and
+who would give _him_ work? If Tommy were as big as Clare, lots of
+people would give him work! But catch him working! Not if he knew
+it!--not Tommy!
+
+Never till she was grown up, never, indeed, until she was a
+middle-aged woman and Mr. Skymer's housekeeper, did the baby know in
+what danger she was that morning, alone with surnameless Tommy.
+
+His first sense of relation to any creature too weak to protect
+itself, was the consciousness of power to torment that creature. But
+in this case the exercise of the power brought him into another
+relation, one with the water-butt! He went back to the room where the
+child lay in her blankets like a human chrysalis, and stood for a
+moment regarding her with a hatred far from mild: was he actually
+expected to give time and personal notice to that contemptible thing
+lying there unable to move? _He_ wasn't a girl or an old woman! He
+must go and get something to eat! that was what a man was for! Better
+twist her neck at once and go!
+
+But he could not forget the water-butt--proximate mother of the
+child. Its idea came sliding into Tommy's range, grew and grew upon
+Tommy, came nearer and nearer, until the baby was nowhere, and nothing
+in the world but the water-butt. His consciousness was possessed with
+it. It was preparing to swallow him in its loathsome deep! All at once
+it jumped back from him, and stood motionless by the side of the
+wall. Now was his chance! Now he must mizzle! Not a moment longer
+would he stop in the same place with the horrible thing!
+
+But the baby! Clare would bring him back and put him in the butt! No,
+he wouldn't! What harm would come to the brat? She was not able to
+roll herself off the bed! She could do nothing but go to sleep again!
+Out he must and would go! He wanted something to eat! He would be in
+again long before Clare could get back!
+
+He left the room and the house, ran down the garden, scrambled up the
+door, got on the top of the wall, and dropped into the waste land
+behind it--nor once thought that the only way back was by the very
+jaws of the water-butt.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIX.
+
+The baker.
+
+
+Clare went over the wall and the well without a notion of what he was
+going to do, except look for work. He had eaten half a loaf, and now
+drew in his cap some water from the well and drank. He felt better
+than any moment since leaving the farm. He was full of hope.
+
+All his life he had never been other than hopeful. To the human being
+hope is as natural as hunger; yet how few there are that hope as they
+hunger! Men are so proud of being small, that one wonders to what
+pitch their conceit will have arrived by the time they are nothing at
+all. They are proud that they love but a little, believe less, and
+hope for nothing. Every fool prides himself on not being such a fool
+as believe what would make a man of him. For dread of being taken in,
+he takes himself in ridiculously. The man who keeps on trying to do
+his duty, finds a brighter and brighter gleam issue, as he walks, from
+the lantern of his hope.
+
+Clare was just breaking into a song he had heard his mother sing to
+his sister, when he was checked by the sight of a long skinny mongrel
+like a hairy worm, that lay cowering and shivering beside a heap of
+ashes put down for the dust-cart--such a dry hopeless heap that the
+famished little dog did not care to search it: some little warmth in
+it, I presume, had kept him near it. Clare's own indigence made him
+the more sorry for the indigent, and he felt very sorry for this
+member of the family; but he had neither work nor alms to give him,
+therefore strode on. The dog looked wistfully after him, as if
+recognizing one of his own sort, one that would help him if he could,
+but did not follow him.
+
+A hundred yards further, Clare came to a baker's shop. It was the
+first he felt inclined to enter, and he went in. He did not know it
+was the shop from whose cart Tommy had pilfered. A thin-faced,
+bilious-looking, elderly man stood behind the counter.
+
+"Well, boy, what do you want?" he said in a low, sad, severe, but not
+unkindly voice.
+
+"Please, sir," answered Clare, "I want something to do, and I thought
+perhaps you could help me."
+
+"What can you do?"
+
+"Not much, but I can _try_ to do anything."
+
+"Have you ever learned to do anything?"
+
+"I've been working on a farm for the last six months. Before that I
+went to school."
+
+"Why didn't you go on going to school?"
+
+"Because my father and mother died."
+
+"What was your father?"
+
+"A parson."
+
+"Why did you leave the farm?"
+
+"Because they didn't want me. The mistress didn't like me."
+
+"I dare say she had her reasons!"
+
+"I don't know, sir; she didn't seem to like anything I did. My mother
+used to say, 'Well done, Clare!' my mistress never said 'Well done!"'
+
+"So the farmer sent you away?"
+
+"No, sir; but he boxed my ears for something--I don't now remember
+what."
+
+"I dare say you deserved it!"
+
+"Perhaps I did; I don't know; he never did it before."
+
+"If you deserved it, you had no right to run away for that."
+
+The baker taught in a Sunday-school, and was a good teacher, able to
+make a class mind him.
+
+"I didn't run away for that, sir; I ran away because he was tired of
+me. I couldn't stay to make him uncomfortable! He had been very kind
+to me; I fancy it was mistress made him change. I've been thinking a
+good deal about it, and that's how it looks to me. I'm very sorry not
+to have him or the creatures any more."
+
+"What creatures?"
+
+"The bull, and the horses, and the cows, and the pigs--all the
+creatures about the farm. They were my friends. I shall see them all
+again somewhere!"
+
+He gave a great sigh.
+
+"What do you mean by that?" asked the baker.
+
+"I hardly know what I mean," answered Clare.
+
+"When I'm loving anybody I always feel I shall see that person again
+some time, I don't know when--somewhere, I don't know where."
+
+"That don't apply to the lower animals; it's nothing but a foolish
+imagination," said the baker.
+
+"But if I love them!" suggested Clare.
+
+"Love a bull, or a horse, or a pig! You can't!" asserted the baker.
+
+"But I _do_," rejoined Clare. "I love my father and mother much more
+than when they were alive!"
+
+"What has that to do with it?" returned the baker.
+
+"That I know I love my father and mother, and I know I love that
+fierce bull that would always do what I told him, and that dear old
+horse that was almost past work, and was always ready to do his
+best.--I'm afraid they've killed him by now!" he added, with another
+sigh.
+
+"But beasts 'ain't got souls, and you can't love them. And if you
+could, that's no reason why you should see them again."
+
+"I _do_ love them, and perhaps they have souls!" rejoined Clare.
+
+"You mustn't believe that! It's quite shocking. It's nowhere in the
+Bible."
+
+"Is everything that is not in the Bible shocking, sir?"
+
+"Well, I won't say that; but you're not to believe it."
+
+"I suppose you don't like animals, sir! Are you afraid of their going
+to the same place as you when they die?"
+
+"I wouldn't have a boy about me that held such an unscriptural notion!
+The Bible says--the spirit of a man that goeth upward, and the spirit
+of a beast that goeth downward!"
+
+"Is that in the Bible, sir?"
+
+"It is," answered the baker with satisfaction, thinking he had proved
+his point.
+
+"I'm so glad!" returned Clare. "I didn't know there was anything about
+it in the Bible! Then when I die I shall only have to go down
+somewhere, and look for them till I find them!"
+
+The baker was silenced for a moment.
+
+"It's flat atheism!" he cried. "Get out of my shop! What is the world
+coming to!"
+
+Clare turned and went out.
+
+But though a bilious, the baker was not an unreasonable or unjust man
+except when what he had been used to believe all his life was
+contradicted. Clare had not yet shut the door when he repented. He was
+a good man, though not quite in the secret of the universe. He vaulted
+over the counter, and opened the door with such a ringing of its
+appended bell as made heavy-hearted Clare turn before he heard his
+voice. The long spare white figure appeared on the threshold, framed
+in the doorway.
+
+"Hi!" it shouted.
+
+Clare went meekly back.
+
+"I've just remembered hearing--but mind I _know_ nothing, and pledge
+myself to nothing----"
+
+He paused.
+
+"I didn't say I was _sure_ about it," returned Clare, thinking he
+referred to the fate of the animals, "but I fear I'm to blame for not
+being sure."
+
+"Come, come!" said the baker, with a twist of his mouth that expressed
+disgust, "hold your tongue, and listen to me.--I did hear, as I was
+saying, that Mr. Maidstone, down the town, had one of his errand-boys
+laid up with scarlet fever. I'll take you to him, if you like. Perhaps
+he'll have you,--though I can't say you look respectable!"
+
+"I 'ain't had much chance since I left home, sir. I had a bit of soap,
+but----"
+
+He bethought him that he had better say nothing about his
+family. Tommy had picked his pocket of the soap the night before, and
+tried to eat it, and Clare had hidden it away: he wanted it to wash
+the baby with as soon as he could get some warm water; but when he
+went to find it to wash his own face, it was gone. He suspected Tommy,
+but before long he had terrible ground for a different surmise.
+
+"You see, sir," he resumed, "I had other things to think of. When your
+tummy's empty, you don't think about the rest of you--do you, sir?"
+
+The baker could not remember having ever been more than decently,
+healthily hungry in his life; and here he had been rough on a
+well-bred boy too hungry to wash his face! Perhaps the word _one of
+these little ones_ came to him. He had some regard for him who spoke
+it, though he did talk more about him on Sundays than obey him in the
+days between.
+
+"I don't know, my boy," he answered. "Would you like a piece of
+bread?"
+
+"I'm not much in want of it at this moment," replied Clare, "but I
+should be greatly obliged if you would let me call for it by and
+by. You see, sir, when a man has no work, he can't help having no
+money!"
+
+"A man!" thought the baker. "God pity you, poor monkey!"
+
+He called to some one to mind the shop, removed his apron and put on a
+coat, shut the door, and went down the street with Clare.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXX.
+
+The draper.
+
+
+At the shop of a draper and haberdasher, where one might buy almost
+anything sold, Clare's new friend stopped and walked in. He asked to
+see Mr. Maidstone, and a shopman went to fetch him from behind. He
+came out into the public floor.
+
+"I heard you were in want of a boy, sir," said the baker, who carried
+himself as in the presence of a superior; and certainly fine clothes
+and a gold chain and ring did what they could to make the draper
+superior to the baker.
+
+"Hm!" said Mr. Maidstone, looking with contempt at Clare.
+
+"I rather liked the look of this poor boy, and ventured to bring him
+on approval," continued the baker timidly. "He ain't much to look at,
+I confess!"
+
+"Hm!" said the draper again. "He don't look promising!"
+
+"He don't. But I think he means performing," said the baker, with a
+wan smile.
+
+"Donnow, I'm sure! If he 'appened to wash his face, I could tell
+better!"
+
+Clare thought he had washed it pretty well that morning because of his
+cut, though he had, to be sure, done it without soap, and had been at
+rather dirty work since!
+
+"He says he's been too hungry to wash his face," answered the baker.
+
+"Didn't 'ave his 'ot water in time, I suppose!--Will you answer for
+him, Mr. Ball?"
+
+"I can't, Mr. Maidstone--not one way or another. I simply was taken
+with him. I know nothing about him."
+
+Here one of the shopmen came up to his master, and said,
+
+"I heard Mr. Ball's own man yesterday accuse this very boy of taking a
+loaf from his cart."
+
+"Yesterday!" thought Clare; "it seems a week ago!"
+
+"Oh! this is the boy, is it?" said the baker. "You see I didn't know
+him! All the same, I don't believe he took the loaf."
+
+"Indeed I didn't, sir! Another boy took it who didn't know better, and
+I took it from him, and was putting it back on the cart when the man
+turned round and saw me, and wouldn't listen to a word I said. But a
+working-man believed me, and bought the loaf, and gave it between us."
+
+"A likely story!" said the draper.
+
+"I've heard that much," said the baker, "and I believe it. At least I
+have no reason to believe my man against him, Mr. Maidstone. That same
+night I discovered he had been cheating me to a merry tune. I
+discharged him this morning."
+
+"Well, he certainly don't look a respectable boy," said the draper,
+who naturally, being all surface himself, could read no deeper than
+clothes; "but I'm greatly in want of one to carry out parcels, and I
+don't mind if I try him. If he do steal anything, he'll be caught
+within the hour!"
+
+"Oh, thank you, sir!" said Clare.
+
+"You shall have sixpence a day," Mr. Maidstone continued, "--not a
+penny more till I'm sure you're an honest boy."
+
+"Thank you, sir," iterated Clare. "Please may I run home first? I
+won't be long. I 'ain't got any other clothes, but----"
+
+"Hold your long tongue. Don't let me hear it wagging in my
+establishment. Go and wash your face and hands." Clare turned to the
+baker.
+
+"Please, sir," he said softly, "may I go back with you and get the
+piece of bread?"
+
+"What! begging already!" cried Mr. Maidstone.
+
+"No, no, sir," interposed the baker. "I promised him a piece of
+bread. He did not ask for it."
+
+The good man was pleased at his success, and began to regard Clare
+with the favour that springs in the heart of him who has done a good
+turn to another through a third. Had he helped him out of his own
+pocket, he might not have been so much pleased. But there had been no
+loss, and there was no risk! He had beside shown his influence with a
+superior!
+
+"I am so much obliged to you, sir!" said Clare as they went away
+together. "I cannot tell you how much!"
+
+He was tempted to open his heart and reveal the fact that three people
+would live on the sixpence a day which the baker's kindness had
+procured him, but prudence was fast coming frontward, and he saw that
+no one must know that they were in that house! If it were known, they
+would probably be turned out at once, which would go far to be fatal
+to them as a family. For, if he had to pay for lodgings, were it no
+more than the tramps paid Tommy's grandmother, sixpence a day would
+not suffice for bare shelter. So he held his tongue.
+
+"Thank me by minding Mr. Maidstone's interests," returned his
+benefactor. "If you don't do well by him, the blame will come upon
+me."
+
+"I will be very careful, sir," answered Clare, who was too full of
+honesty to think of being honest; he thought only of minding orders.
+
+They reached the shop; the baker gave him a small loaf, and he hurried
+home with it The joy in his heart, spread over the days since he left
+the farm, would have given each a fair amount of gladness.
+
+Taking heed that no one saw him, he darted through the passage to the
+well, got across it better this time, rushed over the wall like a cat,
+fell on the other side from the unsteadiness of his potsherds, rose
+and hurried into the house, with the feeble wail of his baby in his
+ears.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXI.
+
+An addition to the family.
+
+
+The door to the kitchen was open: Tommy must be in the garden again!
+When he reached the nursery, as he called it to himself, he found the
+baby as he had left her, but moaning and wailing piteously. She looked
+as if she had cried till she was worn out. He threw down the clothes
+to take her. A great rat sprang from the bed. On one of the tiny feet
+the long thin toes were bleeding and raw. The same instant arose a
+loud scampering and scuffling and squealing in the room. Clare's heart
+quivered. He thought it was a whole army of rats. He was not a bit
+afraid of them himself, but assuredly they were not company for baby!
+Already they had smelt food in the house, and come in a swarm! What
+was to be done with the little one? If he stayed at home with her, she
+must die of hunger; if he left her alone, the rats would eat her! They
+had begun already! Oh, that wretch, Tommy! Into the water--but he
+should go!
+
+I hope their friends will not take it ill that, all his life after,
+Clare felt less kindly disposed toward rats than toward the rest of
+the creatures of God.
+
+But things were not nearly so bad as Clare thought: the scuffling came
+from quite another cause. It suddenly ceased, and a sharp scream
+followed. Clare turned with the baby in his arms. Almost at his feet,
+gazing up at him, the rat hanging limp from his jaws, stood the little
+castaway mongrel he had seen in the morning, his eyes flaming, and his
+tail wagging with wild homage and the delight of presenting the rat to
+one he would fain make his master.
+
+"You darling!" cried Clare, and meant the dog this time, not the
+baby. The animal dropped the dead rat at his feet, and glared, and
+wagged, and looked hunger incarnate, but would not touch the rat until
+Clare told him to take it. Then he retired with it to a corner, and
+made a rapid meal of it.
+
+He had seen Clare pass the second time, had doubtless noted that now
+he carried a loaf, and had followed him in humble hope. Clare was too
+much occupied with his own joy to perceive him, else he would
+certainly have given him a little peeling or two from the outside of
+the bread. But it was decreed that the dog should have the honour of
+rendering the first service. Clare was not to do _all_ the
+benevolences.
+
+What a happy day it had been for him! It was a day to be remembered
+for ever! He had work! he had sixpence a day! he had had a present of
+milk for the baby, and two presents of bread--one a small, and one a
+large loaf! And now here was a dog! A dog was more than many meals!
+The family was four now! A baby, and a dog to take care of the
+baby!--It was heavenly!
+
+He made haste and gave his baby what milk and water was left. Then he
+washed her poor torn foot, wrapped it in a pillow-case, for he would
+not tear anything, and laid her in the bed. Next he cut a good big
+crust from the loaf and gave it to the dog, who ate it as if the rat
+were nowhere. The rest he put in a drawer. Then he washed his face and
+hands--as well as he could without soap. After that, he took the dog,
+talked to him a little, laid him on the bed beside the baby and talked
+to him again, telling him plainly, and impressing upon him, that his
+business was the care of the baby; that he must give himself up to
+her; that he must watch and tend, and, if needful, fight for the
+little one. When at length he left him, it was evident to Clare, by
+the solemnity of the dog's face, that he understood his duty
+thoroughly.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXII.
+
+Shop and baby.
+
+
+Once clear of the well and the wall, Clare set off running like a
+gaze-hound. Such was the change produced in him by joy and the
+satisfaction of hope, that when he entered the shop, no one at first
+knew him. His face was as the face of an angel, and none the less
+beautiful that it shone above ragged garments. But Mr. Maidstone, the
+moment he saw him, and before he had time to recognize him, turned
+from the boy with dislike.
+
+"What a fool the beggar looks!" he said to himself;--then aloud to one
+of the young men, "Hand over that parcel of sheets.--Here,
+you!--what's your name?"
+
+"Clare, sir."
+
+"I declare against it!" he rejoined, with a coarse laugh of pleasure
+at his own fancied wit. "I shall call you Jack!"
+
+"Very well, sir!"
+
+"Don't you talk.--Here, Jack, take this parcel to Mrs.
+Trueman's. You'll see the address on it.--And look sharp.--You can
+read, can't you?"
+
+The people in the shop stood looking on, some pitifully, all
+curiously, for the parcel was of considerable size, and linen is
+heavy, while the boy looked pale and thin. But Clare was strong for
+his age, and present joy made up for past want. He scarcely looked at
+the parcel which the draper proceeded to lay on his shoulder, stooped
+a little as he felt its weight, heaved it a little to adjust its
+balance, and holding it in its place with one hand, started for the
+door, which the master himself held open for him.
+
+"Please, sir, which way do I turn?" he asked.
+
+"To the left," answered Mr. Maidstone. "Ask your way as you go."
+
+Clare forgot that he had heard only the lady's name. Her address was
+on the parcel, no doubt, but if he dropped it to look, he could not
+get it up again by himself. A little way on, therefore, meeting a boy
+about his own age returning from school, he asked him to be kind
+enough to read the address on his back and direct him. The boy read it
+aloud, but gave him false instructions for finding the place. Clare
+walked and walked until the weight became almost unendurable, and at
+last, though loath, concluded that the boy must have deceived him. He
+asked again, but this time of a lady. She took pains not only to tell
+him right, but to make him understand right: she was pleased with the
+tired gentle face that looked up from beneath the heavy
+burden. Perhaps she thought of the proud souls growing pure of their
+pride, in Dante's _Purgatorio_. Following her directions, he needed no
+further questioning to find the house. But it was hours after the
+burden was gone from his shoulder before it was rid of the phantom of
+its weight.
+
+His master rated him for having been so long, and would not permit him
+to explain his delay, ordering him to hold his tongue and not answer
+back; but the rest of his day's work was lighter; there was no other
+heavy parcel to send out. There were so many smaller ones, however,
+that, by the time they were all delivered, he had gained something
+more than a general idea of how the streets lay, and was a weary wight
+when, with the four-pence his master hesitated to give him on the
+ground that he was doubtful of his character, he set out at last,
+walking soberly enough now, to spend it at Mr. Ball's and the
+milk-shop. Of the former he bought a stale three-penny loaf, and the
+baker added a piece to make up the weight. Clare took this for
+liberality, and returned hearty thanks, which Mr. Ball, I am sorry to
+say, was not man enough to repudiate. The other penny he laid out on
+milk--but oh, how inferior it was to that the farmer's wife had given
+him! The milk-woman, however, not ungraciously granted him the two
+matches he begged for.
+
+On his way to baby, he almost hoped Tommy would not return: he would
+gladly be saved putting him in the water-butt!
+
+He forgot him again as he drew near the nursery, and for a long while
+after he reached it. He found the infant and the dog lying as he had
+left them. The only sign that either had moved was the strange
+cleanness of the tiny gray face which Clare had not ventured to
+wash. It gave indubitable evidence that the dog had been licking it
+more than a little--probably every few minutes since he was left
+curate in charge.
+
+And now Clare did with deliberation a thing for which his sensitive
+conscience not unfrequently reproached him afterward. His defence was,
+that he had hurt nobody, and had kept baby alive by it. Having in his
+mind revolved the matter many a time that day, he got some sticks
+together from the garden, and with one of the precious matches lighted
+a small fire of coals that were not his own, and for which he could
+merely hope one day to restore amends. But baby! Baby was more than
+coals! He filled a rusty kettle with water, and while it was growing
+hot on the fire, such was his fear lest the smoke should betray them,
+that he ran out every other minute to see how much was coming from the
+chimney.
+
+While the fire was busy heating the water, he was busier preparing a
+bottle for baby--making a hole through the cork of a phial, putting the
+broken stem of a clean tobacco pipe he had found in the street through
+the hole, tying a small lump of cotton wool over the end of the
+pipe-stem, and covering that with a piece of his pocket-handkerchief,
+carefully washed with the brown Windsor soap, his mother's last present.
+For the day held yet another gladness: in looking for a kettle he had
+found the soap--which probably the rat had carried away and hidden
+before finding baby. Through the pipe-stem and the wool and the
+handkerchief he could without difficulty draw water, and hoped therefore
+baby would succeed in drawing her supper. As soon as the water was warm
+he mixed some with the milk, but not so much this time, and put the
+mixture in the bottle. To his delight, the baby sucked it up splendidly.
+The bottle, thought out between the heavy linen and the hard street, was
+a success! Labour is not unfriendly to thought, as the annals of weaving
+and shoe-making witness.
+
+And now at last was Clare equipped for a great attempt: he was going
+to wash the baby! He was glad that disrespectful Tommy was not in the
+house. With a basin of warm water and his precious piece of soap he
+set about it, and taking much pains washed his treasure perfectly
+clean. It was a state of bliss in which, up to that moment, I presume,
+she had never been since her birth. In the process he handled her, if
+not with all the skill of a nurse, yet with the tenderness of a
+mother. His chief anxiety was not to hurt, more than could not be
+helped, the poor little rat-eaten toes. He felt he must wash them, but
+when in the process she whimpered, it went all through the calves of
+his legs. When the happy but solicitous task was over, during which
+the infant had shown the submission of great weakness, he wrapped her
+in another blanket, and laid her down again. Soothed and comfortable,
+as probably never soothed or comfortable before, she went to sleep.
+
+As soon as she was out of his arms, he took a piece of bread, and with
+some of the hot water made a little sop for the dog, which the small
+hero, whose four legs carried such a long barrel of starvation, ate
+with undisguised pleasure and thankfulness. For his own supper Clare
+preferred his bread dry, following it with a fine draught of water
+from the well.
+
+Then, and not till then, returned the thought--what had Tommy done
+with himself? Left to himself he was sure to go stealing! He might
+have been taken in the act! Clare could hardly believe he had actually
+run away from him. On the other hand, he had left the baby, and knew
+that if he returned he would be put in the water-butt! He might have
+come to the conclusion that he could do better without Clare, who
+would not let him steal! It was clear he did not like taking his share
+in the work of the family, and looking after the baby! Had he been
+anything of a true boy, Clare would have taken his bread in his hand
+and gone to look for him; being such as he was, he did not think it
+necessary. He felt bound to do his best for him if he came back, but
+he did not feel bound to leave the baby and roam the country to find a
+boy with whom baby's life would be in constant danger.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIII.
+
+A bad penny.
+
+
+Before Clare had done his thinking, darkness had fallen, and, weary to
+the very bones, he threw himself on the bed beside the baby. The dog
+jumped up and laid himself at his feet, as if the place had been his
+from time immemorial--as it had perhaps been, according to time in
+dog-land. The many pleasures of that blessed day would have kept Clare
+awake had they not brought with them so much weariness. He fell fast
+asleep. Tommy had not had a happy day: he had been found out in
+evil-doing, had done more evil, and had all the day been in dread of
+punishment. He did not foresee how ill things would go for him--did
+not see that a rat had taken his place beside the baby, and that he
+would not get back before Clare; but the vision of the water-butt had
+often flashed upon his inner eye, and it had not been the bliss of his
+solitude. He deserted his post in the hope of finding something to
+eat, and had not had a mouthful of anything but spongy turnip, and
+dried-up mangel-wurzel, or want-root. If he had been minding his work,
+he would have had a piece of good bread--so good that he would have
+wanted more of it, whereas, when he had eaten the turnip and the
+beetroot, he had cause to wish he had not eaten so much! He had been
+set upon by boys bigger than himself, and nearly as bad, who, not
+being hungry, were in want of amusement, and had proceeded to get it
+out of Tommy, just as Tommy would have got it out of the baby had he
+dared. They bullied him in a way that would have been to his heart's
+content, had he been the bully instead of the bullied. They made him
+actually wish he had stayed with the baby--and therewith came the
+thought that it was time to go home if he would get back before
+Clare. As to what had taken place in the morning, he knew Clare's
+forgivingness, and despised him for it. If he found the baby dead, or
+anything happened to her that he could not cover with lying, it would
+be time to cut and run in earnest! So the moment he could escape from
+his tormenters, off went Tommy for home. But as he ran he remembered
+that there was but one way into the house, and that was by the very
+lip of the water-butt.
+
+Clare woke up suddenly--at a sound which all his life would wake him
+from the deepest slumber: he thought he heard the whimpering of a
+child. The baby was fast asleep. Instantly he thought of Tommy. He
+seemed to see him shut out in the night, and knew at once how it was
+with him: he had gone out without thinking how he was to get back, and
+dared not go near the water-butt! He jumped out of bed, put on his
+shoes, and in a minute or two was over the wall and walking along the
+lane outside of it, to find the deserter.
+
+The moon was not up, and the night was dark, yet he had not looked
+long before he came upon him, as near the house as he could get,
+crouching against the wall.
+
+"Tommy!" said Clare softly.
+
+Tommy did not reply. The fear of the water-butt was upon him--a fear
+darker than the night, an evil worse than hunger or cold--and Clare
+and the water-butt were one.
+
+"You needn't think to hide, Tommy; I see you, you bad boy!" whispered
+Clare. "After all I said, you ran away and left the baby to the rats!
+They've been biting her horribly--one at least has. You can stay away
+as long as you like now; I've got a better nurse. Good-night!" Tommy
+gave a great howl.
+
+"Hold your tongue, you rascal!" cried Clare, still in a
+whisper. "You'll let the police know where we are!"
+
+"Do let me in, Clare! I'm so 'ungry and so cold!"
+
+"Then I shall have to put you in the water-butt! I said I would!"
+
+"If you don't promise not to, I'll go straight to the police. They'll
+take the brat from you, and put her in the workhouse!"
+
+Clare thought for a moment whether it would not be right to kill such
+a traitor. His mind was full of history-tales, and, like Dante, he put
+treachery in its own place, namely the deepest hell. But with the
+thought came the words he had said so many times without thinking what
+they meant--"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that
+trespass against us," and he saw that he was expected to forgive
+Tommy.
+
+"Tommy, I forgive you," he said solemnly, "and will be friends with
+you again; but I have said it, and I was right to say it, and into the
+water-butt you must go! I can't trust your word now, and I think I
+shall be able to trust it after that."
+
+Ere he had finished the words, Tommy lifted up his voice in a most
+unearthly screech.
+
+Instantly Clare had him by the throat, so that he could not utter a
+sound.
+
+"Tommy," he said, "I'm going to let you breathe again, but the moment
+you make a noise, I'll choke you as I'm doing now."
+
+With that he relaxed his hold. But Tommy had paid no heed to what he
+said, and began a second screech the moment he found passage for
+it. Immediately he was choked, and after two or three attempts,
+finally desisted.
+
+"I won't!" he said.
+
+"You shall, Tommy. You're going head over in the butt. We're going to
+it now!"
+
+Tommy threw himself upon the ground and kicked, but dared not
+scream. It was awful! He would drop right through into the great place
+where the moon was!
+
+Clare threw him over his shoulder, and found him not half the weight
+of the parcel of linen. Tommy would have bitten like a weasel, but he
+feared Clare's terrible hands. He was on the back of Giant Despair, in
+the form of one of the best boys in the world. Clare took him round
+the wall, and over the fence into the blacksmith's yard. The smithy
+was quite dark.
+
+"Please, I didn't mean to do it!" sobbed Tommy from behind him, as
+Clare bore him steadily up the yard. It was all he could do to say the
+words, for the thought of what they were approaching sent a scream
+into his throat every time he parted his lips to speak.
+
+Clare stopped.
+
+"What didn't you mean to do?" he asked.
+
+"I didn't mean to leave the baby."
+
+"How did you do it then?"
+
+"I mean I didn't mean to stay away so long. I didn't know how to get
+back."
+
+"I told you not to leave her! And you could have got back perfectly,
+you little coward!"
+
+Tommy shuddered, and said no more. Though hanging over Clare's back he
+knew presently, by his stopping, that they had come to the heap. There
+was only that heap and the wall between him and the water-butt! Up and
+up he felt himself slowly, shakingly carried, and was gathering his
+breath for a final utterance of agony that should rouse the whole
+neighbourhood, when Clare, having reached the top, seated himself upon
+the wall, and Tommy restrained himself in the hope of what a parley
+might bring. But he sat down only to wheel on the pivot of his spine,
+as he had seen them do on the counter in the shop, and sit with his
+legs alongside of the water-butt. Then he drew Tommy from his shoulder,
+in spite of his clinging, and laid him across his knees; and Tommy,
+divining there were words yet to be said, and hoping to get off with a
+beating, which he did not mind, remained silent.
+
+"Your hour is come, Tommy!" said Clare. "If you scream, I will drop
+you in, and hold you only by one leg. If you don't scream, I will hold
+you by both legs. If you scream when I take you out, in you go again!
+I do what I say, Tommy!"
+
+The wretched boy was nearly mad with terror. But now, much as he
+feared the water, he feared yet more for the moment him in whom lay
+the power of the water. Clare took him by the heels.
+
+"I'm sorry there's no moon, as I promised you," he said; "she won't
+come up for my calling. I should have liked you to see where you were
+going. But if you ain't an honest boy after this, you shall have
+another chance; and next time we will wait for the moon!"
+
+With that he lifted Tommy's legs, holding him by the ankles, and would
+have shoved his body over the edge of the butt into the water. But
+Tommy clung fast to his knees.
+
+"Leave go, Tommy," he said, "or I'll tumble you right in."
+
+Tommy yielded, his will overcome by a greater fear. Clare let him hang
+for a moment over the black water, and slowly lowered him. Tommy clung
+to the side of the butt. Clare let go one leg, and taking hold of his
+hands pulled them away. Tommy's terror would have burst in a frenzied
+yell, but the same instant he was down to the neck in the water, and
+lifted out again. He spluttered and gurgled and tried to scream.
+
+"Now, Tommy," said Clare, "don't scream, or I'll put you in again."
+
+But Tommy never believed anything except upon compulsion. The moment
+he could, that moment he screamed, and that moment he was in the water
+again. The next time he was taken out, he did not scream. Clare laid
+him on the wall, and he lay still, pretending to be drowned. Clare got
+up, set him on his feet in front of him, and holding him by the
+collar, trotted him round the top of the wall to the door, and dropped
+him into the garden. He was quiet enough now--more than
+subdued--incapable even of meditating revenge. But when they entered
+the nursery, the dog, taking Tommy for a worse sort of rat, made a
+leap at him right off the bed, as if he would swallow him alive, and
+the start and the terror of it brought him quite to himself again.
+
+"Quiet, Abdiel!" said Clare.
+
+The dog turned, jumped up on the bed, and lay down again close to the
+baby.
+
+Clare, who, I have said, was in old days a reader of _Paradise Lost_,
+had already given him the name of _Abdiel_.
+
+"Please, I couldn't help yelling!" said Tommy, very meekly. "I didn't
+know you'd got _him_!"
+
+"I know you couldn't help it!" answered Clare. "What have you had to
+eat to-day?"
+
+"Nothing but a beastly turnip and a wormy beet," said Tommy. "I'm
+awful hungry."
+
+"You'd have had something better if you'd stuck by the baby, and not
+left her to the rats!"
+
+"There ain't no rats," growled Tommy.
+
+"Will you believe your own eyes?" returned Clare, and showed him the
+skin of the rat Abdiel had slain. "I've a great mind to make you eat
+it!" he added, dangling it before him by the tail.
+
+"Shouldn't mind," said Tommy. "I've eaten a rat afore now, an' I'm
+that hungry! Rats ain't bad to eat. I don't know about their skins!"
+
+"Here's a piece of bread for you. But you sha'n't sleep with honest
+people like baby and Abdiel. You shall lie on the hearth-rug. Here's a
+blanket and a pillow for you!"
+
+Clare covered him up warm, thatching all with a piece of loose carpet,
+and he was asleep directly.
+
+The next day all terror of the water-butt was gone from the little
+vagabond's mind. He was now, however, thoroughly afraid of Clare, and
+his conceit that, though Clare was the stronger, he was the cleverer,
+was put in abeyance.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIV.
+
+How things went for a time.
+
+
+Clare's next day went much as the preceding, only that he was early at
+the shop. When his dinner-hour came, he ran home, and was glad to find
+Tommy and the dog mildly agreeable to each other. He had but time to
+give baby some milk, and Tommy and Abdiel a bit of bread each.
+
+His look when he returned, a look of which he was unaware, but which
+one of the girls, who had a year ago been hungry for weeks together,
+could read, made her ask him what he had had for dinner. He said he
+had had no dinner.
+
+"Why?" she asked.
+
+"Because there wasn't any."
+
+"Didn't your mother keep some for you?"
+
+"No; she couldn't."
+
+"Then what will you do?"
+
+"Go without," answered Clare with a smile.
+
+"But you've got a mother?" said the girl, rendered doubtful by his
+smile.
+
+"Oh, yes! I've got two mothers. But their arms ain't long enough,"
+replied Clare.
+
+The girl wondered: was he an idiot, or what they called a poet?
+Anyhow, she had a bun in her pocket, which she had meant to eat at
+five o'clock, and she offered him that.
+
+"But what will you do yourself? Have you another?" asked Clare,
+unready to take it.
+
+"No," she answered; "why shouldn't I go without as well as you?"
+
+"Because it won't make things any better. There will be just as much
+hunger. It's only shifting it from me to you. That will leave it all
+the same!"
+
+"No, not the same," she returned. "I've had a good dinner--as much as
+I could eat; and you've had none!"
+
+Clare was persuaded, and ate the girl's bun with much satisfaction and
+gratitude.
+
+When he had his wages in the evening, he spent them as before--a penny
+for the baby, and fivepence at Mr. Ball's for Tommy, Abdiel, and
+himself.
+
+Observing that he came daily, and spent all he earned, except one
+penny, on bread; seeing also that the boy's cheeks, though plainly he
+was in good health, were very thin, Mr. Ball wondered a little: a boy
+ought to look better than that on five pennyworth of bread a day!
+
+They were a curious family--Clare, and Tommy, and the baby, and
+Abdiel. But the only thing sad about it was, that Clare, who was the
+head and the heart of it, and provided for all, should be upheld by no
+human sympathy, no human gratitude; that he should be so high above
+his companions that, though he never thought he was lonely, he could
+not help feeling lonely. Not once did he wish himself rid of any
+single member of his adopted family. It was living on his very body;
+he was growing a little thinner every day; if things had gone on so,
+he must before long have fallen ill; but he never thought of himself
+at all, body or soul.
+
+He had no human sympathy or gratitude, I say, but he had both sympathy
+and gratitude from Abdiel. The dog never failed to understand what
+Clare wished and expected him to understand. In Clare's absence he
+took on himself the protection of the establishment, and was Tommy's
+superior.
+
+Though Tommy was of no use to earn bread, Clare did not therefore
+allow him to be idle. He insisted on his keeping the place clean and
+tidy, and in this respect Tommy was not quite a failure. He even made
+him do some washing, though not much could be accomplished in that way
+where there was so little to wash. Now that Abdiel was nurse, Tommy
+had the run of the garden, and often went beyond it for an hour or two
+without Clare's knowledge, but always took good care to be back before
+his return.
+
+A bale of goods happening to be unpacked in his presence one day,
+Clare begged the head-shopman, who was also a partner, for a piece of
+what it was wrapped in; and he, having noted how well he worked, and
+being quite aware they could not get another such boy at such wages,
+gave him a large piece of the soiled canvas. Now Mrs. Person had
+taught Clare to work,--as I think all boys ought to be taught, so as
+not to be helpless without mother or sister,--and with the help of a
+needle and some thread the friendly girl gave him, he soon made of the
+packing-sheet a pair of trousers for Tommy, of a primitive but not
+unserviceable cut, and a shirt for himself, of fashion more primitive
+still. He managed it this way: he cut a hole in the middle of a piece
+of the stuff, through which to put his head, and another hole on each
+side of that, through which to put his arms, and hemmed them all
+round. Then, having first hemmed the garment also, he indued it, and
+let the voluminous mass arrange itself as it might, under as much of
+his jacket and trousers as cohered.
+
+My reader may well wonder how, in what was called a respectable shop,
+he could be permitted to appear in such poverty; but Mr. Maidstone
+disliked the boy so much that he meant to send him away the moment he
+found another to do his work, and gave orders that he should never
+come up from the basement except when wanted to carry a parcel. The
+fact was that his still, solemn, pure face was a haunting rebuke to
+his master, although he did not in the least recognize the nature, or
+this as the cause, of his dislike.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXV.
+
+Clare disregards the interests of his employers.
+
+
+Things went on for nearly a month, every one thriving but Clare. Yet
+was Clare as peaceful as any, and much happier than Tommy, to whose
+satisfaction adventure was needful.
+
+One day, a lady, attracted by a muff in the shop-window labelled with
+a very low price, entered, and requested to see it.
+
+"We can offer you a choice from several of the sort, madam," said the
+shopman. "It is one of a lot we bought cheap, but quite uninjured,
+after a fire."
+
+"I want to see the one in the window," the lady answered.
+
+"I hope you will excuse me, madam," returned the shopman. "The muff is
+in a position hard to reach. Besides, we must ask leave to take
+anything down after the window is dressed for the day, and the master
+is out. But I will bring you the same fur precisely."
+
+So saying, he went, and returned presently with a load of muffs and
+other furs, which he threw on the counter. But the lady had heard that
+"there's tricks i' the world," and persisted in demanding a sight of
+the muff in the window. Being a "tall personage" and cool, she carried
+her point. The muff was hooked down and brought her--not
+graciously. She glanced at it, turned it over, looked inside, and
+said,
+
+"I will take it. Please bring a bandbox for it."
+
+"I will, madam," said the man, and would have taken the muff. But she
+held it fast, sought her purse, and laid the price on the counter. The
+shopman saw that she knew what both of them were about, took up the
+money, went and fetched a bandbox, put the muff in it before her eyes,
+and tied it up. The lady held out her hand for it.
+
+"Shall I not send it for you, madam?" he said.
+
+"I do not live here," she answered. "I am on my way to the station."
+
+"Here, Jack," cried the shopman to Clare, whom he caught sight of that
+moment going down to the basement, "take this bandbox, and go with the
+lady to the station."
+
+If his transaction with the lady had pleased the man, he would not
+have sent such a scarecrow to attend her, although she did not belong
+to the town, and they might never see her again! The lady, on her
+part, was about to insist on carrying the bandbox herself; but when
+Clare came forward, and looked up smiling in her face, she was at once
+aware that she might trust him. The man stood watching for the moment
+when she should turn her back, that he might substitute another
+bandbox for the one Clare carried; but Clare never looked at him, and
+when the lady walked out of the shop, walked straight out after
+her. Along the street he followed her steadily, she looking round
+occasionally to see that he was behind her.
+
+They had gone about half-way to the station, when from a side street
+came a lad whom Clare knew as one employed in the packing-room. He
+carried a box exactly like that Clare had in his hand, and came softly
+up behind him. Clare did not turn his head, for he did not want to
+talk to him while he was attending on the lady.
+
+"Look spry!" he said in a whisper. "She don't twig! It's all right!
+Maidstone sent me."
+
+Clare looked round. The lad held out his bandbox for him to take, and
+his empty hand to take Clare's instead. But Clare had by this time
+begun to learn a little caution. Besides, the lady's interests were in
+his care, and he could be party to nothing done behind her back! He
+had not time to think, but knew it his duty to stick by the
+bandbox. If we have come up through the animals to be what we are,
+Clare must have been a dog of a good, faithful breed, for he did right
+now as by some ancient instinct. He held fast to the box, neither
+slackening his pace nor uttering a word. The lad gave him a great
+punch. Clare clung the harder to the box. The lady heard something,
+and turned her head. The boy already had his back to her, and was
+walking away, but she saw that Clare's face was flushed.
+
+"What is the matter?" she asked.
+
+"I don't rightly know, ma'am. He wanted me to give him my bandbox for
+his, and said Mr. Maidstone had sent him. But I couldn't, you
+know!--except he asked you first. You did pay for it--didn't you,
+ma'am?"
+
+"Of course I did, or he wouldn't have let me take it away! But if you
+don't know what it means, I do.--You haven't been in that shop long,
+have you?"
+
+"Not quite a month, ma'am."
+
+"I thought so!"
+
+She said no more, and Clare followed in silence, wondering not a
+little. When they reached the station, she took the bandbox, and
+looked at the boy. He returned her gaze, his gray eyes wondering. She
+searched her purse for a shilling, but, unable to find one, was not
+sorry to give him a half-crown instead.
+
+"You had better not mention that I gave you anything?" she said.
+
+"I will not, ma'am, except they ask me," he answered.
+
+"But," he added, his face in a glow of delight, "is all this for me?"
+
+"To be sure," she answered. "I am much obliged to you for--carrying my
+parcel. Be a honest boy whatever comes, and you will not repent it."
+
+"I will try, ma'am," said Clare.
+
+But, to speak accurately, he did not know what it was to _try_ to be
+honest: he had never been tempted to be anything else, and had
+scarcely had the idea of dishonesty in his mind except in relation to
+Tommy. Do you say, "Then it was no merit to him"? Certainly it was
+none. Who was thinking of merit? Not Clare. He is a sneak who thinks
+of merit. He is a cad who can't do a gentlemanly action without
+thinking himself a fine fellow! It might be a merit in many a man to
+act as Clare did, but in Clare it was pure rightness--or, if you like
+the word better, righteousness.
+
+Clare as little thought what awaited him. Had there been any truth,
+any appreciation of honesty in his vulgar heart, Mr. Maidstone could
+not have done as now he did. When his messenger came back with the
+tale of how he had been foiled, he said nothing, but his lips grew
+white. He closed them fast, and went and stood near the door. When
+Clare, unsuspecting as innocent, opened it, he was met by a blow that
+dazed him, and a fierce kick that sent him on his back to the
+curbstone. Almost insensible, but with the impression that something
+was interfering between him and his work, he returned to the door. As
+he laid his hand on it, it opened a little, and his master's face,
+with a hateful sneer upon it, shot into the crack, and spit in
+his. Then the door shut so sharply that his fingers caught an
+agonizing pinch. At last he understood: he was turned off, and his
+day's wages were lost!
+
+What would have become of him now but for the half-crown the lady had
+given him! She was not _quite_ a lady, or she would have walked out of
+the shop, and declined to gain by frustrating a swindle; but she was a
+good-hearted woman, and God's messenger to Clare. He bought a bigger
+loaf than usual, at which, and the time of the day when he bought it,
+and the half-crown presented in payment, Mr. Ball wondered; but
+neither said anything--Mr. Ball from indecision, Clare from eagerness
+to get home to his family.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVI.
+
+The policeman.
+
+
+But, alas! Clare had made another enemy--the lad whose attempt to
+change the bandboxes he had foiled. The fellow followed him,
+lurkingly, all the way home--on the watch for fit place to pounce upon
+him, and punish him for doing right when he wanted him to do wrong. He
+saw him turn into the opening that led to the well, and thought now he
+had him. But when he followed him in, he was not to be seen! He did
+not care to cross the well, not knowing what might meet him on the
+other side; but here was news to carry back! He did so; and his master
+saw in them the opportunity of indulging his dislike and revenge, and
+a means of invalidating whatever Clare might reveal to his discredit!
+
+Clare and the baby and Tommy and Abdiel had taken their supper with
+satisfaction, and were all asleep. It was to them as the middle of the
+night, though it was but past ten o'clock, when Abdiel all at once
+jumped right up on his four legs, cocked his ears, listened, leaped
+off the bed, ran to the door, and began to bark furiously. He was
+suddenly blinded by the glare of a bull's-eye-lantern, and received a
+kick that knocked all the bark out of him, and threw him to the other
+side of the room. A huge policeman strode quietly in, sending the
+glare of his bull's-eye all about the room like a vital, inquiring
+glance. It discovered, one after the other, every member of the
+family. So tired was Clare, however, that he did not wake until seized
+by a rough hand, and at one pull dragged standing on the floor.
+
+"Take care of the baby!" he cried, while yet not half awake.
+
+"_I'll_ take care o' the baby, never fear!--an' o' you too, you young
+rascal!" returned the policeman.
+
+He roused Tommy, who was wide awake, but pretending to be asleep, with
+a gentle kick.
+
+"Up ye get!" he said; and Tommy got up, rubbing his ferret eyes.
+
+"Come along!" said the policeman.
+
+"Where to?" asked Clare.
+
+"You'll see when you get there."
+
+"But I can't leave baby!"
+
+"Baby must come along too," answered the policeman, more gently, for
+he had children of his own.
+
+"But she has no clothes to go in!" objected Clare.
+
+"She must go without, then."
+
+"But she'll take cold!"
+
+"She don't run naked in the house, do she?"
+
+"No; she can't run yet. I keep her in a blanket. But the blanket ain't
+mine; I can't take it with me."
+
+"You're mighty scrup'lous!" returned the policeman. "You don't mind
+takin' a 'ole 'ouse an' garding, but you wouldn' think o' takin' a
+blanket!--Oh, no! Honest boy _you_ are!"
+
+He turned sharp round, and caught Tommy taking a vigorous sight at
+him. Tommy, courageous as a lion behind anybody's back, dropped on the
+rug sitting.
+
+"We've done the house no harm," said Clare, "and I will _not_ take the
+blanket. It would be stealing!"
+
+"Then I will take it, and be accountable for it," rejoined the man. "I
+hope that will satisfy you!"
+
+"Certainly," answered Clare. "You are a policeman, and that makes it
+all right."
+
+"Rouse up then, and come along. I want to get home."
+
+"Please, sir, wouldn't it do in the morning?" pleaded Clare. "I've no
+work now, and could easily go then. That way we should all have a
+sleep."
+
+"My eye ain't green enough," replied the policeman. "Look sharp!"
+
+Clare said no more, but went to the baby. With sinking but courageous
+heart, he wrapped her closer in her blanket, and took her in his
+arms. He could not help her crying, but she did not scream. Indeed she
+never really screamed; she was not strong enough to scream.
+
+"Get along," said the policeman.
+
+Clare led the way with his bundle, sorely incommoded by the size and
+weight of the wrapping blanket, the corners of which, one after the
+other, would keep working from his hold, and dropping and trailing on
+the ground. Behind him came Tommy, a scarecrow monkey, with
+mischievous face, and greedy beads for eyes--type not unknown to the
+policeman, who brought up the rear, big enough to have all their sizes
+cut out of him, and yet pass for a man. Down the stair they went, and
+out at the front door, which Clare for the first time saw open, and so
+by the iron gate into the street.
+
+"Which way, please?" asked Clare, turning half round with the
+question.
+
+"To the right, straight ahead. The likes o' you, young un, might know
+the way to the lock-up without astin'!"
+
+Clare made no answer, but walked obedient. It was a sad
+procession--comical indeed, but too sad when realized to continue
+ludicrous. The thin, long-bodied, big-headed, long-haired,
+long-tailed, short-legged animal that followed last, seemed to close
+it with a never-ending end.
+
+There was no moon; nothing but the gas-lamps lighted Clare's _Via
+dolorosa_. He hugged the baby and kept on, laying his cheek to hers to
+comfort her, and receiving the comfort he did not seek.
+
+They came at last to the _lock-up_, a new building in the rear of the
+town-house. There this tangle of humanity, torn from its rock and
+afloat on the social sea, drifted trailing into a bare brilliant room,
+and at its head, cast down but not destroyed, went heavy-laden Clare,
+with so much in him, but only his misery patent to eyes too much used
+to misery to reap sorrow from the sight.
+
+The head policeman--they called him the inspector--received the
+charge, that of house-breaking, and entered it. Then they were taken
+away to the lock-up--all but the faithful Abdiel, who, following,
+received another of the kicks which that day rained on every member of
+that epitome of the human family except the baby, who, small enough
+for a mother to drown, was too small for a policeman to kick. The door
+was shut upon them, and they had to rest in that grave till the
+resurrection of the morning should bring them before the magistrate.
+
+Their quarters were worse than chilly--to all but the baby in her
+blanket manifoldly wrapped about her, and in Clare's arms. Tommy would
+gladly have shared that blanket, more gladly yet would have taken it
+all for himself and left the baby to perish; but he had to lie on the
+broad wooden bench and make the best of it, which he did by snoring
+all the night. It passed drearily for Clare, who kept wide awake. He
+was not anxious about the morrow; he had nothing to be ashamed of,
+therefore nothing to fear; but he had baby to protect and cherish, and
+he dared not go to sleep.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVII.
+
+The magistrate.
+
+
+The dawn came at last, and soon after the dawn footsteps, but they
+approached only to recede. When the door at length opened, it was but
+to let a pair of eyes glance round on them, and close again. The hours
+seemed to be always beginning, and never going on. But at the long
+last came the big policeman. To Clare's loving eyes, how friendly he
+looked!
+
+"Come, kids!" he said, and took them through a long passage to a room
+in the town-hall, where sat a formal-looking old gentleman behind a
+table.
+
+"Good morning, sir!" said Clare, to the astonishment of the
+magistrate, who set his politeness down as impudence.
+
+Nor was the mistake to be wondered at; for the baby in Clare's arms
+hid, with the mountain-like folds of its blanket, the greater part of
+his face, and the old gentleman's eyes fell first on Tommy; and if
+ever _scamp_ was written clear on a countenance, it was written clear
+on Tommy's.
+
+"Hold your impudent tongue!" said a policeman, and gave Clare a cuff
+on the head.
+
+"Hold, John," interposed the magistrate; "it is my part to punish, not
+yours."
+
+"Thank you, sir," said Clare.
+
+"I will thank _you_, sir," returned the magistrate, "not to speak till
+I put to you the questions I am about to put to you.--What is the
+charge against the prisoners?"
+
+"Housebreaking, sir," answered the big man.
+
+"What! Housebreaking! Boys with a baby! House-breakers don't generally
+go about with babies in their arms! Explain the thing."
+
+The policeman said he had received information that unlawful
+possession had been taken of a building commonly known as The Haunted
+House, which had been in Chancery for no one could tell how many
+years. He had gone to see, and had found the accused in possession of
+the best bedroom--fast asleep, surrounded by indications that they had
+made themselves at home there for some time. He had brought them
+along.
+
+The magistrate turned his eyes on Clare.
+
+"You hear what the policeman says?" he said.
+
+"Yes, sir," answered Clare.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Sir?"
+
+"What have you to say to it?"
+
+"Nothing, sir."
+
+"Then you allow it is true?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"What right had you to be there?"
+
+"None, sir. But we had nowhere else to go, and nobody seemed to want
+the place. We didn't hurt anything. We swept away a multitude of dead
+moths, and killed a lot of live ones, and destroyed a whole granary of
+grubs; and the dog killed a great rat."
+
+"What is your name?"
+
+"Clare--Porson," answered Clare, with a little intervening hesitation.
+
+"You are not quite sure?"
+
+"Yes; that is my name; but I have another older one that I don't
+know."
+
+"A bad answer! The name you go by is not your own! Hum! Is that boy
+your brother?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Your cousin?"
+
+"No, sir; he's not any relation of mine. He's a tramp."
+
+"And what are you?"
+
+"Something like one now, sir, but I wasn't always."
+
+"What were you?"
+
+"Not much, sir. I didn't _do_ anything till just lately."
+
+He could not bear at the moment to talk of his be-loved dead. He felt
+as if the old gentleman would be rude to them.
+
+"Is the infant there your sister?"
+
+"She's my sister the big way: God made her. She's not my sister any
+other way."
+
+"How does she come to be with you then?"
+
+"I took her out of the water-butt. Some one threw her in, and I heard
+the splash, and went and got her out."
+
+"Why did you not take her to the police?"
+
+"I never thought of that. It was all I could do to keep her alive. I
+couldn't have done it if we hadn't got into the house."
+
+"How long ago is that?"
+
+"Nearly a month, sir."
+
+"And you've kept her there ever since?"
+
+"Yes, sir--as well as I could. I had only sixpence a day."
+
+"And what's that boy's name?"
+
+"Tommy, sir.--I don't know any other."
+
+"Nice respectable company you keep for one who has evidently been well
+brought up!"
+
+"Baby's quite respectable, sir!"
+
+"Hum!"
+
+"And for Tommy, if I didn't keep him, he would steal. I'm teaching him
+not to steal."
+
+"What woman have you got with you?"
+
+"Baby's the only woman we've got, sir."
+
+"But who attends to her?"
+
+"I do, sir. She only wants washing and rolling round in the blanket;
+she's got no clothes to speak of. When I'm away, Tommy and Abdiel take
+care of her."
+
+"Abdiel! Who on earth is that? Where is he?" said the magistrate,
+looking round for some fourth member of the incomprehensible family.
+
+"He's not on earth, sir; he's in heaven--the good angel, you know,
+sir, that left Satan and came back again to God."
+
+"You must take him to the county-asylum, James!" said the magistrate,
+turning to the tall policeman.
+
+"Oh, he's all right, sir!" said James.
+
+"Please, sir," interrupted Clare eagerly, "I didn't mean the dog was
+in heaven yet. I meant the angel I named him after!"
+
+"They _had_ a little dog with them, sir!"
+
+"Yes--Abdiel. He wanted to be a prisoner too, but they wouldn't let
+him in. He's a good dog--better than Tommy."
+
+"So! like all the rest of you, you can keep a dog!"
+
+"He followed me home because he hadn't anybody to love," said
+Clare. "He don't have much to eat, but he's content. He would eat
+three times as much if I could give it him; but he never complains."
+
+"Have you work of any sort?"
+
+"I had till yesterday, sir."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"At Mr. Maidstone's shop."
+
+"What wages had you?"
+
+"Sixpence a day."
+
+"And you lived, all three of you, on that?"
+
+"Yes; all four of us, sir."
+
+"What do you do at the shop?"
+
+"Please your worship," interposed policeman James, "he was sent about
+his business yesterday."
+
+"Yes," rejoined Clare, who did not understand the phrase, "I was sent
+with a lady to carry her bandbox to the station."
+
+"And when you came back, you was turned away, wasn't you?" said James.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"What had you done?" asked the magistrate.
+
+"I don't quite know, sir."
+
+"A likely story!"
+
+Clare made no reply.
+
+"Answer me directly."
+
+"Please, sir, you told me not to speak unless you asked me a
+question."
+
+"I said, 'A likely story!' which meant, 'Do you expect me to believe
+that?'"
+
+"Of course I do, sir."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because it is true."
+
+"How am I to believe that?"
+
+"I don't know, sir. I only know I've got to speak the truth. It's the
+person who hears it that's got to believe it, ain't it, sir?"
+
+"You've got to prove it."
+
+"I don't think so, sir; I never was told so; I was only told I must
+speak the truth; I never was told I must prove what I said.--I've been
+several times disbelieved, I know."
+
+"I should think so indeed!"
+
+"It was by people who did not know me."
+
+"Never by people who did know you?"
+
+"I think not, sir. I never was by the people at home."
+
+"Ah! you could not read what they were thinking!"
+
+"Were you not believed when you were at home, sir?"
+
+The magistrate's doubt of Clare had its source in the fact that,
+although now he was more careful to speak the truth than are most
+people, it was not his habit when a boy, and he had suffered severely
+in consequence. He was annoyed, therefore, at his question, set him
+down as a hypocritical, boastful prig, and was seized with a strong
+desire to shame him.
+
+"I remand the prisoner for more evidence. Take the children to the
+workhouse," he said.
+
+Tommy gave a sudden full-sized howl. He had heard no good of the
+workhouse.
+
+"The baby is mine!" pleaded Clare.
+
+"Are you the father of it?" said the big policeman.
+
+"Yes, I think so: I saved her life.--She would have been drowned if I
+hadn't looked for her when I heard the splash!" reasoned Clare, his
+face drawn with grief and the struggle to keep from crying.
+
+"She's not yours," said the magistrate. "She belongs to the
+parish. Take her away, James."
+
+The big policeman came up to take her. Clare would have held her
+tight, but was afraid of hurting her. He did draw back from the
+outstretched hands, however, while he put a question or two.
+
+"Please, sir, will the parish be good to her?" he asked.
+
+"Much better than you."
+
+"Will it let me go and see her?" he asked again, with an outbreaking
+sob.
+
+"You can't go anywhere till you're out of this," answered the big
+policeman, and, not ungently, took the baby from him.
+
+"And when will that be, please?" asked Clare, with his empty arms
+still held out.
+
+"That depends on his worship there."
+
+"Hold your tongue, James," said the magistrate. "Take the boy away,
+John."
+
+"Please, sir, where am I going to?" asked Clare.
+
+"To prison, till we find out about you."
+
+"Please, sir, I didn't mean to steal her. I didn't know the parish
+wanted her!"
+
+"Take the boy away, I tell you!" cried the magistrate angrily. "His
+tongue goes like the hopper of a mill!"
+
+James, carrying the baby on one arm, was already pushing Tommy before
+him by the neck. Tommy howled, and rubbed his red eyes with what was
+left him of cuffs, but did not attempt resistance.
+
+"Please, don't let anybody hold her upside down, policeman!" cried
+Clare. "She doesn't like it!--Oh, baby! baby!"
+
+John tightened his grasp on his arm, and hurried him away in another
+direction.
+
+Where the big policeman issued with his charge, there was Abdiel
+hovering about as if his spring were wound up so tight that it
+wouldn't go off. How he came to be at that door, I cannot imagine.
+
+When he spied Tommy, he rushed at him. Tommy gave him a kick that
+rolled him over.
+
+"Don't want _you_, you mangy beast!" he said, and tried to kick him
+again.
+
+Abdiel kept away from him after that, but followed the party to the
+workhouse, where also, to his disgust, plainly expressed, he was
+refused admittance. He returned to the entrance by which Clare had
+vanished from his eyes the night before, and lay down there. I suspect
+he had an approximate canine theory of the whole matter. He knew at
+least that Clare had gone in with the others at that door; that he had
+not come out with them at the other door; that, therefore, in all
+probability, he was within that door still.
+
+The police made inquiry at Mr. Maidstone's shop. Reasons for his
+dismissal were there given involving no accusation: there was little
+desire in that quarter to have the matter searched into. There was
+therefore nothing to the discredit of the boy, beyond his running to
+earth in the neglected house like a wild animal. After three days he
+was set at liberty.
+
+As the big policeman led the way to the door to send him out, Clare
+addressed him thus:
+
+"Please, Mr. James, may I go back to the house for a little while?"
+
+"Well, you _are_ an innocent!" said James; "--or," he added, "the
+biggest little humbug ever I see!--No, it's not likely!"
+
+"I only wanted," explained Clare, "to set things straight a bit. The
+house is cleaner than it was, _I_ know, but it is not in such good
+order as when we went into it. I don't like to leave it worse than we
+found it."
+
+"Never you heed," said James, believing him perfectly before he knew
+what he was about. "The house don't belong to nobody, so far as ever I
+heerd, an' the things'll rot all the same wherever they stand."
+
+"But I should like," persisted Clare.
+
+"I couldn't do it off my own hook, an' his worship would think you
+only wanted to steal something. The best thing you can do is to leave
+the place at once, an' go where nobody knows nothing agin you."
+
+Thought Clare with himself, "If the house doesn't belong to anybody,
+why wouldn't they let me stay in it?"
+
+But the policeman opened the door, and as he was turning to say
+good-bye to him, gave him a little shove, and closed it behind him.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVIII.
+
+The workhouse.
+
+
+He went into the street with a white face and a dazed look--not from
+any hardship he had experienced during his confinement, for he had
+been in what to him was clover, but because he had lost the baby and
+Abdiel, and because his mind had been all the time in perplexity with
+regard to the proceedings of justice: he did not and could not see
+that he had done anything wrong. Throughout his life it never mattered
+much to Clare to be accused of anything wrong, but it did trouble him,
+this time at least, to be punished for doing what was right. He took
+it very quietly, however.
+
+Indignation may be a sign of innocence, but it is no necessary
+consequence of innocence any more than it is a proof of
+righteousness. A man will be fiercely indignant at an accusation that
+happens to be false, who did the very thing last week, and is ready to
+do it again. Indignation against wrong to another even, is no proof of
+a genuine love of fair play. Clare hardly resented anything done to
+himself. His inward unconscious purity held him up, and made him look
+events in the face with an eye that was single and therefore at once
+forgiving and fearless. The man who has no mote in his own eye cannot
+be knocked down by the beam in his neighbour's; while he who is busy
+with the mote in his neighbour's may stumble to destruction over the
+beam in his own.
+
+White and dazed as he came out, the moment he stepped across the
+threshold, Clare met the comfort of God waiting for him. His eyes
+blinded with the great light, for it was a glorious morning in the
+beginning of June, he found himself assailed in unknightly fashion
+below the knee: there, to his unspeakable delight, was Abdiel,
+clinging to him with his fore-legs, and wagging his tail as if, like
+the lizards for terror, he would shake it off for gladness! What a
+blessed little pendulum was Abdiel's tail! It went by that weight of
+the clock of the universe called devotion. It was the escapement of
+that delight which is of the essence of existence, and which, when God
+has set right "our disordered clocks," will be its very consciousness.
+
+Clare stood for a moment and looked about him. The needle of his
+compass went round and round. It had no north. He could not go back to
+the shop; he could not go back to the house; baby was in the
+workhouse, but he could not stay there even if they would let him!
+Neither could he stop in the town; the policeman said he must go away!
+Where was he to go? There was not in the world one place for him
+better than another! But they would let him see baby before he
+went!--and off he set to find the workhouse.
+
+Abdiel followed quietly at his heel, for his master walked lost in
+thought, and Abdiel was too hungry to make merry without his
+notice. Clare, fresh to the world, had been a great reader for one so
+young, and could encounter new experience with old knowledge. In his
+mind stood a pile of fir-cones, and dried sticks, and old olive wood,
+which the merest touch of experience would set in a blaze of practical
+conclusion. But the workhouse was so near that his reflections before
+he reached it amounted only to this--that there are worse places than
+a prison when you have done nothing to deserve being put in it. A
+palace may be one of them. You get enough to eat in a prison; in a
+palace you do not; you get too much!
+
+The porter at the workhouse informed him it was not the day for seeing
+the inmates; but the tall policeman had given Clare a hint, and he
+requested to see the matron. After much demur and much entreaty, the
+man went and told the matron. She, knowing the story of the baby,
+wanted to see Clare, and was so much pleased with his manners and
+looks, that his sad clothes pleaded for and not against him. She took
+him at once to the room where the baby was with many more, telling him
+he must prove she was his by picking her out. It was not wonderful
+that Clare, who knew the faces of animals so well, should know his own
+baby the moment he saw her, notwithstanding that she was decently
+clothed, and had already improved in appearance. But the nurses
+declared they had never before seen a man, not to say a boy, who could
+tell one baby from another.
+
+"Why," rejoined Clare, "my dog Abdiel could pick out the baby he was
+nurse to!"
+
+"Ah, but he's a dog!"
+
+"And I'm a boy!" said Clare.
+
+He descried her on the lap of an old woman, seeming to him very old,
+who was at the head of the nursery-department. Old as she was,
+however, she had a keen eye, and a handsome countenance, with a
+quantity of white hair. Unlike the rest of the women, though not far
+removed from them socially, she knew several languages, so far as to
+read and enjoy books in them. Now and then a great woman may be found
+in a workhouse, like a first folio of Shakspere on a bookstall,
+among--oh, such companions!
+
+"Let me take her," said Clare modestly, holding out his hands for the
+baby.
+
+"Are you sure you will not let her drop?"
+
+"Why, ma'am," answered Clare, "she's my own baby! It was I took her
+out of the water-butt! I washed and fed her every day!--not that I
+could do it so well as you, ma'am!"
+
+She gave him the baby, and watched him with the eye of a seeress, for
+she had a wonderful insight into character, and that is one of the
+roots of prophecy.
+
+"You are a good and true lad," she said at length, "and a hard success
+lies before you. I don't know what you will come to, but, with those
+eyes, and that forehead, and those hands, if you come to anything but
+good, you will be terribly to blame."
+
+"I will try to be good, ma'am," said Clare simply. "But I wish I knew
+what they put me in prison for!"
+
+"What, indeed, my lamb!" she returned; and her eyes flashed with
+indignation under the cornice of her white hair. "They'll be put in
+prison one day themselves that did it!"
+
+"Oh, I don't mind!" said Clare. "I don't want them to be punished. You
+see I'm only waiting!"
+
+"What are you waiting for, sonny?" asked the old woman.
+
+"I don't exactly know--though I know better than what I was put in
+prison for. Nobody ever told me anything, but I'm always waiting for
+something."
+
+"The something will come, child. You will have what you want! Only go
+on as you're doing, and you'll be a great man one day."
+
+"I don't want to be a great man," answered Clare; "I'm only waiting
+till what is coming does come."
+
+The woman cast down her eyes, and seemed lost in thought. Clare
+dandled the baby gently in his arms, and talked loving nonsense to
+her.
+
+"Well," said the old woman, raising at length her eyes, with a look of
+reverence in them, to Clare's, "I can't help you, and you want no help
+of mine. I've got no money, but--"
+
+"I've got plenty of money, ma'am," interrupted Clare. "I've got a
+whole shilling in my pocket!"
+
+"Bless the holy innocent!" murmured the woman. "--Well, I can only
+promise you this--that as long as I live, the baby sha'n't forget you;
+and I ain't so old as I look."
+
+Here the matron came up, and said he had better be going now; but if
+he came back any day after a month, he should see the baby again.
+
+"Thank you, ma'am," replied Clare. "Keep her a good baby, please. I
+will come for her one day."
+
+"Please God I live to see that day!" said the old woman. "I think I
+shall."
+
+She did live to see it, though I cannot tell that part of the story
+now.
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIX.
+
+Away.
+
+
+So Clare went once more into the street, where Abdiel was again
+watching for him, and stood on the pavement, not knowing which way to
+turn. The big policeman had told him that no one there would give him
+work after what had happened; and now, therefore, he was only waiting
+for a direction to present itself. In a moment it occurred to him
+that, having come in at one end of the town, he had better go out at
+the other. He followed the suggestion, and Abdiel followed him--his
+head hanging and his tail also, for the joy of recovering his master
+had used up all the remnant of wag there was in his clock. He had no
+more frolic or scamper in him now than when Clare first saw him. How
+the poor thing had subsisted during the last few days, it were hard to
+tell. It was much that he had escaped death from ill-usage. Meanest of
+wretches are the boys or men that turn like grim death upon the
+helpless. Except they change their way, helplessness will overtake
+them like a thief, and they will look for some one to deliver them and
+find none. Traitors to those whom it is their duty to protect, they
+will one day find themselves in yet more pitiful plight than ever were
+they. But I fear they will not believe it before their fate has them
+by the throat.
+
+Clare saw that the dog was famished. He stopped at a butcher's and
+bought him a scrap of meat for a penny. Then he had elevenpence with
+which to begin the world afresh, and was not hungry.
+
+Out on the highway they went, in a perfect English summer day, with
+all the world before them. It was not an oyster for Clare to open with
+sword, pen, or _sesame_; but he might find a place on the outside of
+it for all that, and a way over it into a better--one that he _could_
+open and get at the heart of. The sun shone as on the day of the
+earthquake--deep in Clare's dimmest memorial cavern;--shone as if he
+knew, come what might, that all was well; that if he shone his heart
+out and went dark, nothing would go wrong; while, for the present,
+everything depended on his shining his glorious best.
+
+"Come along, Abdiel," said Clare; "we're going to see what comes
+next. At the worst, you know what hunger is, doggie, and that a good
+deal of it can be borne pretty well--though I'm not fond of it any
+more than you, doggie! We'll not beg till we're downright forced, and
+we won't steal. When that's the next thing, we'll just sit down, wag
+our tails, and die.--There!"
+
+He gave him the last piece of his meat, and they trudged on for some
+time without speaking.
+
+The sun was very hot, for it was past noon an hour or two, when they
+came to a public-house, with a pump before it, and a trough. Clare
+grew very thirsty when he saw the pump, and imagined the rush of a
+thick sparkling curve from its spout. But its handle was locked with a
+chain, to keep men and women from having water instead of beer. He
+went with longing to the trough, but the water in it was so unclean
+that, thirsty as he was, he could not look on it even as a last
+resource. He walked into the house.
+
+"Please, ma'am," he said to the woman at the bar, "would you allow me
+to pump myself a little water to drink?"
+
+"You think I've got nothing to do but serve tramps with water!" she
+answered, throwing back her head till her nostrils were at right
+angles with the horizon.
+
+"I'm not a tramp, ma'am," said Clare.
+
+"Show me your money, then, for a pot of beer, like other honest folk."
+
+"I'm afraid I told you wrong, ma'am," returned Clare. "I'm afraid I
+_am_ a tramp after all; only _I_'m looking for work, and most tramps
+ain't, I fancy."
+
+"They all _say_ they are," answered the woman. "That's your story, and
+that's theirs!"
+
+"I've got elevenpence, ma'am; and could, I dare say, buy a pot of
+beer, though I don't know the price of one; but I don't see where I'm
+going to get any more money, and what we have must serve Abdiel and me
+till we do."
+
+"What right have _you_ to a dog, when you ain't fit to pay your penny
+for a half-pint o' beer?"
+
+"Don't be hard on the young 'un, mis'ess; he don't look a bad sort!"
+said a man who stood by with a pewter pot in his hand.
+
+Clare wondered why he had his cord-trousers pulled up a few inches and
+tied under his knees with a string, which made little bags of them
+there. He had to think for a mile after they left the public-house
+before he discovered that it was to keep them from tightening on his
+knees when he stooped, and so incommoding him at his work.
+
+"Thank you, sir," he said. "I'm not a bad sort. I didn't know it was
+any harm to ask for water. It ain't begging, is it, sir?"
+
+"Not as I knows on," replied the man. "Here, take the lot!"
+
+He offered Clare his nearly emptied pewter.
+
+"No, thank you, sir," answered Clara "I am thirsty--but not so thirsty
+as to take your drink from you. I can get on to the next pump. Perhaps
+that won't be chained up like a bull!"
+
+"Here, mis'ess!" cried the man. "This is a mate as knows a neighbour
+when he sees him. I'll stand him a half-pint. There's yer money!"
+
+Without a word the woman flung the man's penny in the till, and drew
+Clare a half-pint of porter. Clare took it eagerly, turned to the man,
+said, "I thank you, sir, and wish your good health," and drained the
+pewter mug. He had never before tasted beer, or indeed any drink
+stronger than tea, and he did not like it. But he thanked his
+benefactor again, and went back to the trough.
+
+"Dogs don't drink beer," he said to himself. "They know better!" and
+lifting Abdiel he held him over the trough. Abdiel was not so
+fastidious as his master, and lapped eagerly. Then they pursued their
+uncertain way.
+
+Ready to do anything, he thought the shabbiness of his clothes would
+be a greater bar to indoor than to outdoor work, and applied therefore
+at every farm they came to. But he did not look so able as he was, and
+boys were not much wanted. He never pitied himself, and never
+entreated: to beg for work was beggary, and to beggary he would not
+descend until driven by approaching death. But now and then some
+tender-hearted woman, oftener one of ripe years, struck with his
+look--its endurance, perhaps, or its weariness mingled with
+hope--would perceive the necessity of the boy, and offer him the food
+he did not ask--nor like him the less that, never doubting what came
+to one was for both, he gave the first share of it to Abdiel.
+
+
+
+Chapter XL.
+
+Maly.
+
+
+Travelling on in vague hope, meeting with kindness enough to keep him
+alive, but getting no employment, sleeping in what shelter he could
+find, and never missing the shelter he could not find, for the weather
+was exceptionally warm for the warm season, he came one day to a
+village where the strangest and hardest experience he ever encountered
+awaited him. What part of the country he was in, or what was the name
+of the village, he did not know. He seldom asked a question, seldom
+uttered word beyond a polite greeting, but kept trudging on and on, as
+if the goal of his expectation were ever drawing nigher. He felt no
+curiosity as to the names of the places he passed through. Why should
+the names of towns and villages strung on a road to nowhere in
+particular, interest him? He did, however, long afterward, come to
+know the name of this village, and its topographical relations: the
+place itself was branded on his brain.
+
+He entered it in the glow of a hot noon, and had walked nearly through
+it without meeting any one, for it was the dinner-hour, and savoury
+odours filled the air, when a little girl came from a neat house, and
+ran farther down the street. He was very tired, very dusty, had eaten
+nothing that day, had begun to despair of work, and was wishing
+himself clear of the houses that he might throw himself down. But
+something in the look of the child made him quicken his weary step as
+he followed her. He overtook her, passed her, and saw her face.
+Heavens! it was Maly, grown wonderfully bigger! He turned and caught
+her up in his arms. She gave a screech of terror, and he set her down
+in keenest dismay. Finding that he was not going to run away with her,
+she did not run farther from him than to safe parleying distance.
+
+"You bad boy!" she cried; "you're not to touch me! I will tell mamma!"
+
+"Why, Maly! don't you know me?"
+
+"No, I don't You are a dirty boy!"
+
+"But, Maly!--"
+
+"My name is not Maly; it's Mary; and I don't know you."
+
+"Have you forgotten Clare, Maly?--Clare that used to carry you about
+all day long?"
+
+"Yes; I have forgotten you. You're a dirty, ragged beggar-boy! You're
+a bad boy! Boys with holes in their clothes are bad boys.--Nursie told
+me so, and she knows everything! She told me herself she knew
+everything!"
+
+She gave another though milder scream: involuntarily, Clare had taken
+a step toward her, with his hand in his pocket, searching, as in the
+old days when she cried, for something to give her. But, alas, his
+pockets were now as empty as his stomach! there was _nothing_ in
+them--not even a crumb saved from a scanty meal! While he was yet
+searching, the little child, his heart's love--if indeed it was
+she--stooped, gathered a handful of dust, and threw it at him. The big
+boy burst into tears. The child mocked him for a minute, and when
+Clare looked up again, drying his eyes with a rag, she was gone.
+
+He felt no resentment; love, old memories, his strange gentleness, and
+pity for Maly and Maly's mother, saved him from it. The child was big
+and plump and rosy, but oh, how fallen from his little Maly! And, her
+child grown such, the mother was poor indeed, though up in the dome of
+the angels! If she did not know the change in her, it was the worse,
+for she could not help! Clare, like most of my readers, had not yet
+learned to trust God for everything. But he was true to
+Maly. Miserable over her backsliding, he said to himself that evil
+counsellors were more to blame than she.
+
+"Did she know me at all?" he pondered; "or has she forgot me
+altogether?"
+
+He began to doubt whether the girl was really Maly, or one very like
+her. About half an hour after, he met a poor woman with a bundle on
+her bowed back, who gave him a piece of bread. When he had eaten that,
+he began to doubt whether he had met any little girl. He remembered
+that he had often come to himself, as he wandered along the road, to
+find he had been lost in fancies of old scenes or imaginary new ones;
+waked up, he did not at once realize himself a poor lad on the tramp
+for work he could not find: his conceptions were for a time stronger
+than the things around him. He was thereupon comforted with the hope
+that he had not in reality seen Maly, but had imagined the whole
+affair. How was it possible, though, that he should imagine such
+horrible things of his little sister? On the other hand, was it not
+more possible for a fainting brain to imagine such a misery, than for
+the live child to behave in such a fashion? Every day for many days he
+tormented himself with like reasonings; but by degrees the occurrence,
+whether fancy or fact, receded, and he grew more conscious of
+tramping, tramping along. He grew also more hopeless of getting work,
+but not more doubtful that everything was right. For he knew of
+nothing he had done to bring these things upon him.
+
+His quiet content never left him. At the worst pinch of hunger and
+cold, he never fell into despair. I do not know what merit he had in
+this, for he was constituted more hopeful and placid than I ever knew
+another. What he had merit in was, that not for a hungry boy's most
+powerful temptation, something to eat, would he even imagine himself
+doing what must not be done. He would not lead himself into
+temptation. Thus he pleased the Power--let me rather say, ten times
+more truly--the Father from whom he came.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLI.
+
+The caravans.
+
+
+Within a fortnight or so after the police had dismissed him, blowing
+him loose on the world like a dandelion-seed in the wind, Clare had an
+adventure which not only gave him pleasure, but led to work and food
+and interest in life.
+
+Passing one day from a cross-country road into the highway, he came
+straight on the flank of a travelling menagerie. It was one of some
+size, and Clare saw at a glance that its horses were in fair
+condition. The front part of the little procession had already gone
+by, and an elephant was passing at the moment with a caravan--of
+feline creatures, as Clare afterwards learned, behind him. He drew it
+with absolute ease, but his head seemed to be dragged earthward by the
+weight of his trunk, as he plodded wearily along. A world of delight
+woke in the heart of the boy. He had read much about strange beasts,
+but had never seen one. His impulse was to run straight to the
+elephant, and tell him he loved him. For he was a live beast, and
+Clare loved every creature, common or strange, wild or tame, ordinary
+or wonderful. But prudent thought followed, and he saw it better to
+hover around, in the hope of a chance of being useful. Oh, the
+treasures of wonder and knowledge on the other side of those thin
+walls of wood, so slowly drawn along the dusty highway! If but for a
+moment he might gaze on their living marvels! He had no money, but
+things came to him without money--not so plentifully as he could
+sometimes wish--but they came, and so might this! Employment among
+those animals would be well worth the long hungry waiting! This might
+be the very work he had been looking for without knowing it! It was
+for this, perhaps, he had been kept so long waiting--till the caravans
+should come along the road, and he be at the corner as they passed! He
+did not know how often a man may think thus and see it come to
+nothing--because there is better yet behind, for which more waiting is
+wanted.
+
+At the end of the procession came a bear, shuffling along
+uncomfortably. It went to Clare's heart to see how far from
+comfortable the poor beast appeared. "What a life it would be," he
+thought, "to have all the creatures in all those caravans to make
+happy! That would be a life worth living!"
+
+It was a worthy ambition--infinitely higher than that of boys who want
+to do something great, or clever, or strong. As to those who want to
+be rich--for their ambition I have an utter contempt. How gladly would
+I drive that meanness out of any boy's heart! To fall in with the work
+of the glad creator, and help him in it--that is the only ambition
+worth having. It may not look a grand thing to do it in a caravan, but
+it takes the mind of Christ to do it anywhere.
+
+Behind the bear, closing the procession, came a stoutish,
+good-tempered-looking man, in a small spring-cart, drawn by a small
+pony: he was the earthly owner of that caged life, with all its
+gathered discomforts. Clare lifted his cap as he passed him--a
+politeness of which the man took no notice, because the boy was
+ragged. The moment he was past, Clare fell in behind as one of the
+procession. He was prudent enough, however, not to go so near as to
+look intrusive.
+
+When he had followed thus for a mile or two, he saw, by signs patent
+to every wanderer, that they were coming near a town. Before reaching
+it, however, they arrived at a spot where the hedges receded from the
+road, leaving a little green sward on the sides of it, and there the
+long line came to a halt.
+
+The menagerie had, the day before, been exhibited at a fair, and was
+now on its way to another, to be held the next day in the town they
+were approaching: they had made the halt in order to prepare their
+entrance. To let a part of their treasure be seen, was the best way to
+rouse desire after what was yet hidden: they were going, therefore, to
+take out an animal or two more to walk in parade. Clare sat down at a
+little distance, and wondered what was coming next.
+
+Experience of tramps had made the men suspicious, and it may be they
+disliked having their proceedings watched by anybody; but, happily for
+Clare, it was the master himself who came up to him, not without
+something of menace in his bearing. The boy was never afraid, and hope
+started up full grown as the man approached. He rose and took off his
+cap--a very ready action with Clare, which sprung from pure
+politeness, and from nothing either selfish or cringing. But the man
+put his own interpretation on the civility.
+
+"What are you hanging about here for?" he said rudely.
+
+Now Clare had a perfect right to answer, had he so pleased, that he
+was on the king's highway, where no one had a right to interfere with
+him. But he had the habit--he could not help it; it was natural to
+him--of thinking first of the other party's side of a question--a rare
+gift, which served him better than he knew. For the other may be in
+the right, and it is an ugly thing to interfere with any man's right;
+while a man's own rights are never so much good to him as when he
+waives them.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir," he said; "I did not understand you wished to
+be alone. I never thought you would mind me. Will it be far enough if
+I go just out of sight, for I am very tired? It is pleasant, besides,
+to know there are friends near!"
+
+The man recognized in Clare the modes and speech of a gentleman; and
+having, in the course of his wandering life, seen and known a good
+many strange things, he suspected under the rags a history. But he was
+not interested enough to stop and inquire into it.
+
+"Never mind," he said, in altered tone; "I see you're after no
+mischief!" and with that walked away, leaving Clare to do as he
+pleased.
+
+A few minutes more went by. Clare sat hungry and sleepy on the grass
+by the roadside. Before he knew, he was on his feet, startled by a
+terrible noise. The lion had opened his great jaws, and his brown
+leathery sides, working like a pair of bellows, had sent from his
+throat a huge blast, half roar, half howl. When Clare came to himself
+he knew, though he had never heard it before, that the fearful sound
+was the voice of the lion. He did not know that all it meant was, that
+his majesty had thought of his dinner. It was not indeed much more
+than an audible gape. He stood for a moment, not at all terrified, but
+half expecting to see a huge yellow animal burst out of one of the
+caravans--he could not guess which: the roar was much too loud to
+indicate one rather than another. He sat down again, but was not any
+longer inclined to sleep. For a time, however, no second roar came
+from the ribs of the captive monarch.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLII.
+
+Nimrod.
+
+
+That there had been a fair not far off will partly account for what
+follows. As Clare sat resting, which was all he could do, with sleep
+fled and food nowhere, a roar of a different kind invaded his ears. It
+came along the road this time, not from the caravans. He looked, and
+spied what would have brought the heart into the throat of many a
+grown man. Away on the road, in the direction whence the menagerie had
+come, he saw a cloud of dust and a confused struggle, presently
+resolved into two men, each at the end of a rope, and an animal
+between them attached to the ropes by a ring in his nose. It was a
+bull, in terrible excitement, bounding this way and that, dragging and
+driving the men--doing his best in fact to break away, now from the
+one of them, now from the other, and now from both at once. It must
+have tortured him to pull those strong men by the cartilage of his
+nose, but he was in too great a rage to feel it much. Every other
+moment his hoofs would be higher than his head, and again hoofs and
+head and horns would be scraping the ground in a fruitless rush to
+send one of his tormentors into space beyond the ken of bulls. With
+swift divergence, like a scenting hound, he twisted and shot his huge
+body. The question between men and bull seemed one of endurance.
+
+The pale-faced boy, though full of interest in the strife, yet having
+had no food that day, was not in sufficient spirits to run and meet
+the animal whirlwind, so as to watch closer its chances; but the
+struggle came at length near enough for him to follow almost every
+detail of it: he could see the bloody foam drip from the poor beast's
+nostrils. When about fifty yards away, the bull, by a sudden twist,
+wrenched the rope from the hands of one of the men. He fell on his
+back. The other dropped his rope and fled. The bull came scouring down
+the highway.
+
+A second roar, as of muffled thunder, issued from the leathery flanks
+of the lion. The bull made a sudden stop, scoring up the ground with
+his hoofs. It seemed as if in full career he started back. Then down
+went his head, and like a black flash, its accompanying thunder a
+bellow of defiant contempt and wrath, he charged one of the
+caravans. He had taken the hungry lion's roar for a challenge to
+combat. It was nothing to the bull that the voice was that of an
+unknown monster; he was ready for whatever the monster might prove.
+
+The men busy about the caravans and wagons, caught sight of him
+coming, and in the first moment of terror at a beast to which they
+were not accustomed, bolted for refuge behind or upon them: they would
+sooner have encountered their tiger broke loose. The same moment, with
+astounding shock, the head of the bull went crack against the near
+hind-wheel of the caravan in whose shafts stood the elephant,
+patiently waiting orders. The bull had not caught sight of the
+elephant, or he would doubtless have "gone for" him, not the
+caravan. His ear, finer than Clare's, must have distinguished whence
+the roar proceeded: in that caravan, sure enough, was the lion, with
+the rest of the great cats. He answered the blow of the bull's head
+with a roar thunderously different from his late sleepy leonine
+sigh. It roused every creature in the menagerie. From the greatest to
+the smallest each took up its cry. Out burst a tornado of terrific
+sound, filling with horror the quiet noontide. The roaring and yelling
+of lion, tiger, and leopard, the laughter of hyena, the howling of
+jackal, and the snarling of bear, mingled in hideous dissonance with
+the cries of monkeys and parrots; while certain strange gurgles made
+Clare's heart, lover of animals though he was, quiver, and his blood
+creep. The same instant, however, he woke to the sense that he might
+do something: he ran to the caravans.
+
+By this time the men, master and all, fully roused to the far worse
+that might follow the attack of the bull, had caught up what weapons
+were at hand, and rushed to repel the animal For more than one or two
+of them it might have proved a fatal encounter, but that the enraged
+beast had entangled his horns in the spokes and rim of the wheel. In
+terror of what might be approaching him from behind, he was struggling
+wildly to extricate them. Peril upon peril! What if in the contortions
+of his mighty muscles he pulled off the wheel, and the carriage
+toppled over, every cage in it so twisted and wrenched that the
+bearings of its iron bars gave way! The results were too terrible to
+ponder! This way and that, and every way at once, he was writhing and
+pushing and prising and dragging. The elephant turned the shafts
+slowly round to see what was the matter behind. If the bull and the
+elephant yoked to the caravan came to loggerheads, ruin was
+inevitable. The master thought whether he had not better loose the
+elephant while the bull was yet entangled by the horns. With one blow
+of his trunk he would break the ruffian's back and end the affray! It
+were good even, if one knew how, to loose the wicked-looking horns:
+the brute's struggles to free them were more dangerous far than could
+be the horns themselves!
+
+While he hesitated, Clare came running up, with Abdiel at his heels
+ready as any hornet to fly at bull or elephant, let his master only
+speak the word. But the moment Clare saw how the bull's horns were
+mixed up with the spokes and fellies of the wheel, a glad suspicion
+flashed across him: that was old Nimrod's way! could it be Nimrod
+himself? If it were, the trouble was as good as over! The suspicion
+became a certainty the instant it woke. But never could Clare
+altogether forgive himself for not at first sight recognizing his old
+friend. I believe myself that hunger was to blame, and not Clare.
+
+The men stood about the animal, uncertain what to do, as he struggled
+with his horns, and heaved and tore at the wheel to get them out of
+it, the roars and howls and inarticulate curses going on all the
+time. The elephant must have been tired, to stand so and do nothing!
+For a moment Clare could not get near enough. He was afraid to call
+him while the bull could not see him: Nimrod might but struggle the
+more, in order to get to him!
+
+Up rushed a fellow, white with rage and running, bang into the middle
+of the spectators, and shook the knot of them asunder. It was one of
+the two men from whom Nimrod had broken. He had a pitchfork in his
+hands which he proceeded to level. Clare flung his weight against him,
+threw up his fork, shoved him aside, and got close to the maddened
+animal. It was his past come again! How often had he not interfered to
+protect Nimrod--and his would-be masters also! With instinctive,
+unconscious authority, he held up his hand to the little crowd.
+
+"Leave him alone," he cried. "I know him; I can manage him! Please do
+not interfere. He is an old friend of mine."
+
+They saw that the bull was already still: he had recognized the boy's
+voice! They kept his furious attendant back, and looked on in anxious
+hope while Clare went up to the animal.
+
+"Nimrod!" he whispered, laying a hand on one of the creature's horns,
+and his cheek against his neck.
+
+Nimrod stood like a bull in bronze.
+
+"I'm going to get your horns out, Nimrod," murmured Clare, and laid
+hold of the other with a firm grasp. "You must let me do as I like,
+you know, Nimrod!"
+
+His voice evidently soothed the bull.
+
+By the horns Clare turned his head now one way, now another, Nimrod
+not once resisting push or pull. In a moment more he would have them
+clear, for one of them was already free. Holding on to the latter,
+Clare turned to the bystanders.
+
+"You mustn't touch him," he said, "or I won't answer for him. And you
+mustn't let either of those men there"--for the second of Nimrod's
+attendants had by this time come up--"interfere with him or me. They
+let him go because they couldn't manage him. He can't bear them; and
+if he were to break loose from them again, it might be quite another
+affair! Then he might distrust me!"
+
+The menagerie men turned, and looking saw that the man with the
+pitchfork had revenge in his heart. They gave him to understand that
+he must mind what he was about, or it would be the worse for him. The
+man scowled and said nothing.
+
+Clare gently released the other horn, but kept his hold of the first,
+moving the creature's head by it, this way and that. A moment more and
+he turned his face to the company, which had scattered a little. When
+the inflamed eyes of Nimrod came into view, they scattered wider.
+Clare still made the bull feel his hand on his horn, and kept speaking
+to him gently and lovingly. Nimrod eyed his enemies, for such plainly
+he counted them, as if he wished he were a lion that he might eat as
+well as kill them. At the same time he seemed to regard them with
+triumph, saying in his big heart, "Ha! ha! you did not know what a
+friend I had! Here he is, come in the nick of time! I thought he
+would!" Clare proceeded to untie the ropes from the ring in his
+nose. The man with the pitchfork interfered.
+
+"That wonnot do!" he said, and laid his hand on Clare's arm. "Would
+you send him ramping over the country, and never a hold to have on
+him?"
+
+"It wasn't much good when you had a hold on him--was it now?" returned
+the boy. "Where do you want to take him?"
+
+"That's my business," answered the man sulkily.
+
+"I fancy you'll find it's mine!" returned Clare. "But there he is!
+Take him."
+
+The man hesitated.
+
+"Then leave me to manage him," said Clare.
+
+A murmur of approbation arose. The caravan people felt he knew what he
+was saying. They believed he had power with the bull.
+
+While yet he was untying the first of the ropes from the animal's
+bleeding nostrils, Clare's fingers all at once refused further
+obedience, his eyes grew dim, and he fell senseless at the bull's
+feet.
+
+"Don't tell Nimrod!" he murmured as he fell.
+
+"Oh, that explains it!" cried the man with the pitchfork to his
+mate. "He knows the cursed brute!" For Clare had hitherto spoken his
+name to the bull as if it were a secret between them.
+
+Neither had the sense to perceive that the explanation lay in the
+bull's knowing Clare, not in Clare's knowing the bull. They made haste
+to lay hold of the ropes. Nimrod stood motionless, looking down on his
+friend, now and then snuffing at the pale face, which the
+thorough-bred mongrel, Abdiel, kept licking continuously. Noses of
+bull and dog met without offence on the loved human countenance. But
+had the men let the bull feel the ropes, that moment he would have
+been raging like a demon.
+
+The men of the caravan, admiring both Clare's influence over the
+animal and his management of him, grateful also for what he had done
+for them, hastened to his help. When they had got him to take a little
+brandy, he sat up with a wan smile, but presently fell sideways on his
+elbow, and so to the ground again.
+
+"It's nothing," he murmured; "it's only I'm rather hungry."
+
+"Poor boy!" said a woman, who had followed her brandy from the
+house-caravan, afraid it might disappear in occult directions, "when
+did you have your last feed?"
+
+She stood looking down on the white face, almost between the fore-feet
+of the bull.
+
+"I had a piece of bread yesterday afternoon, ma'am," faltered Clare,
+trying to look up at her.
+
+"Bless my soul!" she cried, "who's been a murderin' of you, child?"
+
+She thought he was in company with the two men; and they had been
+ill-treating him.
+
+"I can't get any work, ma'am, so I don't want much to eat. Now I think
+of it, I believe it was the gladness of seeing an old friend again,
+and not the hunger, that made me feel so queer all at once."
+
+"Where's your friend?" she asked, looking round the assembly.
+
+"There he is!" answered Clare, putting up his hand, and stroking the
+big nose that was right over his face.
+
+"Couldn't you rise now?" said the woman, after a moment's silent
+regard of him.
+
+"I'll try, ma'am; I don't feel quite sure."
+
+"I want you to come into the house, and have a good square meal."
+
+"If you would be so kind, ma'am, as let me have a bit of bread here!
+Nimrod would not like me to leave him. He loves me, ma'am, and if I
+went away, he might be troublesome. Those men will never do anything
+with him: he doesn't like them! They've been rough to him, I don't
+doubt. Not that I wonder at that, for he is a terrible beast to most
+people. They used to say he never was good with anybody but me. I
+suppose he knew I cared for him!"
+
+His eyes closed again. The woman made haste to get him something. In a
+few minutes she returned with a basin of broth. He took it eagerly,
+but with a look of gratitude that went to her heart Before he tasted
+it, however, he set it on the ground, broke in half the great piece of
+bread she had brought with it, and gave the larger part to his
+dog. Then he ate the other with his broth, and felt better than for
+many a day. Some of the men said he could not be very hungry to give a
+cur like that so much of his dinner; but the evil thought did not
+enter the mind of the woman.
+
+"You'd better be taking your beast away," said the woman, who by this
+time understood the affair, to the two men.
+
+They were silent, evidently disinclined for such another tussle.
+
+"You'd better be going," she said again. "If anything should happen
+with that animal of yours, and one of ours was to get loose, the devil
+would be to pay, and who'd do it?"
+
+"They'd better wait for me, ma'am," said Clare, rising. "I'm just
+ready!--They won't tell me where they want to take him, but it's all
+one, so long as I'm with him. He's my friend!--Ain't you, Nimrod?
+We'll go together--won't we, Nimrod?"
+
+While he spoke, he undid the ropes from the ring in the bull's
+nose. Gathering them up, he handed them politely to one of the men,
+and the next moment sprang upon the bull's back, just behind his
+shoulders, and leaning forward, stroked his horns and neck.
+
+"Give me up the dog, please," he said.
+
+The owner of the menagerie himself did as Clare requested. All stood
+and stared, half expecting to see him flung from the creature's back,
+and trampled under his hoofs. Even Nimrod, however, would not easily
+have unseated Clare, who could ride anything he had ever tried, and
+had tried everything strong enough to carry him, from a pig
+upward. But Nimrod was far from wishing to unseat his friend, who with
+hands and legs began to send him toward the road.
+
+"Are you going that way?" he asked, pointing. The men answered him
+with a nod, sulky still.
+
+"Don't go with those men," said the woman, coming up to the side of
+the bull, and speaking in a low voice. "I don't like the look of
+them."
+
+"Nimrod will be on my side, ma'am," answered Clare. "They would never
+have got him home without me. They don't understand their
+fellow-creatures."
+
+"I'm afraid you understand your fellow-creatures, as you call them,
+better than you do your own kind!"
+
+"I think they are my own kind, ma'am. That is how they know me, and do
+what I want them to do."
+
+"Stay with us," said the woman coaxingly, still speaking low. "You'll
+have plenty of your fellow-creatures about you then!"
+
+"Thank you, ma'am, a thousand times!" answered Clare, his face
+beaming; "but I couldn't leave poor Nimrod to do those men a mischief,
+and be killed for it!"
+
+"You'd have plenty to eat and drink, and som'at for your pocket!"
+persisted the woman.
+
+"I know I should have everything I wanted!" answered Clare, "and I'm
+very thankful to you, ma'am. But you see there's always something,
+somehow, that's got to be done before the other thing!"
+
+Here the master came up. He had himself been thinking the boy would be
+a great acquisition, and guessed what his wife was about; but he was
+afraid she might promise too much for services that ought to be had
+cheap. Few scruple to take advantage of the misfortune of another to
+get his service cheap. It is the economy of hell.
+
+"I sha'n't feel safe till that bull of yours is a mile off!" he said.
+
+"Come along, Nimrod!" answered Clare, always ready with the responsive
+deed.
+
+Away went Nimrod, gentle as a lamb.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLIII.
+
+Across country.
+
+
+The two men came after at their ease. No sooner was Nimrod on the
+road, however, than he began to quicken his pace. He quickened it
+fast, and within a minute or so was trotting swiftly along. The men
+ran panting and shouting behind. The more they shouted, the faster
+Nimrod went. Ere long he was out of their sight, though Clare could
+hear them cursing and calling for a time.
+
+He had endeavoured to stop Nimrod, but the bull seemed to have made up
+his mind that he had obeyed enough for one day. He did not heed a word
+Clare said to him, but kept on and on at a swinging trot. Clare would
+have jumped off had he been sure the proceeding would stop him; but,
+now that he would not obey him, he feared lest, in doing so, he might
+let him loose on the country, when there was no saying what mischief
+he might not work. On the other hand, he felt sure that he could
+restrain him from violence, though he might not prevent his
+frolicking. He must therefore keep his seat.
+
+For a few miles Nimrod was content with the highway, now trotting
+beautifully, now breaking into a canter. But all at once he turned at
+right angles in the middle of the road, cleared the skirting fence
+like a hunter, and took a bee-line across the fields. Compelled
+sometimes to abandon it, he showed great judgment in choosing the
+place at which to get out of the enclosure, or cross the natural
+obstruction. On and on he went, over hedge after hedge, through field
+after field, until Clare began to wonder where all the people in the
+world had got to. Then a strange feeling gradually came over
+him. Surely at some time or other he had seen the meadow he was
+crossing! Was he asleep, and dreaming the jolly ride he was having on
+Nimrod's back? What a strong creature Nimrod was! Would he never be
+tired? How oddly he felt! Were his senses going from him? It was like
+the strangest mixture of a bad dream and a good!
+
+There seemed at length no further room for doubt or
+mistake. Everything was in its place! It was plain why Nimrod was so
+obstinate! The dear old fellow was carrying him back to where they had
+been together so many happy days! They were nigh Mr. Goodenough's
+farm, and making straight for it! How strange it was! he had felt
+himself a measureless distance from it! But in his wandering he had
+taken many turns he did not heed, and Nimrod had come the shortest
+way. Delight filled his heart at the thought of seeing once more the
+places where his father and mother seemed yet to live. But instantly
+came the thought of Maly, and drowned the other thought in
+bitterness. Then he felt how worthless place is, when those who made
+it dear are gone. Father and mother are home--not the house we were
+born in!
+
+They were soon upon the farm where once he had abundance of labour,
+abundance to eat, and abundance of lowly friendship. Nimrod was making
+for his old stable. He was weary now, and breathing heavily, though
+not at all spent. Was he dreaming of a golden age, in which Clare
+should be ever at his beck and call?
+
+Clare had little inclination to encounter any of the people of the
+farm. He would indeed have been glad, from a little way off, to get a
+sight of his once friend and master, the farmer himself; and very
+gladly would he have gone into the stable in the hope of a greeting
+from old Jonathan; but he would not willingly meet "the mistress!"
+Nimrod should take him to his old stall; there he would tie him up,
+and flee from the place! The evening was now come, and in the dusk he
+would escape unseen.
+
+When they reached Nimrod's door, they found it closed; and Clare,
+stiff enough by this time, slipped off to open it. Nimrod began to paw
+the stones, and blow angry puffs from his wounded nose. When Clare got
+the door open, he saw, to his confusion, a vague dark bulk, another
+bull, in Nimrod's stall! The roar that simultaneously burst from each
+was ferocious, and down went Nimrod's head to charge. It was a
+terrible moment for Clare: the new bull was fast by the head, and,
+unable to turn it to his adversary, would be gored to death almost in
+a moment! He could not let Nimrod be guilty of such unfairness! And
+the mistress would think he had brought him back for the very purpose!
+He all but jumped on the horns of his friend, making him yield just
+ground enough for the shutting of the door. He knew well, however,
+that not three such doors in one would keep Nimrod from an enemy. With
+his back to it he stood facing him and talking to him, and all the
+while they heard the bull inside struggling to get free. He stood
+between two horned rages, only a chain and a plank betwixt him and the
+one at his back, with which he had no influence. A coward would have
+escaped, and left the two bullies to settle between them which had the
+better right to the stall--not without blood, almost as certainly not
+without loss of life, perhaps human as well as bovine. But Clare was
+made of other stuff.
+
+Before he could get Nimrod away, the bellowing brought out the
+farmer. All his men had gone to the village; only himself and his wife
+were at home.
+
+"What's got the brute?" he cried on the threshold, but instantly began
+to run, for he saw through the gathering darkness a darker shape he
+knew, roaring and pawing at the door of his old quarters, and a boy
+standing between him and it, with marvellous courage in mortal danger.
+He understood at once that Nimrod had broken loose and come back. But
+when he came near enough to recognize Clare, astonishment, and
+something more sacred than astonishment, held him dumb. Ever since the
+unjust blow that sent the boy from him, his heart had been aware of a
+little hollow of remorse in it. Now all his former relations with him
+while his adoptive father yet lived, came back upon him. He remembered
+him dressed like the little gentleman he always was--and there he
+stood, the same gentle fearless creature, in absolute rags! If his
+wife saw him! The farmer had no fear of Nimrod in his worst rages, but
+he feared his wife in her gentlest moods. Happily for both, a critical
+moment in the cooking of the supper had arrived.
+
+"Clare!" he stammered.
+
+"Yes, sir," returned Clare, and laid hold of Nimrod's horn. The animal
+yielded, and turned away with him. The farmer came nearer, and put his
+arm round the boy's neck. The boy rubbed his cheek against the arm.
+
+"I'm sorry I struck you, Clare!" faltered the big man.
+
+"Oh, never mind, sir! That was long ago!" answered the boy.
+
+"Tell me how you've been getting on."
+
+"Pretty well, sir! But I want to tell you first how it is I'm here
+with Nimrod. Only it would be better to put him somewhere before I
+begin."
+
+"It would," agreed the farmer; and between them, with the enticements
+of a pail of water and some fresh-cut grass, they got him into a shed,
+where they hoped he would forget the proximity of the usurper, and,
+with the soothing help of his supper, go to sleep.
+
+Then Clare told his story. Mr Goodenough afterward asseverated that,
+if he had not known him for a boy that would not lie, he would not
+have believed the half of it.
+
+"Come, Abdiel!" said Clare, the moment he ended--and would have
+started at once.
+
+"Won't you have something after your long ride?" said the farmer.
+
+Clare looked down at his clothes, and laughed. The farmer knew what he
+meant, and did not ask him into the house.
+
+"When had you anything to eat?" he inquired.
+
+"I shall do very well till to-morrow," answered Clare.
+
+"Then if you will go, I'm glad of the opportunity of paying you the
+wages I owed you," said the farmer, putting his hand in his pocket.
+
+"You gave me my food! That was all I was worth!" protested Clare.
+
+"You were worth more than that! I knew the difference when I had
+another boy in your place! I wish I had you again!--But it wouldn't
+do, you know! it wouldn't do!" he added hastily.
+
+With that he succeeded in pulling a sovereign from the depth of a
+trowser-pocket, and held it out to Clare. It was neither large wages
+nor a greatly generous gift, but it seemed to the boy wealth
+enormous. He could not help holding out his hand, but he was ashamed
+to open it. What the giver regarded as a debt, the receiver regarded
+as a gift. He stood with his hand out but clenched. There was a combat
+inside him.
+
+"It's too much!" he protested, looking at the sovereign almost with
+fear. "I never had so much money in my life!"
+
+"You earned it well," said the farmer magnanimously.
+
+The moral cramp forsook his hand. He took the money with a hearty
+"Thank you, sir." As he put it in his pocket, he felt its corners
+carefully, lest there should be a hole. But his pockets had not had
+half the wear of the clothes they inhabited.
+
+"Where are you going?" asked the farmer.
+
+Clare mentioned the small town in whose neighbourhood he had left the
+caravans, and said he thought the people of the menagerie would like
+him to help them with the beasts. The farmer shook his head.
+
+"It's not a respectable occupation!" he remarked.
+
+Clare did not understand him.
+
+"Do they cheat?" he asked.
+
+"No; I don't suppose they cheat worse than anybody else. But it ain't
+respectable."
+
+Had he known a little more, Clare might have asserted that the men
+about the menagerie were at least as respectable as almost any farmer
+with a horse to sell. But he knew next to nothing of wickedness,
+whence many a man whose skull he had brains enough to fill three
+times, regarded him as a simpleton.
+
+Clare thought everything honest honourable. When people said
+otherwise, he did not understand, and continued to act according as he
+understood. A thousand dishonourable things are done, and largely
+approved, which Clare would not have touched with one of his fingers:
+he could see nothing more dishonourable in having to do with wild
+beasts than in having to do with tame ones. If any boy wants to know
+the sort of thing I count in that thousand, I answer him--"The next
+thing you are asked to do, or are inclined to do--if you have any
+doubt about it, DON'T DO IT." That is the way to know the honourable
+thing from the dishonourable.
+
+Clare made no attempt to argue the question with the farmer. He
+inquired of him the nearest way to the town, and went--the quicker
+that he heard the voice of Mrs. Goodenough, calling her husband to
+supper.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLIV.
+
+A third mother.
+
+
+Who ever had a sovereign for the first time in his life, and did not
+feel rich? Clare trudged along merrily, and Abdiel shared his
+joy. They had to sleep out of doors nevertheless; for by this time
+Clare knew that a boy, especially a boy in rags, must mind whom he
+asks to change a sovereign. In the lee of a hay-mow, on a little loose
+hay, they slept, Abdiel in Clare's bosom, and slept well.
+
+There was not much temptation to lie long after waking, and the
+companions were early on their way. It was yet morning when they came
+to the public house where Clare had his first and last half-pint of
+beer. The landlady stood at the newly opened door, with her fists in
+her sides, looking out on the fresh world, lost in some such thought
+as was possible to her. Clare pulled off his cap, and bade her good
+morning as he passed. Perhaps she knew she did not deserve politeness;
+anyhow she took Clare's for impudence, and came swooping upon him. He
+stopped and waited her approach, perplexed as to the cause of it; and
+was so unprepared for the box on the ear she dealt him, that it almost
+threw him down. Her ankle was instantly in Abdiel's sharp teeth. She
+gave a frightful screech, and Clare, coming to himself, though still
+stupid from her blow and his own surprise, called off the dog. The
+woman limped raging to the house, and Clare thought it prudent to go
+his way. He talked severely to Abdiel as they went; but though the dog
+could understand much, I doubt if he understood that lecture. For
+Abdiel was one of the few, even among dogs, with whom the defence of
+master or friend is an inborn, instinctive duty; and strong temptation
+even has but a poor chance against the sense of duty in a dog.
+
+It was night when they entered the town. They were already a weary
+pair when the far sounds of the brass band of the menagerie, mostly
+made up of attendants on the animals, first entered their ears. The
+marketing was over; the band was issuing its last invitation to the
+merry-makers to walk up and see strange sights; its notes were just
+dying to their close, when the wayfarers arrived at the foot of the
+steps leading to the platform where the musicians stood. Clare
+ascended, and Abdiel crept after him.
+
+At a table in a small curtained recess on the platform, sat the
+mistress to receive the money of those that entered. Clare laid his
+sovereign before her. She took it up without looking at him, but at it
+she looked doubtfully. She threw it on her table. It would not ring.
+She bit it with her white teeth, and looked at it again; then at
+length gave a glance at the person who offered it. Her dull lamp
+flickered in the puffs of the night-wind, and she did not recognize
+Clare. She saw but a white-faced, ragged boy, and threw him back his
+sovereign.
+
+"Won't pass," she said with decision, not unmingled with contempt. She
+sat at the receipt of money, where too many men and women cease to be
+ladies and gentlemen.
+
+Clare did not at first understand. He stood motionless and, for the
+second time that day, bewildered. How could money be no money?
+
+"'Ain't you got sixpence?" she asked.
+
+"No, ma'am," answered Clare. "I haven't had sixpence for many a day."
+
+The moment he spoke, the woman looked him sharply in the face, and
+knew him.
+
+"Drat my stupid eyes!" she said fervently. "That I shouldn't ha' known
+you! Walk in, walk in. Go where you please, and do as you
+please. You're right welcome.--Where did you get that sov.?"
+
+"From Farmer Goodenough."
+
+"Good enough, I hope, not to take advantage of an innocent prince! Was
+it for taking home the bull?"
+
+"No, ma'am. I didn't take the bull home. The bull took me to the old
+home where we used to be together. He didn't want a new one!"
+
+"Well, never mind now. Give me the sovereign. I'll talk to you by and
+by. Go in, or the show 'ill be over. Look after your dog, though. We
+don't like dogs. He mustn't go in."
+
+"I'll send him right outside, if you wish it, ma'am."
+
+"I do.--But will he stay out?"
+
+"He will, ma'am."
+
+Clare took up Abdiel, and setting him at the top of the steps, told
+him to go down and wait. Abdiel went hopping down, like a dirty little
+white cataract out on its own hook, turned in under the steps, and
+deposited himself there until his master should call him.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLV.
+
+The menagerie.
+
+
+A strange smell was in Clare's nostrils, and as he went down the steps
+inside, it grew stronger. He did not dislike it; but it set him
+thinking why it should so differ from that of domestic animals. He was
+presently in the midst of a vision attractive to all boys, but which
+few had ever looked upon with such intelligent wonder as he; for Clare
+had read and re-read every book about animals upon which he could lay
+his hands. He had a great power too of remembering what he read; for
+he never let a description glide away over the outside of his eyes,
+but always put it inside his thinking place. What with pictures and
+descriptions, he seemed to know, as he looked around him, every animal
+on which his eyes fell.
+
+The area was by no means crowded. There had been many visitors during
+the day, but now it was late. He could see into all the cages that
+formed the sides of the enclosure. Many of the creatures seemed
+restless, few sleepy: night was the waking time for most of them. How
+should a great roaming, hunting cat go to sleep in a little cube of
+darkness! "Oh," thought Clare, "how gladly would I help them to bear
+it! I could bear it myself with somebody near to be kind to me!"
+
+He had begun to feel that the quiet happiness to which he was once so
+accustomed that he did not think much about it, was his because it was
+_given_ him. He had begun to see that it did not come to him of
+itself, but from the love of his father and mother. He had yet to
+learn that it was given to them to give to him by the Father of
+fathers and mothers. But he was beginning to prize every least
+kindness shown him. This re-acted on his desire to make the happiness
+greater and the pain less everywhere about him. He had little chance
+of doing much for people, he thought; but he knew how to do things for
+some animals, and perhaps it was only necessary to know others to be
+able to do something for them too!
+
+Thoughts like these passing through his mind, and his gaze wandering
+hither and thither over the shifting shapes, his eyes rested on the
+tenant of one of the cages, and his heart immediately grew very sore,
+for he seemed unable to lift his head. He was a big animal, alone in
+his prison, of a blackish colour, and awkward appearance. He went
+nearer, and found he had a big ring in his nose like Nimrod. But to
+the ring was fastened a strong chain, and the chain was bolted down to
+the floor of the cage, which was of iron covered with boards, in their
+turn covered with a thick sheet of lead. The chain was so short that
+it held the poor creature's head within about a foot of the floor. He
+could not lift it higher, or move it farther on either side; but he
+kept moving it constantly. It was a pitiful sight, and Clare went
+nearer still, drawn far more by compassion, and indeed sympathy, than
+by curiosity. He was a terrible brute, a big grizzly bear, ugly to
+repulsiveness. The snarling scorn, the sneering, lip-writhing hate of
+the demoniacal grin with which he received the boy, was hideous; the
+rattling, pebble-jarring growl that came from his devilish throat was
+loathing embodied. What if spirits worse than their own get into some
+of the creatures by virtue of the likeness between them! One day will
+be written, perhaps, a history of animals very different from any
+attempted by mere master in zoology. Clare spoke to the beast again
+and again, but was unvaryingly answered by the same odious snarl,
+curling his lip under his nose-ring. It seemed to express the imagined
+delight of tearing him limb from limb.
+
+"Poor fellow!" said Clare, "how can he be good-tempered with that
+torturing ring and chain! His unalterable position must make his every
+bone ache!"
+
+But had his nose been set free, such a raging-bear-struggle to get at
+the nearest of his fellow-prisoners would have ensued, as must soon
+have torn to shreds the partition between them. For he was a
+beast-bedlamite, an animal volcano, a furnace of death, an incarnate
+paroxysm of wrath. The inspiration of the creature, so far as one
+could see, was pure hate.
+
+The boy turned aside with quivering heart--sore for the grizzly's
+nose, and sorer still for the grizzly himself that he was so
+unfriendly.
+
+Right opposite, a creature of a far differing disposition seemed
+casting defiance to all the ills of life. As he turned with a sad
+despair from the grizzly, Clare caught sight of his pranks, and
+hastened across the area. The creature kept bounding from side to side
+of his cage, agile and frolicsome as a kitten. But the light was poor,
+and Clare could not even conjecture to which of the cat-kinds he
+belonged. When he came near his cage, he saw that he was yellowish
+like a lion, and thought perhaps he might be a young lion. He had no
+mane. Clare judged him four feet in length without the tail--or
+perhaps four and a half. A little way off was the real lion--a young
+one, it is true, but quite grown, with a thin ruffy mane, and lordly
+carriage and gaze. It was he whose roar had challenged Nimrod, giving
+the topmost flutter to the flame of his wrath. But Clare was so taken
+with the frolicsome creature before him, that he gave but a glance at
+the grand one as he walked up and down his prison, and turned again to
+the merry one disporting himself alone, who seemed to find the
+pleasure of life in great games with companions no one saw but
+himself. For minutes he stood regarding the gladness of God's
+creature. A wild thing of the woods and plains, he made the most of
+the bars and floor and roof of his cage. No one careless of liberty
+could make such bounds as those; yet he was joyous in closest
+imprisonment! His liberty gone, his freedom contracted to a few cubic
+feet, his space diminished almost to the mould of his body, the great
+wild philosopher created his own liberty, made it out of his own love
+of it. Like a live, erratic shuttle he went to and fro, unweaving,
+unravelling, unwinding, drawing out the knot of confinement, flinging
+out, radiating and spreading and breathing out space in all
+directions, by multitudinous motion of disentanglement! Space gone
+from him, space in the abstract should replace it! He would not be
+slave to condition! Space unconditioned should be his! For him liberty
+should not lie in space, but in his own soul. Room should be but the
+poor out-aide symbol of his inward freedom! He would spin out, he
+would weave, he would unroll essential liberty into spiritual space!
+His mind to him a kingdom was. Not a grumble, not a snarl! He left
+discontent to men, to build their own prisons withal. A proud man with
+everything he longs for, if such a man there be, is but a slave; this
+creature of the glad creator was and would be free, because he was a
+free soul. Prison bars could not touch that by whose virtue he was and
+would be free!
+
+The germ of this thinking was in the mind of Clare while he stood and
+gazed; and as he told me the story, its ripeness came thus, or nearly
+thus, from his lips; for he had thought much in lonely places.
+
+As he gazed and sympathized, there awoke within him that strange
+consciousness which my reader must, at one time or another, have
+known--of being on the point of remembering something. It was not a
+memory that came, but a memory of a memory--the shadow of a memory
+gone, but trying to come out from behind a veil--a sense of having
+once known something. It gave another aspect to the blessed creature
+before him. The creature and himself seemed for a moment to belong
+together to another time. Could he have seen such an animal before? He
+did not think so! He could never have visited a menagerie and
+forgotten it! If he had known such a creature, his after-reading would
+have recalled it, he would know it now! He could tell the lion and the
+tiger and the leopard, although he seemed to know he had never seen
+one of them; he could not tell this animal, and yet--and yet!--what
+was it? The feeling itself lasted scarce an instant, and went no
+farther. No memory came to him. The foiled expectation was all he
+had. The very reasoning about it helped to obliterate the shape of the
+feeling itself. He could not even recall how the thing had felt; he
+could only remember it had been there. It was now but the shadow of
+the shadow of a dream--a yet vaguer memory than that thinnest of
+presences which had at the first tantalized him. We remember what we
+cannot recall.
+
+Perhaps the rousing of the odd, fantastic feeling had been favoured by
+the slumber beginning to encroach on tody and brain. While he stood
+looking at the one creature, all the wonderful creatures began to get
+mixed up together, and he thought it better to go and search for some
+field of sleep, where he might mow a little for his use. He said
+good-night to the great, gentle, jubilant cat, turned from him
+unwillingly, and went up the steps. Almost every spectator was
+gone. At the top of them he turned for a last look, but could
+distinguish nothing except the dim form of the young lion, as he
+thought him, still gamboling in the presence of his maker.
+
+He thought to see the mistress of the menagerie, but she was no longer
+in her curtained box. He went out on the deserted platform, and down
+the steps. Abdiel was already at the foot when he reached it, wagging
+his weary little tail.
+
+They set out to look for a shelter. Their search, however, was so much
+in vain, that at last they returned and lay down under one of the
+wagons, on the hard ground of the public square. Sleeping so often out
+of doors, he had never yet taken cold.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLVI.
+
+The angel of the wild beasts.
+
+
+When Clare looked up he saw nothing between him and the sky. They had
+dragged the caravan from above him, and he had not moved. Abdiel
+indeed waked at the first pull, but had lain as still as a
+mouse--ready to rouse his master, but not an instant before it should
+be necessary.
+
+Clare saw the sky, but he saw something else over him, better than the
+sky--the face of Mrs. Halliwell, the mistress of the menagerie. In it,
+as she stood looking down on him, was compassion, mingled with
+self-reproach.
+
+Clare jumped up, saying, "Good morning, ma'am!" He was yet but half
+awake, and staggered with sleep.
+
+"My poor boy!" answered the woman, "I sent you to sleep on the cold
+earth, with a sovereign of your own in my pocket! I made sure you
+would come and ask me for it! You're too innocent to go about the
+world without a mother!"
+
+She turned her face away.
+
+"But, ma'am, you know I couldn't have offered it to anybody," said
+Clare. "It wasn't good!--Besides, before I knew that," he went on,
+finding she did not reply, "there was nobody but you I dared offer it
+to: they would have said I stole it--because I'm so shabby!" he added,
+looking down at his rags. "But it ain't in the clothes, ma'am--is it?"
+
+Getting the better of her feelings for a moment, she turned her face
+and said,--
+
+"It was all my fault! The sov. is a good one. It's only cracked! I
+ought to have known, and changed it for you. Then all would have been
+well!"
+
+"I don't think it would have made any difference, ma'am. We would
+rather sleep on the ground than in a bed that mightn't be
+clean--wouldn't we, Abby?" The dog gave a short little bark, as he
+always did when his master addressed him by his name.--"But I'm so
+glad!" Clare went on. "I was sure Mr. Goodenough thought the sovereign
+all right when he gave it me!--Were you ever disappointed in a
+sovereign, ma'am?"
+
+"I been oftener disappointed in them as owed 'em!" she answered. "But
+to think o' me snug in bed, an' you sleepin' out i' the dark night! I
+can't abide the thought on it!"
+
+"Don't let it trouble you, ma'am; we're used to it. Ain't we, Abby?"
+
+"Then you oughtn't to be! and, please God, you shall be no more! But
+come along and have your breakfast We don't start till the last."
+
+"Please, ma'am, may Abdiel come too?"
+
+"In course! 'Love me, love my dog!' Ain't that right?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am; but some people like dogs worse than boys."
+
+"A good deal depends on the dog. When folk brings up their dogs as bad
+as they do their childern, I want neither about me. But your dog's a
+well-behaved dog. Still, he must learn not to come in sight o' the
+animals."
+
+"He will learn, ma'am!--Abdiel, lie down, and don't come till I call
+you."
+
+At the word, the dog dropped, and lay.
+
+The house-caravan stood a little way off, drawn aside when they began
+to break up. They ascended its steps behind, and entered an enchanting
+little room. It had muslin curtains to the windows, and a small stove
+in which you could see the bright red coals. On the stove stood a
+coffee-pot and a covered dish. How nice and warm the place felt, after
+the nearly shelterless night!
+
+The breakfast-things were still on the table. Mr. Halliwell had had
+his breakfast, but Mrs. Halliwell would not eat until she had found
+the boy. She had been unhappy about him all the night. Her husband had
+assured her the sovereign was a good one, and the boy had told her he
+had no money but the sovereign! She little knew how seldom he fared
+better than that same night! When he got among hay or straw, that was
+luxury.
+
+They sat down to breakfast, and the good woman was very soon confirmed
+in the notion that the boy was a gentleman.
+
+"Call your dog now," she said, "an' let's see if he'll come!"
+
+"May I whistle, ma'am?"
+
+"Why not!--But will he hear you?"
+
+"He has very sharp ears, ma'am."
+
+Clare gave a low, peculiar whistle. In a second or two, they heard an
+anxious little whine at the door. Clare made haste to open it. There
+stood Abdiel, with the words in his eyes, as plain almost as if he
+spoke them--"Did you call, sir?" The woman caught him and held him to
+her bosom.
+
+"You blessed little thing!" she said.
+
+And surely if there be a blessing to be had, it is for them that obey.
+
+Clare heard and felt the horses put-to, but the hostess of this
+Scythian house did not rise, and he too went on with his
+breakfast. When they were in motion, it was not so easy to eat nicely,
+but he managed very well. By the time he had done, they had left the
+town behind them. He wanted to help Mrs. Halliwell with the
+breakfast-things, but whether she feared he would break some of them,
+or did not think it masculine work, she would not allow him.
+
+Nothing had been said about his going with them; she had taken that
+for granted. Clare began to think perhaps he ought to take his leave:
+there was nothing for him to do! He and Abdiel ought at least to get
+out and walk, instead of burdening the poor horses with their weight,
+when they were so well rested, and had had such a good breakfast! But
+when he said so to Mrs. Halliwell, she told him she must have a little
+talk with him first, and formally proposed that he should enter their
+service, and do whatever he was fit for in the menagerie.
+
+"You're not frightened of the beasts, are you?" she said.
+
+"Oh no, ma'am; I love them!" answered Clare. "But are you sure
+Mr. Halliwell thinks I could be of use?"
+
+"Don't you think yourself you could?" asked Mrs. Halliwell.
+
+"I know I could, ma'am; but I should not like him to take me just
+because he was sorry for me!"
+
+"You innocent! People are in no such hurry to help their
+neighbours. My husband's as good a man as any going; but it don't mean
+he would take a boy because nobody else would have him. A fool of a
+woman might--I won't say; but not a man I ever knew. No, no! He saw
+the way you managed that bull!--a far more unreasonable creature than
+any we have to do with!"
+
+"Ah! you don't know Nimrod, ma'am!"
+
+"I don't, an' I don't want to!--Such wild animals ought to be put in
+caravans!" she added, with a laugh.
+
+"Well, ma'am," said Clare, "if you and Mr. Halliwell are of one mind,
+nothing would please me so much as to serve you and the beasts. But I
+should like to be sure about it, for where husband and wife are not of
+one mind--well, it is uncomfortable!"
+
+Thereupon he told her how he had stood with the farmer and his wife;
+and from that she led him on through his whole story--not
+unaccompanied with tears on the part of his deliverer, for she was a
+tender-souled as well as generous and friendly woman. In her heart she
+rejoiced to think that the boy's sufferings would now be at an end;
+and thenceforward she was, as he always called her, his third mother.
+
+"My poor, ill-used child!" she said. "But I'll be a mother to you--if
+you'll have me!"
+
+"You wouldn't mind if I thought rather often of my two other mothers,
+ma'am--would you?" he said.
+
+"God forbid, boy!" she answered. "If I were your real mother, would I
+have my own flesh and blood ungrateful? Should I be proud of him for
+loving nobody but me? That's like the worst of the beasts: they love
+none but their little ones--and that only till they're tired of the
+trouble of them!"
+
+"Thank you! Then I will be your son Clare, please, ma'am."
+
+The next time they stopped, she made her husband come into her
+caravan, and then and there she would and did have everything
+arranged. When both her husband and the boy would have left his wages
+undetermined, she would not hear of it, but insisted that so much a
+week should be fixed at once to begin with. She had no doubt, she
+said, that her husband would soon be ready enough to raise his wages;
+but he must have his food and five shillings a week now, and
+Mr. Halliwell must advance money to get him decent clothes: he might
+keep the wages till the clothes were paid for!
+
+Everything she wished was agreed to by her husband, and at the next
+town, Clare's new mother saw him dressed to her satisfaction, and to
+his own. She would have his holiday clothes better than his present
+part in life required, and she would not let his sovereign go toward
+paying for them: that she would keep ready in case he might want it!
+Her eyes followed him about with anxious pride--as if she had been his
+mother in fact as she was in truth.
+
+He had at once plenty to do. The favour of his mother saved him from
+no kind of work, neither had he any desire it should. Every morning he
+took his share in cleaning out the cages, and in setting water for the
+beasts, and food for the birds and such other creatures as took it
+when they pleased. At the proper intervals he fed as many as he might
+of those animals that had stated times for their meals; and found the
+advantage of this in its facilitating his friendly approaches to
+them. He helped with the horses also--with whose harness and ways he
+was already familiar. In a very short time he was known as a friend by
+every civilized animal in and about the caravans.
+
+He did all that was required of him, and more. Not everyone of course
+had a right to give him orders, but Clare was not particular as to who
+wanted him, or for what. He was far too glad to have work to look at
+the gift askance. He did not make trouble of what ought to be none, by
+saying, with the spirit of a slave, "It's not my place." He did many
+things which he might have disputed, for he never thought of disputing
+them. Thus, both for himself and for others, he saved a great deal of
+time, and avoided much annoyance and much quarrelling. Thus also he
+gained many friends.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLVII.
+
+Glum Gunn.
+
+
+He had but one enemy, and he did not make him such: he was one by
+nature. For he was so different from Clare that he disliked him the
+moment he saw him, and it took but a day to ripen his dislike into
+hatred. Like Mr. Maidstone, he found the innocent fearlessness of
+Clare's expression repulsive. His fingers twitched, he said, to have a
+twist at the sheep-nose of him. Unhappily for Clare, he was of
+consequence in the menagerie, having money in the concern. He was
+half-brother to the proprietor, but so unlike him that he might not
+have had a drop of blood from the same source. An ill-tempered,
+imperious man, he would hurt himself to have his way, for he was the
+merest slave to what he fancied. When a man _will_ have a thing, right
+or wrong, that man is a slave to that thing--the meanest of slaves, a
+willing one. He was the terror of the men beneath him, heeding no man
+but his brother--and him only because he knew "he would stand no
+nonsense." To his sister-in-law he was civil: she was his brother's
+wife, and his brother was proud of her! Also he knew that she was
+perfect in her part of the business. So it was reason to stand as well
+as he might with her!
+
+Clare had no suspicion that he more than disliked him. It took him
+days indeed to discover even that he did not love him--notwithstanding
+the bilious eye which, when its owner was idle, kept constantly
+following him. And idle he often was, not from laziness, but from the
+love of ordering about, and looking superior.
+
+It was natural that such a man should also be cruel. There are who
+find their existence pleasant in proportion as they make that of
+others miserable. He had no liking for any of the animals, regarding
+them only as property with never a right;--as if God would make
+anything live without thereby giving it rights! To Glum Gunn, as he
+was commonly called behind his back, the animals were worth so much
+money to sell, and so much to show. Yet he prided himself that he had
+a great influence as well as power over them, an occult superiority
+that made him their lord. It was merely a phase of the vulgarest
+self-conceit. He posed to himself as a lion-tamer! He had never tamed
+a lion, or any creature else, in his life; but when he had a wild
+thing safe within iron bars, then he "let him know who was his
+master!" By the terror of his whip, and means far worse, he compelled
+obedience. The grizzly alone, of the larger animals, he never
+interfered with.
+
+From the first he received Clare's "_Good-morning, sir_," with a
+silent stare; and the boy at last, thinking he did not like to be so
+greeted, gave up the salutation. This roused Gunn's anger and
+increased his hate. But indeed any boy petted by his sister-in-law,
+would have been odious to him; and any boy whatever would have found
+him a hard master. Clare was for a while protected by the man's
+unreadiness to have words with his brother, who always took his wife's
+part; but the tyrant soon learned that he might venture far.
+
+For he saw, by the boy's ready smile, that he never resented anything,
+which the brute, as most boys would have done, attributed to
+cowardice; and he learned that he never carried tales to his sister,
+of which, instead of admiring him for his reticence, he took
+advantage, and set about making life bitter to him.
+
+It was some time before he began to succeed, for Clare was hard to
+annoy. Patient, and right ready to be pleased, he could hardly imagine
+offence intended; the thought was all but unthinkable to Clare's
+nature; so he let evil pass and be forgotten as if it had never been.
+Once, as he ran along with a heavy pail of water, Gunn shot out his
+foot and threw him down: he rose with a cut in his forehead, and a
+smile on his lips. He carried the mark of the pail as long as he
+carried his body, but it was long before he believed he had been
+tripped up. Had it been proved to him at the time, he would have taken
+it as a joke, intending no hurt. He did not see the lurid smile on the
+man's face as he turned away, a smile of devilish delight at the
+discomfiture of a hated fellow-creature. Gunn put him to the dirtiest
+work--only to find that it did not trouble him: the boy was a rare
+gentleman--unwilling another should have more that he might have less
+of the disagreeable. I have two or three times heard him say that no
+man had the right to require of another the thing he would think
+degrading to himself. He said he learned this from the New Testament.
+"But," he said, "nothing God has made necessary, can possibly be
+degrading. It may not be the thing for this or that man, at this or
+that time, to do, but it cannot in itself be degrading."
+
+The boy had to take his turn with several in acting showman to the
+gazing crowd, and by and by the part fell to him oftenest. Each had
+his own way of filling the office. One would repeat his information
+like a lesson in which he was not interested, and expected no one else
+to be interested. Another made himself the clown of the exhibition,
+and joked as much and as well as he could. Gunn delighted in telling
+as many lies as he dared: he must not be suspected of making fools of
+his audience! Clare, who from books knew far more than any of the
+others concerning the creatures in their wild state, and who, by
+watching them because he loved them, had already noted things none of
+the others had observed, and was fast learning more, talked to the
+spectators out of his own sincere and warm interest, giving them from
+his treasure things new and old--things he had read, and things he had
+for himself discovered. Group after group of simple country people
+would listen intently as he led them round, eager after every word;
+and as any peg will do to hang hate upon, even this success was noted
+with evil eye by Glum Gunn. Almost anything served to increase his
+malignity. Whether or not it grew the faster that he had as yet found
+no wider outlet for it, I cannot tell.
+
+At last, however, the tyrant learned how to inflict the keenest pain
+on the tender-hearted boy, counting him the greater idiot that he
+could so "be got at," as he phrased it, and promising himself much
+enjoyment from the discovery. But he did not know--how should he
+know--what love may compel!
+
+
+
+Chapter XLVIII.
+
+The puma.
+
+
+I need hardly say that by this time all the beasts with any
+friendliness in them had for Clare a little more than their usual
+amount of that feeling. But there was one between whom and him--I
+prefer _who_ to _which_ for certain animals--a real friendship had
+begun at once, and had grown and ripened rapidly till it was strong on
+both sides. Clare's new friend--and companion as much as circumstance
+permitted--was the same whose lonely gambols had so much attracted him
+the night he first entered the menagerie. The animal, whom Clare had
+taken for a young lion--without being so far wrong, for he has often
+been called the American lion--was the puma, or couguar, peculiar to
+America, with a relation to the jaguar, also American, a little
+similar to that of the lion to the tiger. But while the jaguar is as
+wicked a beast as the tiger, the puma possesses, in relation to man,
+far more than the fabulous generosity of the lion. Like every good
+creature he has been misunderstood and slandered, but a few have known
+him, He has doubtless degenerated in districts, for as the wild animal
+must gradually disappear before the human, he cannot help becoming in
+the process less friendly to humanity; but an essential and
+distinctive characteristic of the puma is his love for the human
+being--a love persistent, devoted, and long-suffering.
+
+Between such an animal and Clare, it is not surprising that friendship
+should at once have blossomed. He stroked the paw of the Indian lion
+the first morning, but the day was not over when he was stroking the
+cheek of the puma; while all he could do with the grizzly at the end
+of the month was to feed him a little on the sly, and get for thanks a
+growl of the worse hate. There are men that would soonest tear their
+benefactors, loathing them the more that they cannot get at them. I
+suspect that in some mysterious way Glum Gunn and the bear were own
+brothers. With the elephant Clare did what he pleased--never pleasing
+anything that was not pleasing to the elephant.
+
+They came to a town where they exhibited every day for a week, and
+there it was that the friendship of Clare and the puma reached its
+perfection. One night the boy could not sleep, and drawn by his love,
+went down among the cages to see how his fellow-creatures were getting
+through the time of darkness. There was just light enough from a small
+moon to show the dim outlines of the cages, and the motion without the
+form of any moving animal. The puma, in his solitary yet joyous
+gymnastics, was celebrating the rites of freedom according to his
+custom. When Clare entered, he made a peculiar purring noise, and
+ceased his amusement--a game at ball, with himself for the ball. Clare
+went to him, and began as usual to stroke him on the face and nose;
+whereupon the puma began to lick his hand with his dry rough
+tongue. Clare wondered how it could be nice to have such a dry thing
+always in his mouth, but did not pity him for what God had given
+him. He had his arm through between the bars of the cage, and his face
+pressed close against them, when suddenly the face of the animal was
+rubbing itself against what it could reach of his. The end was, that
+Clare drew aside the bolt of the cage-door, and got in beside the
+puma. The creature's gladness was even greater than if he had found a
+friend of his own kind. Noses and cheeks and heads were rubbed
+together; tongue licked, and hand stroked and scratched. Then they
+began to frolic, and played a long time, the puma jumping over Clare,
+and Clare, afraid to jump lest he should make a noise, tumbling over
+the puma. The boy at length went fast asleep; and in the morning found
+the creature lying with his head across his body, wide awake but
+motionless, as if guarding him from disturbance. Nobody was stirring;
+and Clare, who would not have their friendship exposed to every
+comment, crept quietly from the cage, and went to his own bed.
+
+The next night, as soon as the place was quiet, Clare went down, and
+had another game with the puma. Before their sport was over, he had
+begun to teach him some of the tricks he had taught Abdiel; but he
+could not do much for fear of making a noise and alarming some keeper.
+
+The same thing took place, as often as it was possible, for some
+weeks, and Clare came to have as much confidence, in so far at least
+as good intention was concerned, in the puma as in Abdiel. If only he
+could have him out of the cage, that the dear beast might have a
+little taste of old liberty! But not being certain how the puma would
+behave to others, or if he could then control him, he felt he had no
+right to release him.
+
+Now and then he would fall asleep in the cage, whereupon the puma
+would always lie down close beside him. Whether the puma slept, I do
+not know.
+
+On one such occasion, Clare started to his feet half-awake, roused by
+a terrific roar. Right up on end stood the couguar, flattening his
+front against the bars of the cage, which he clawed furiously,
+snarling and spitting and yelling like the huge cat he was, every
+individual hair on end, and his eyes like green lightning. Clatter,
+clatter, went his great feet on the iron, as he tore now at this bar
+now at that, to get at something out in the dim open space. It was too
+dark for Clare to see what it was that thus infuriated him, but his
+ear discovered what his eye could not. For now and then, woven into
+the mad noise of the wild creature, in which others about him were
+beginning to join, he heard the modest whimper of a very tame
+one--Abdiel, against whose small person, gladly as he would have been
+"naught a while," this huge indignation was levelled. Must there not
+be a deeper ground for the enmity of dogs and cats than evil human
+incitement? Their antipathy will have to be explained in that history
+of animals which I have said must one day be written.
+
+Clare had taken much pains to make Abdiel understand that he was not
+to intrude where his presence was not desired--that the show was not
+for him, and thought the dog had learned perfectly that never on any
+pretence, or for any reason, was he to go down those steps, however
+often he saw his master go down. This prohibition was a great trial to
+Abdiel's loving heart, but it had not until this night been a trial
+too great for his loving will.
+
+When Clare left him, he thought he had taken his usual pains in
+shutting him into a small cage he had made to use on such occasions,
+lest he might be tempted to think, when he saw nobody about, that the
+law no longer applied. But he had not been careful enough; and Abdiel,
+sniffing about and finding his door unfastened, had interpreted the
+fact as a sign that he might follow his master. Hence all the
+coil. For pumas--whereby also must hang an explanation in that book of
+zoology, have an intense hatred of dogs. Tame from cubhood, they never
+get over their antipathy to them. With pumas it is "Love you, hate
+your dog." In the present case there could be no individual jealousy,
+of which passion beasts and birds are very capable, for Pummy had
+never seen Abby before. There may be in the puma an inborn jealousy of
+dogs, as a race more favoured than pumas by the man whom yet they love
+perhaps more passionately.
+
+As soon as Clare saw what the matter was, he slipped out of the cage,
+and catching up the obnoxious offender--where he stood wagging all
+over as if his entire body were but a self-informed tail--sped with
+him to his room, and gave him a serious talking-to.
+
+The puma was quiet the moment the dog was out of his sight. Doubtless
+he regarded Clare as his champion in distress, and blessed him for the
+removal of that which his soul hated. But, alas, mischief was already
+afoot! Gunn, waked by the roaring, came flying with his whip, and the
+remnants of poor Pummy's excitement were enough to betray him to the
+eyes of the tamer of caged animals. Clare would have recognized by the
+roar itself the individual in trouble; but Glum Gunn had little
+knowledge even of the race. He counted the couguar a coward, because
+he showed no resentment. A man may strike him or wound him, and he
+will make no retaliation; he will even let a man go on to kill him,
+and make no defence beyond moans and tears. But Gunn knew nothing of
+these facts; he only knew that this puma would not touch _him_. He was
+not aware that if he turned the two into the arena of the show, the
+puma would kill the grizzly; or that in their own country, the puma
+persecutes the jaguar as if he hated him for not being like himself,
+the friend of man: the Gauchos of the Pampas call him "The Christians'
+Friend." Gunn did not even know that the horse is the puma's favourite
+food: he will leap on the back of a horse at full speed, with his paws
+break his neck as he runs, and come down with him in a rolling
+heap. Neither did he know that, while submissive to man--as if the
+maker of both had said to him, "Slay my other creatures, but do my
+anointed no harm,"--he could yet upon occasion be provoked to punish
+though not to kill him.
+
+Glum Gunn rushed across the area, jumped into the cage of the puma,
+and began belabouring him with his whip. The beast whimpered and wept,
+and the brute belaboured him. Clare heard the changed cry of his
+friend, and came swooping like the guardian angel he was. When he saw
+the patient creature on his haunches like a dog, accepting Gunn's
+brutality without an attempt to escape it--except, indeed, by dodging
+any blows at his head so cleverly that the ruffian could not once hit
+it--he bounded to the cage, wild with anger and pity. But Gunn stood
+with his back against the door of it, and he was reduced to entreaty.
+
+"Oh, sir! sir!" he cried, in a voice full of tears; "it was all my
+fault! Abby came to look for me, and I didn't know Pummy disliked
+dogs!"
+
+"Do you tell me, you rascal, that you were down among the hanimals
+when I supposed you in your bed?"
+
+"Yes, sir, I was. I didn't know there was any harm. I wasn't doing
+anything wrong."
+
+"Hold your jaw! What _was_ you doing?"
+
+"I was only in the cage with the puma."
+
+"You was! You have the impudence to tell me that to my face! I'll
+teach you, you cotton-face! you milk-pudding! to go corrupting the
+hanimals and making them not worth their salt!"
+
+He swung himself out of the cage-door in a fury, but Clare, with his
+friend in danger, would not run. The wretch seized him by the collar,
+and began to lash him as he had been lashing the puma. Happily he was
+too close to him to give him such stinging blows.
+
+With the first hiss of the thong, came a tearing screech from the
+puma, as he flung himself in fury upon the door of his cage. Gunn in
+his wrath with Clare had forgotten to bolt it. Dragging with his
+claws, he found it unfastened, pulled it open, and like a huge shell
+from a mortar, shot himself at Gunn. Down he went. For one moment the
+puma stood over him, swinging his tail in great sweeps, and looking at
+him, doubtless with indignation. Then before Clare could lay hold of
+him, for Clare too had fallen by the onset, Pummy turned a scornful
+back upon his enemy, and walking away with a slow, careless stride, as
+if he were not worth thinking of more, leaped into his cage, and lay
+down. The thing passed so swiftly that Clare did not see him touch the
+man with his paw, and thought he had but thrown him down with his
+weight. The beast, however, had not left the brute without the lesson
+he needed; he had given him just one little pat on the side of the
+head.
+
+Gunn rose staggering. The skin and something more was torn down his
+cheek from the temple almost to the chin, and the blood was
+streaming. Clare hastened to help him, but he flung him aside,
+muttering with an oath, "I'll make you pay for this!" and went out,
+holding his head with both hands.
+
+Clare went and shot the bolt of the cage. Pummy sprang up. His tail
+and swift-shifting feet showed eager expectation of a romp. He had
+already forgotten the curling lash of the terrible whip! But Clare
+bade him good-night with a kiss through the bars.
+
+Glum Gunn kept his bed for more than a week. When at length he
+appeared, a demonstration of the best art of the surgeon of the town,
+he was not beautiful to look upon. To the end of his evil earthly days
+he bore an ugly scar; and neither his heart nor his temper were the
+better for his well deserved punishment.
+
+Mrs. Halliwell questioned Clare about the whole thing, inquiring
+further and further as his answers suggested new directions. Her
+catechism ended with a partial discovery of Gunn's behaviour to her
+_protegé_, whom she loved the more that he had been so silent
+concerning it. She stood perturbed. One moment her face flushed with
+anger, the next turned pale with apprehension. She bit her lip, and
+the tears came in her eyes.
+
+"Never mind, mother," said Clare, who saw no reason for such emotion;
+"I'm not afraid of him."
+
+"I know you're not, sonny," she answered; "but that don't make me the
+less afraid for you. He's a bad man, that brother-in-law of mine! I
+fear he'll do you a mischief. I'm afraid I did wrong in taking you! I
+ought to have done what I could for you without keeping you about
+me. We can't get rid of him because he's got money in the business.
+Not that he's part owner--I don't mean that! If we'd got the money
+handy, we'd pay him off at once!"
+
+"I don't care about myself," said Clare. "I don't mean I like to be
+kicked, but it don't make me miserable. What I can't bear is to see
+him cruel to the beasts. I love the beasts, mother--even cross old
+Grizzly.--But Mr. Gunn don't meddle much with _him_!"
+
+"He respects his own ugly sort!" answered Mrs. Halliwell, with a
+laugh.
+
+For a while it was plain to Clare that the master kept an eye on his
+brother, and on himself and the puma. On one occasion he told the
+assembled staff that he would have no tyranny: every one knew there
+was among them but one tyrant. Gunn saw that his brother was awake and
+watching: it was a check on his conduct, but he hated Clare the
+worse. For the puma, he was afraid of him now, and went no more into
+his cage.
+
+With the rest of the men Clare was a favourite, for they knew him true
+and helpful, and constantly the same: they could always depend on him!
+Abdiel shared in the favour shown his master. They said the dog was no
+beauty, and had not a hair of breeding, but he was almost a human
+creature, if he wasn't too good for one, and it was a shame to kick
+him.
+
+
+
+Chapter XLIX.
+
+Glum Gunn's revenge.
+
+
+They had opened the menagerie in a certain large town. It was the
+evening-exhibition, and Clare was going his round with his wand of
+office, pointing to the different animals, and telling of them what he
+thought would most interest his hearers, when another attendant, the
+most friendly of all, came behind him, and whispered that Glum Gunn
+had got hold of Abby, and must be going to do the dog a
+mischief. Clare instantly gave him his wand, and bolted through the
+crowd, reproaching himself that, because Abby seemed restless, he had
+shut him up: if he had not been shut up, Gunn would not have got hold
+of him!
+
+When he reached the top of the steps, there was Gunn on the platform,
+addressing the crowd. It was plain to the boy, by this time not
+inexperienced, that he had been drinking, and, though not drunk, had
+taken enough to rouse the worst in him. He had the poor dog by the
+scruff of the neck, and was holding him out at arm's-length. Abdiel
+was the very picture of wretchedness. Except in colour and size, he
+was more like a flea than like any sort of dog--with his hind legs
+drawn up, his tail tucked in tight between them, and his back-bone
+curved into a half circle. In this uncomfortable plight, the tyrant
+was making a burlesque speech about him.
+
+"Here you see, ladies and gentlemen," he said, resuming a little, for
+a few fresh spectators were in the act of joining the border of the
+crowd, "as I have already had the honour of informing you, one of the
+most extraordinary productions of the vegetable kingdom. It is not
+unnatural that you should be, as I see you are, inclined to dispute
+the assertion. I am, indeed, far from being surprised at your
+scepticism; the very strangeness of the phenomenon consists in his
+being to all appearance neither more nor less than a dog. But when I
+have the honour of leaving you to your astonishment, I shall have
+convinced you that he is in reality nothing but a vegetable. I would
+plainly call him what he is--a cucumber, did I not fear the statement
+would demand of you more than your powers of credence, evidently
+limited, could well afford. But when I have, before your eyes, cut the
+throat of this vegetable, so extremely like an ugly mongrel, and when
+those eyes see no single drop of blood follow the knife, then you will
+be satisfied of the truth of my assertion; and, having gazed on such a
+specimen of Nature's jugglery, will, I hope, do me the honour to walk
+up and behold yet greater wonders within."
+
+He ceased, and set about getting his knife from his pocket.
+
+Clare, watching Gunn's every motion, had partially sheltered himself
+behind the side of the doorway. One who did not know Gunn, might well
+have taken the thing for a practical joke, as innocent as it was
+foolish, the pretended conclusion of which would be met by some
+comical frustration, probably the dog's escape; but Clare saw that his
+friend was in mortal peril. With the eye of one used to wild animals
+and the unexpectedness of their sudden motions, he stood following
+every movement of Gunn's hands, ready to anticipate whatever action
+might indicate its own approach: he watched like the razor-clawed
+lynx. While Gunn held Abdiel as he did, he could not seriously injure
+him; and although he was hurting him dreadfully, his hate-possessed
+fingers, like a live, writhing vice, worrying and squeezing the skin
+of his poor little neck, it yet was better to wait the right moment.
+
+When he saw the arm that held the dog drawn in, and the other hand
+move to the man's pocket, he knew that in a moment more, with a
+theatrical cry of dismay from the murderer, the body of his friend
+would be dashed on the ground, his head half off, and the blood
+streaming from his neck. They were mostly a rather vulgar people that
+stood about the platform, not a few of them capable of being delighted
+with such an end to a joke poor without some catastrophe.
+
+The wretch had stooped a little, and slightly relaxed his hold on the
+dog to open his knife, when with a bound that doubled the force of the
+blow Clare struck him on the side of the head. He had no choice where
+to hit him, and his fist fell on the spot so lately torn by the claws
+of Pummy. The tyrant fell, and lay for a moment stunned. Abdiel flung
+himself on his master, exultant at finding the thing after all the
+joke he had been trying in vain to believe it. Clare caught him up and
+dashed down the steps, one instant before Glum Gunn rose, cursing
+furiously. Clare charged the crowd: it was not a time to be civil!
+Abdiel's life was in imminent danger! That his own was in the same
+predicament did not occur to him.
+
+His sudden rush took the crowd by surprise, or those next the caravans
+would, I fear, have stopped him. Some started to follow him, but the
+portion of the crowd he came to next, had more in it of a better sort,
+and closed up behind him. There all the women and most of the men took
+the part of the boy that loved his dog.
+
+"What be you a-shovin' at?" bawled a huge country-man, against whom
+Gunn made a cannon as he rushed in pursuit. "Aw'll knock 'ee flat--aw
+wull! Let little un an's dawg aloan! Aw be for un! Hit me an'ye
+choose--aw doan't objec'!"
+
+Every attempt Gunn made to pass him, the man pushed his great body in
+his way, and he soon saw there was no chance of overtaking Clara The
+wings of Hate are swift, but not so swift as those of rescuing Love;
+and Help is far readier to run to Love than to Hate.
+
+
+
+Chapter L.
+
+Clare seeks help.
+
+
+Clare got out of the crowd, and was soon beyond sight of anyone that
+knew what had taken place, his heart exulting that he had saved his
+friend who trusted in him. He hurried on, heedless whither, his only
+thought to get away from the man that would murder Abby; and the town
+was a long way behind ere the question of what they were to do for
+supper and shelter presented itself. This had grown a strange thought,
+so long had the caravan been to him a house of warmth and plenty. But
+comfort has its disadvantages; and Clare discovered, with some dismay,
+that he was not quite so free as ere the luxurious life of the last
+few weeks began: both Abby and he would be less able, he feared, to
+bear hunger and cold. It was but to start afresh, however, and grow
+abler! One consolation was, that, if they felt hunger more, it could
+not do them so much harm: they had more capital to go upon. He must
+not gather cowardice instead of courage from a season of prosperity!
+He was glad for Abdiel, though, that he grew his own clothes: he had
+left his warmest behind him.
+
+It made him ashamed to find himself regretting his clothes when he had
+lost a mother! Then it pleased him to think that she had his
+sovereign, and the wages due since his clothes were paid for. They
+would help to give Glum Gunn his own, and set the beasts free from
+him! Then he would go back and spend his life with his mother and
+Pummy! Poor Pummy! But though Gunn hated him, he was now afraid of him
+too; and his fear would be the creature's protection! He had imagined
+it his might that cowed the puma, when it was the animal's human
+gentleness that made him submissive to man: he knew better now! Clare
+clasped Abdiel to his bosom, and trudged on. They had gone miles ere
+it occurred to him that it might be more comfortable for both if each
+carried his individual burden. He set Abdiel down, and the dog ran
+vibrating with pleasure. Clare felt himself set down, but with no tail
+to wag.
+
+It was late in the autumn: they could do without supper, but they must
+if possible find shelter! A farm-house came in sight. It recalled so
+vividly Clare's early experiences of houselessness, that beasts and
+caravans, his mother and Glum Gunn, grew hazy and distant, and the old
+time drew so near that he seemed to have waked into it out of a long
+dream. They were back in the old misery--a misery in which, however,
+his heart had not been pierced as now with the pangs of innocent
+creatures unable or unwilling to defend themselves from their natural
+guardian! It was long before he learned that for weeks Gunn was unable
+to hurt one of them; that his drinking, his late wound, and the blow
+Clare had given him, brought on him a severe attack of erysipelas.
+
+When they reached the farm-yard, Clare knew by the aspect of things
+that the cattle were housed and the horses suppered. He crept unseen
+into one of the cow-houses: the bodies and breath of the animals would
+keep them warm! How sweet the smell seemed to him after that of the
+caravans! An empty stall was before him, like a chamber prepared for
+his need. He gathered a few straws from under each of the cows, taking
+care that not one of them should be the less comfortable, and spread
+with them for Abby and himself a thin couch.
+
+But with the excitement of what had happened, his wonder as to what
+would come next, and the hunger that had begun to gnaw at him, Clare
+could not sleep. And as he lay awake, thoughts came to him.
+
+Whence do the thoughts come to us? Of one thing I am sure--that I do
+not make or even send for my own thoughts. If some greater one did not
+think about us, we should not think about anything. Then what a wonder
+is the night! How it works compelling people to think! Surely somehow
+God comes nearer in the night! Clare began to think how helpless he
+was. He was not thinking of food and warmth, but of doing things for
+the beings he loved. It seemed to him hard that he could but love, and
+nothing more. There was his mother! he could do nothing to deliver her
+from that villainous brother-in-law! There was Pummy, exposed to the
+cruelty of the same evil man! and again he could do nothing for him!
+There was Maly! he could do nothing for her--nothing to make her
+father and mother glad for her up in the dome of the angels!
+
+Was it possible that he really could do nothing?
+
+Then came the thought that people used to say prayers in the days when
+he went with his mother to church. He had been taught to say prayers
+himself, but had begun to forget them when there was no bed to kneel
+beside. What did saying prayers mean? In the Bible-stories people
+prayed when they were in trouble and could not help themselves! Did it
+matter that he had no church and no bedside? Surely one place must be
+as good as another, if it was true that God was everywhere! Surely he
+could hear him wherever he spoke! Neither could there be any necessity
+for speaking loud! God would hear, however low he spoke! Then he
+remembered that God knew the thoughts of his creatures: if so, he
+might think a prayer to him; there was no need for any words!
+
+From the moment of that conclusion, Clare began to pray to God. And
+now he prayed the right kind of prayer; that is, his prayers were real
+prayers; he asked for what he wanted. To say prayers asking God for
+things we do not care about, is to mock him. When we ask for something
+we want, it may be a thing God does not care to give us; but he likes
+us to speak to him about it. If it is good for us, he will give it us;
+if it is not good, he will not give it to us, for it would hurt
+us. But Clare only asked God to do what he is always doing: his prayer
+was that God would be good to all his mothers, and to his two fathers,
+and Mr. Halliwell, and Maly, and Sarah, and his own baby, and
+Tommy--and poor Pummy, and would, if Glum Gunn beat him, help him to
+bear the blows, and not mind them very much. He ended with something
+like this:
+
+"God, I can't do anything for anybody! I wish I could! You can get
+near them, God: please do something good to every one of them because
+I can't. I think I could go to sleep now, if I were sure you had
+listened!"
+
+Having thus cast all his cares on God, he did go to sleep; and woke in
+the morning ready for the new day that arrived with his waking.
+
+
+
+Chapter LI.
+
+Clare a true master.
+
+
+It would take a big book to tell all the things of interest that
+happened to Clare in the next few weeks. They would be mainly how and
+where he found refuge, and how he and Abdiel got things to eat. Verily
+they did not live on the fat of the land. Now and then some benevolent
+person, seeing him in such evident want, would contrive a job in order
+to pay him for it: in one place, although they had no need of him,
+certain good people gave him ten days' work under a gardener, and
+dismissed him with twenty shillings in his pocket.
+
+One way and another, Clare and Abdiel did not die of hunger or of
+cold. That is the summary of their history for a good many weeks.
+
+One night they slept on a common, in the lee of a gypsy tent, and
+contrived to get away in the morning without being seen. For Clare
+feared they might offer him something stolen, and hunger might
+persuade him to ask no questions. Many respectable people will laugh
+at the idea of a boy being so particular. Such are immeasurably more
+to be pitied than Clare. No one could be hard on a boy who in such
+circumstances took what was offered him, but he would not be so honest
+as Clare--though he might well be more honest than such as would laugh
+at him.
+
+Another time he went up to a large house, to see if he might not there
+get a job. He found the place, for the time at least, abandoned: I
+suppose the persons in charge had deserted their post to make
+holiday. He lingered about until the evening fell, and then got with
+Abdiel under a glass frame in the kitchen-garden. But the glass was so
+close to them that Clare feared breaking it; so they got out again,
+and lay down on a bench in a shed for potting plants.
+
+Clare was waked in the morning by a sound cuff on the side of the
+head. He got off the bench, took up Abdiel, and coming to himself,
+said to the gardener who stood before him in righteous indignation,
+
+"I'm much obliged to you for my bedroom, sir. It was very cold last
+night."
+
+His words and respectful manner mollified the gardener a little.
+
+"You have no business here!" he returned.
+
+"I know that, sir; but what is a boy to do?" answered Clare. "I wasn't
+hurting anything, and it was so cold we might have died if we had
+slept out of doors."
+
+"That's no business of mine!"
+
+"But it is of mine," rejoined Clare; "--except you think a boy that
+can't get work ought to commit suicide. If he mustn't do that, he
+can't always help doing what people with houses don't like!"
+
+The gardener was not a bad sort of fellow, and perceived the truth in
+what the boy said.
+
+"That's always the story!" he replied, however. "Can't get work! No
+idle boy ever could get work! I know the sort of you--well!"
+
+"Would you mind giving me a chance?" returned Clare eagerly. "I
+wouldn't ask much wages."
+
+"You wouldn't, if you asked what you was worth!"
+
+"We'd be worth our victuals anyhow!" answered Clare, who always
+counted the dog.
+
+"Who's we?" asked the man. "Be there a hundred of you?"
+
+"No; only two. Only me and Abdiel here!"
+
+"Oh, that beast of a mongrel?"
+
+The gardener made a stride as if to seize the dog. Clare bounded from
+him. The man burst into a mocking laugh.
+
+"He's a good dog, indeed, sir!" said Clare.
+
+"You'll give him the sack before I give you a job."
+
+"We're old friends, sir; we can't be parted!"
+
+"I thought as much!" cried the gardener. "They're always ready to
+work, an' so hungry! But will they part with the mangy dog? Not they!
+Hard work and good wages ain't nowhere beside a mongrel pup! Get out!
+Don't I know the whole ugly bilin' of ye!"
+
+Clare turned away with a gentle good-morning, which the man did not
+get out of his heart for a matter of two days, and departed, hugging
+Abdiel.
+
+He was often cold and always hungry, but his life was anything but
+dull. The man who does not know where his next meal is to come from,
+is seldom afflicted with ennui. That is the monopoly of the enviable
+with nothing to do, and everything money can get them. A foolish
+west-end life has immeasurably more discomfort in it than that of a
+street Arab. The ordinary beggar, while in tolerable health, finds far
+more enjoyment than most fashionable ladies.
+
+Thus Clare went wandering long, seeking work, and finding next to
+none--all the time upheld by the feeling that something was waiting
+for him somewhere, that he was every day drawing nearer to it. Not
+once yet had he lost heart. In very virtue of unselfishness and lack
+of resentment, he was strong. Not once had he shed a tear for himself,
+not once had he pitied his own condition.
+
+
+
+Chapter LII.
+
+Miss Tempest.
+
+
+Without knowing it, he was approaching the sea. Walking along a chain
+of downs, he saw suddenly from the top of one of them, for the first
+time in his memory though not in his life, the sea--a pale blue cloud,
+as it appeared, far on the horizon, between two low hills. The sight
+of it, although he did not at first know what it was, brought with it
+a strange inexplicable feeling of dolorous pleasure. For this he could
+not account. It was the faintest revival of an all but obliterated
+impression of something familiar to his childhood, lying somewhere
+deeper than the memory, which was a blank in regard to it. But that
+feeling was not all that the sight awoke in him. The pale blue cloud
+bore to him such a look of the eternal, that it seemed the very place
+for God to live in--the solemn, stirless region of calm in which the
+being to whom now of late he had first begun in reality to pray, kept
+his abode. The hungry, worn, tattered boy, with nothing to call his
+own but a great hope and a little dog, fell down on his bare knees on
+the hard road, and stretched out his hands in an ecstasy toward the
+low cloud.
+
+The far-off ringing tramp of a horse's feet aroused him. He rose light
+as an athlete, the great hope grown twice its former size, and hunger
+forgotten.
+
+The blue cloud kept in sight, and by and by he knew it was the sea he
+saw, though how or at what moment the knowledge came to him he could
+not have told. The track was leading him toward one of the principal
+southern ports.
+
+By this time he was again very thin; but he had brown cheeks and clear
+eyes, and, save when suffering immediately from hunger, felt perfectly
+well. Hunger is a sad thing notwithstanding its deep wholesomeness;
+but there is immeasurably more suffering in the world from eating too
+much than from eating too little.
+
+Well able by this time to read the signs of the road, he perceived at
+length he must be drawing near a town. He had already passed a house
+or two with a little lawn in front, and indications of a garden
+behind; and he hoped yet again that here, after all, he might get
+work. To door after door he carried his modest request: some doors
+were shut in his face almost before he could speak; at others he had a
+civil word from maid, or a rough word from man; from none came sound
+of assent. It had become harder too to find shelter. Ever as he went,
+space was more and more appropriated and enclosed; less and less room
+was left for the man for whom had been made no special cubic provision
+of earth and air, and who had no money--the most disreputable of
+conditions in the eyes of such as would be helpless if they had
+none. A rare philosopher for eyes capable of understanding him, he was
+a despicable being in the eyes of the common man. To know a human
+being one must be human--that is, the divine must be strong in him.
+
+For some days now, neither Clare nor Abdiel had come even within sight
+of food enough to make a meal. The dog was rather thinner than his
+master.
+
+"Abdiel," said Clare to him one day, "I fear you will soon be a
+serpent! Your body gets longer and longer, and your legs get shorter
+and shorter: you'll be crawling presently, rubbing the hair off your
+useless little belly on the dusty road! Never mind, Abdiel; you'll be
+a good serpent. Satan was turned into a bad serpent because he was a
+bad angel; you will be a good serpent, because you are a good dog! I
+hope, however, we shall yet put a stop to the serpent-business!"
+
+Abdiel wagged his tail, as much as to say, "All right, master!"
+
+The nights were now very cold; winter was coming fast. Had Clare been
+long enough in one place for people to know him, he would never have
+been allowed to go so cold and hungry; but he had always to move on,
+and nobody had time to learn to care about him. So the terrible
+sunless season threatened to wrap him in its winding-sheet, and lay
+him down.
+
+One evening, just before sunset, grown sleepy in spite of the
+gathering cold, he sat down on one of the two steep grassy slopes that
+bordered the road. His feet were bare now, bare and brown, for his
+shoes had come to such plight that it was a relief to throw them away;
+but his soles had grown like leather. They rested in the dry shallow
+rain-channel, and his body leaned back against the slope. Abdiel,
+instead of jumping on the bank and lying in the soft grass, lay down
+on the leathery feet, and covered them from the night with his long
+faithful body and its coat of tangled hair.
+
+The sun was shooting his last radiance along the road, and its redness
+caressed the sleeping companions, when an elderly lady came to her
+gate at the top of the opposite slope, and looked along the road with
+the sun. Her reverting glance fell upon the sleepers--the Knight of
+Hope lying in rags, not marble, his feet not upon his dog, but his dog
+upon his feet. It was a touching picture, and the old lady's heart was
+one easily touched. She looked and saw that the face of the boy, whose
+hunger was as plain as his rags, was calm as the wintry sky. She
+wondered, but she needed not have wondered; for storm of anger,
+drought of greed, nor rotting mist of selfishness, had passed or
+rested there, to billow, or score, or waste.
+
+Her mere glance seemed to wake Abdiel, who took advantage of his
+waking to have a lick at the brown, dusty, brave, uncomplaining feet,
+so well used to the world's _via dolorosa_. She saw, and was touched
+yet more by this ministration of the guardian of the feet. Gently
+opening the gate she descended the slope, crossed the road, and stood
+silent, regarding the outcasts. No cloudy blanket covered the sky: ere
+morning the dew would lie frozen on the grass!
+
+"You shouldn't be sleeping there!" she said.
+
+Abdiel started to his four feet and would have snarled, but with one
+look at the lady changed his mind. Clare half awoke, half sat up, made
+an inarticulate murmur, and fell back again.
+
+"Get up, my boy," said the old lady. "You must indeed!"
+
+"Oh, please, ma'am, must I?" answered Clare, slowly rising to his
+feet. "I had but just lain down, and I'm so tired!--If I mayn't sleep
+_there_," he continued, "where _am_ I to sleep?--Please, ma'am, why is
+everybody so set against letting a boy sleep? It don't cost them
+anything! I can understand not giving him work, if he looks too much
+in want of it; but why should they count it bad of him to lie down and
+sleep?"
+
+The lady wisely let him talk; not until he stopped did she answer him.
+
+"It's because of the frost, my boy!" she said. "It would be the death
+of you to sleep out of doors to-night!"
+
+"It's a nice place for it, ma'am!"
+
+"To sleep in? Certainly not!"
+
+"I didn't mean that, ma'am. I meant a nice place to go away from--to
+die in, ma'am!"
+
+"That is not ours to choose," answered the old lady severely, but the
+tone of her severity trembled.
+
+"I sha'n't find anywhere so nice as this bank," said Clare, turning
+and looking at it sorrowfully.
+
+"There are plenty of places in the town. It's but a mile farther on!"
+
+"But this is so much nicer, ma'am! And I've no money--none at all,
+ma'am. When I came out of prison,--"
+
+"Came out of _where_?"
+
+"Out of prison, ma'am."
+
+He had never been in prison in a legal sense, never having been
+convicted of anything; but he did not know the difference between
+detention and imprisonment.
+
+"Prison!" she exclaimed, holding up her hands in horror. "How dare you
+mention prison!"
+
+"Because I was in it, ma'am."
+
+"And to say it so coolly too! Are you not ashamed of yourself?"
+
+"No, ma'am."
+
+"It's a shame to have been in prison."
+
+"Not if I didn't do anything wrong."
+
+"Nobody will believe that, I'm afraid!"
+
+"I suppose not, ma'am! I used to feel very angry when people wouldn't
+believe me, but now I see they are not to blame. And now I've got used
+to it, and it don't hurt so much.--But," he added with a sigh, "the
+worst of it is, they won't give me any work!"
+
+"Do you always tell people you've come out of prison?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, when I think of it."
+
+"Then you can't wonder they won't give you work!"
+
+"I don't, ma'am--not now. It seems a law of the universe!"
+
+"Not of the universe, I think--but of this world--perhaps!" said the
+old lady thoughtfully.
+
+"But there's one thing I do wonder at," said Clare. "When I say I've
+been in prison, they believe me; but when I say I haven't done
+anything wrong, then they mock me, and seem quite amused at being
+expected to believe that. I can't get at it!"
+
+"I daresay! But people will always believe you against yourself.--What
+are you going to do, then, if nobody will give you work? You can't
+starve!"
+
+"Indeed I _can_, ma'am! It's just the one thing I've got to do. We've
+been pretty near the last of it sometimes--me and Abdiel! Haven't we,
+Abby?"
+
+The dog wagged his tail, and the old lady turned aside to control her
+feelings.
+
+"Don't cry, ma'am," said Clare; "I don't mind it--not _much_. I'm too
+glad I didn't _do_ anything, to mind it much! Why should I! Ought I to
+mind it much, ma'am? Jesus Christ hadn't done anything, and they
+killed _him_! I don't fancy it's so very bad to die of only hunger!
+But we'll soon see!--Sha'n't we, Abby?"
+
+Again the dog wagged his tail.
+
+"If you didn't do anything wrong, what _did_ you do?" said the old
+lady, almost at her wits' end.
+
+"I don't like telling things that are not going to be believed. It's
+like washing your face with ink!"
+
+"I will _try_ to believe you."
+
+"Then I will tell you; for you speak the truth, ma'am, and so,
+perhaps, will be able to believe the truth!"
+
+"How do you know I speak the truth?"
+
+"Because you didn't say, 'I will believe you.' Nobody can be sure of
+doing that. But you can be sure of _trying_; and you said, 'I will
+_try_ to believe you.'"
+
+"Tell me all about it then."
+
+"I will, ma'am.--The policeman came in the middle of the night when we
+were asleep, and took us all away, because we were in a house that was
+not ours."
+
+"Whose was it then?"
+
+"Nobody knew. It was what they call in chancery. There was nobody in
+it but moths and flies and spiders and rats;--though I think the rats
+only came to eat baby."
+
+"Baby! Then the whole family of you, father, mother, and all, were
+taken to prison!"
+
+"No, ma'am; my fathers and my mothers were taken up into the dome of
+the angels."--What with hunger and sleepiness, Clare was talking like
+a child.--"I haven't any father and mother in this world. I have two
+fathers and two mothers up there, and one mother in this world. She's
+the mother of the wild beasts."
+
+The old lady began to doubt the boy's sanity, but she went on
+questioning him.
+
+"How did you have a baby with you, then?"
+
+"The baby was my own, ma'am. I took her out of the water-butt."
+
+Once more Clare had to tell his story--from the time, that is, when
+his adoptive father and mother died. He told it in such a simple
+matter-of-fact way, yet with such quaint remarks, from their very
+simplicity difficult to understand, that, if the old lady, for all her
+trying, was not able quite to believe his tale, it was because she
+doubted whether the boy was not one of God's innocents, with an
+angel-haunted brain.
+
+"And what's become of Tommy?" she asked.
+
+"He's in the same workhouse with baby. I'm very glad; for what I
+should have done with Tommy, and nothing to give him to eat, I can't
+think. He would have been sure to steal! I couldn't have kept him from
+it!"
+
+"You must be more careful of your company."
+
+"Please, ma'am, I was very careful of Tommy. He had the best company I
+could give him: I did try to be better for Tommy's sake. But my trying
+wasn't much use to Tommy, so long as he wouldn't try! He was a little
+better, though, I think; and if I had him now, and could give him
+plenty to eat, and had baby as well as Abdiel to help me, we might
+make something of Tommy, I think.--_You_ think so--don't you, Abdiel?"
+
+The dog, who had stood looking in his master's face all the time he
+spoke, wagged his tail faster.
+
+"What a name to give a dog! Where did you find it?"
+
+"In Paradise Lost, ma'am. Abdiel was the one angel, you remember,
+ma'am, who, when he saw what Satan was up to, left him, and went back
+to his duty."
+
+"And what was his duty?"
+
+"Why of course to do what God told him. I love Abdiel, and because I
+love the little dog and he took care of baby, I call him Abdiel
+too. Heaven is so far off that it makes no confusion to have the same
+name."
+
+"But how dare you give the name of an angel to a dog?"
+
+"To a _good_ dog, ma'am! A good dog is good enough to go with any
+angel--at his heels of course! If he had been a bad dog, it would have
+been wicked to name him after a good angel. If the dog had been
+Tommy--I mean if Tommy had been the dog, I should have had to call him
+Moloch, or Belzebub! God made the angels and the dogs; and if the dogs
+are good, God loves them.--Don't he, Abdiel?"
+
+Abdiel assented after his usual fashion. The lady said nothing. Clare
+went on.
+
+"Abdiel won't mind--the angel Abdiel, I mean, ma'am--he won't mind
+lending his name to my friend. The dog will have a name of his own,
+perhaps, some day--like the rest of us!"
+
+"What is _your_ name?"
+
+"The name I have now is, like the dog's, a borrowed one. I shall get
+my own one day--not here--but there--when--when--I'm hungry enough to
+go and find it."
+
+Clare had grown very white. He sat down, and lay back on the grass. He
+had talked more in those few minutes than for weeks, and want had made
+him weak. He felt very faint. The dog jumped up, and fell to licking
+his face.
+
+"What a wicked old woman I am!" said the lady to herself, and ran
+across the road like some little long-legged bird, and climbed the
+bank swiftly.
+
+She disappeared within the gate, but to return presently with a
+tumbler of milk and a huge piece of bread.
+
+"Here, boy!" she cried; "here is medicine for you! Make haste and take
+it."
+
+Clare sat up feebly, and stared at the tumbler for a moment. Either he
+could hardly believe his eyes, or was too sick to take it at
+once. When he had it in his hand, he held it out to the dog.
+
+"Here, Abdiel, have a little," he said.
+
+This offended the old lady.
+
+"You're never going to give the dog that good milk!" she cried.
+
+"A little of it, please, ma'am!"
+
+"--And feed him out of the tumbler too?"
+
+"He's had nothing to-day, ma'am, and we're comrades!"
+
+"But it's not clean of you!"
+
+"Ah, you don't know dogs, ma'am! His tongue is clean as clean as
+anybody's."
+
+Abdiel took three or four little laps of the milk, drew away, and
+looked up at his master--as much as to say, "You, now!"
+
+"Besides," Clare went on, "he couldn't get at it so well in the bottom
+of the tumbler."
+
+With that he raised it to his own lips, drank eagerly, and set it on
+the road half empty, looking his thanks to the giver with a smile she
+thought heavenly. Then he broke the bread, and giving the dog nearly
+the half of it, began to eat the rest himself. The old lady stood
+looking on in silence, pondering what she was to do with the celestial
+beggar.
+
+"Would you mind sleeping in the greenhouse, if I had a bed put up for
+you?" she said at length, in tone apologetic.
+
+"This is a better place--though I wish it was warmer!" said Clare,
+with another smile as he looked up at the sky, in which a few stars
+were beginning to twinkle, and thought of the gardeners he had
+met. "--Don't you think it better, ma'am?"
+
+"No, indeed, I don't!" she answered crossly; for to her the open air
+at night seemed wrong, disreputable. There was something unholy in it!
+
+"I would rather stay here," said Clare.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because you don't quite believe me, ma'am. You can't; and you can't
+help it. You wouldn't be able to sleep for thinking that a boy just
+out of prison was lying in the greenhouse. There would be no saying
+what he might not do! I once read in a newspaper how an old lady took
+a lad into her house for a servant, and he murdered her!--No, ma'am,
+thank you! After such a supper we shall sleep beautifully!--Sha'n't
+we, Abby? And then, perhaps, you could give me a job in the garden
+to-morrow! I daresay the gardener wants a little help sometimes! But
+if he knew me to have slept in the greenhouse, he would hate me."
+
+The old lady said nothing, for, like most old ladies, she feared her
+gardener. She took the tumbler from the boy's hand, and went into the
+house. But in two minutes she came again, with another great piece of
+bread for Clare, and a bone with something on it which she threw to
+Abdiel. The dog's ears started up, erect and alive, like individual
+creatures, and his eyes gleamed; but he looked at his master, and
+would not touch the bone without his leave--which given, he fell upon
+it, and worried it as if it had been a rat.
+
+Clare was now himself again, and when the old lady left them for the
+third time, he walked with her across the way, bread in hand, to open
+the gate for her. When she was inside, he took off his cap, and bade
+her good-night with a grace that won all that was left to be won of
+her heart.
+
+Before she had taken three steps from the gate, the old lady turned.
+
+"Boy!" she called; and Clare, who was making for his couch under the
+stars, hastened back at the sound of her voice.
+
+"I shall not be able to sleep," she said, "for thinking of you out
+there in the bleak night!"
+
+"I am used to it, ma'am!"
+
+"Oh, I daresay! but you see I'm not! and I don't like the thought of
+it! You may like hoarfrost-sheets, for what I know, but I don't! You
+may like the stars for a tester--because you want to die and go to
+them, I suppose!--but I have no fancy for the stars! You are a foolish
+fellow, and I am out of temper with you. You don't give a thought to
+me--or to my feelings if you should die! I should never go to bed
+again with a good conscience!--Besides, I should have to nurse you!"
+
+The last member of her expostulation was hardly in logical sequence,
+but it had not the less influence on Clare for that.
+
+"I will do whatever you please, ma'am," he answered humbly. "--Come,
+Abdiel!"
+
+The dog came running across the road with his bone in his mouth.
+
+"You mustn't bring that inside the gate, Ab!" said Clare.
+
+The dog dropped it.
+
+"Good dog! It's a lady's garden, you know, Abdiel!" Then turning to
+his hostess, Clare added, "I always tell him when I'm pleased with
+him: don't you think it right, ma'am?"
+
+"I daresay! I don't know anything about dogs."
+
+"If you had a dog like Abdiel, he would soon teach you dogs, ma'am!"
+rejoined Clare.
+
+By this time they were at the house-door. The lady told him to wait
+there, went in, and had a talk with her two maids. In half an hour,
+Clare and his four-footed angel were asleep--in an outhouse, it is
+true, but in a comfortable bed, such as they had not seen since their
+flight from the caravans. The cold breeze wandered moaning like a lost
+thing round the bare walls, as if every time it woke, it went abroad
+to see if there was any hope for the world; but it did not touch them;
+and if through their ears it got into their dreams, it made their
+sleep the sweeter, and their sense of refuge the deeper.
+
+But although the bewitching boy and his good dog were not lying in the
+open air over against her gate, and although never a thought of murder
+or theft came to trouble her, it was long before the old lady found
+repose. Her heart had been deeply touched.
+
+
+
+Chapter LIII.
+
+The gardener.
+
+
+From the fact that his hostess made him no answer when he breathed the
+hope of a job in her garden, Clare concluded that he had presumed in
+suggesting the thing to her, and that she would be relieved by their
+departure. When he woke in the morning, therefore, early after a grand
+sleep, he felt he had no right to linger: he had been invited to
+sleep, and he had slept! He also shrank from the idea of being
+supposed to expect his breakfast before he went. So, as soon as he got
+up, he walked out of the gate, crossed the road, and sat down on the
+spot he had occupied the night before, there to wait until the house
+should be astir. For, although he could not linger within gates where
+he was unknown, neither could he slink away without morning-thanks for
+the gift of a warm night.
+
+As he sat, he grew drowsy, and leaning back, fell fast asleep.
+
+The thoughts of his hostess had been running on very different lines,
+and she woke with feelings concerning the pauper very different from
+those the pauper imagined in her. She must do something for him; she
+must give or get him work! As to giving him work, her difficulty lay
+in the gardener. She resolved, however, to attempt over-coming it.
+
+She rose earlier than usual, therefore, and as the man, who did not
+sleep in the house, was not yet come, she went down to the gate to
+meet him and have the thing over--so eager was she, and so nervous in
+prospect of such an interview with her dreaded servant.
+
+"Good gracious!" she murmured aloud, "does it rain beggars?" For
+there, on the same spot, lay another beggar, another boy, with a dog
+in his bosom the facsimile of the ugly white thing named after
+Milton's angel! She did not feel moved to go and make his
+acquaintance. It could not be another of the family, could it? that
+had already heard of his brother's good luck, and come to see whether
+there might not be a picking for him too! She turned away hurriedly
+lest he should wake, and went back to the house.
+
+But looking behind her as she mounted the steps, she caught sight of
+the gardener at the other gate, casting a displeased look across the
+road before he entered: he did not like to see tramps about! Her heart
+sank a little, but she was not to be turned aside.
+
+The gardener came in, and his mistress joined him and walked with him
+to his work, telling him as much as she thought fit concerning the
+boy, and interspersing her narrative with hints of the duty of giving
+every one a chance. She took care not to mention that he had come out
+of a prison somewhere.
+
+"No one should be driven to despair," she said, little thinking she
+used almost the very words of the Lord, according to the Sinaitic
+reading of a passage in St. Luke's gospel.
+
+The argument had little force with the rough Scotchman: his mistress
+was soft-hearted! He shook his head ominously at the idea of giving a
+tramp the chance of doing decent work, but at last consented, with a
+show of being over-persuaded to an imprudent action, to let the boy
+help him for a day, and see how he got on, stipulating, however, that
+he should not be supposed to have pledged himself to anything.
+
+Miss Tempest's plans went beyond the gardener's scope. She had for
+some months been inclined to have a boy to help in the house--an
+inclination justified by a late unexpected accession of income: if
+this boy were what he seemed, he would make a more than valuable
+servant; and nothing could clear her judgment of him better, she
+thought, than putting him to the test of a brief subjection to the
+cross-grained, exacting Scotchman. By that she would soon know whether
+to dismiss him, or venture with him farther!
+
+She had but just wrung his hard consent from the gardener, when the
+cook came running, to say the boy was gone. Upon poor Miss Tempest's
+heart fell a cold avalanche.
+
+"But we've counted the spoons, ma'am, and they're all right!" said the
+cook.
+
+This additional statement, however, did not seem to give much
+consolation to the benevolent old lady. She stood for a moment with
+her eyes on the ground, too pained to move or speak. Then she started,
+and ran to the gate. The cook ran after, thinking her mistress gone
+out of her mind--and was sure of it when she saw her open the gate,
+and run straight down the bank to the road. But when she reached the
+gate herself, she saw her standing over a boy asleep on the grass of
+the opposite bank.
+
+Abdiel, lying on his bosom, watched her with keen friendly eyes. Clare
+was dreaming some agreeable morning-dream; for a smile of such
+pleasure as could haunt only an innocent face, nickered on it like a
+sunny ripple on the still water of a pool.
+
+"No!" said Miss Tempest to herself; "there's no duplicity there!
+Otherwise, a tree is not known by its fruit!"
+
+Clare opened his eyes, and started lightly to his feet, strong and
+refreshed.
+
+"Good morning, ma'am!" he said, pulling off his cap.
+
+"Good morning--what am I to call you?" she returned.
+
+"Clare, if you please, ma'am."
+
+"What is your Christian name?"
+
+"That is my Christian name, ma'am--Clare."
+
+"Then what is your surname?"
+
+"I am called Porson, ma'am, but I have another name. Mr. Porson
+adopted me."
+
+"What is your other name?"
+
+"I don't know, ma'am. I am going to know one day, I think; but the day
+is not come yet."
+
+He told her all he could about his adoptive parents, and little Maly;
+but the time before he went to the farm was growing strangely
+dreamlike, as if it had sunk a long way down in the dark waters of the
+past--all up to the hour when Maly was carried away by the long black
+aunt.
+
+The story accounted to Miss Tempest both for his good speech and the
+name of his dog. The adopted child of a clergyman might well be
+acquainted with _Paradise Lost_, though she herself had never read
+more of it than the apostrophe to Light in the beginning of the third
+book! That she had learned at school without understanding phrase or
+sentence of it; while Clare never left passage alone until he
+understood it, or, failing that, had invented a meaning for it.
+
+"Well, then, Clare, I've been talking to my gardener about you," said
+Miss Tempest. "He will give you a job."
+
+"God bless you, ma'am! I'm ready!" cried Clare, stretching out his
+arms, as if to get them to the proper length for work. "Where shall I
+find him?"
+
+"You must have breakfast first."
+
+She led the way to the kitchen.
+
+The cook, a middle-aged woman, looked at the dog, and her face
+puckered all over with points of interrogation and exclamation.
+
+"Please, cook, will you give this young man some breakfast? He wanted
+to go to work without any, but that wouldn't do--would it, cook?" said
+her mistress.
+
+"I hope the dog won't be running in and out of my kitchen all day,
+ma'am!"
+
+"No fear of that, cook!" said Clare; "he never leaves me."
+
+"Then I don't think--I'm afraid," she began, and stopped. "--But
+that's none of my business," she added. "John will look after his
+own--and more!"
+
+Miss Tempest said nothing, but she almost trembled; for John, she
+knew, had a perfect hatred of dogs. Nor could anyone wonder, for, gate
+open or gate shut, in they came and ran over his beds. She dared not
+interfere! He and Clare must settle the question of Abdiel or no
+Abdiel between them! She left the kitchen.
+
+The cook threw the dog a crust of bread, and Abdiel, after a look at
+his master, fell upon it with his white, hungry little teeth. Then she
+proceeded to make a cup of coffee for Clare, casting an occasional
+glance of pity at his garments, so miserably worn and rent, and his
+brown bare feet.
+
+"How on the face of this blessed world, boy, do you expect to work in
+the garden without shoes?" she said at length.
+
+"Most things I can do well enough without them," answered Clare;
+"--even digging, if the ground is not very hard. My feet used to be
+soft, but now the soles of them are like leather.--They've grown their
+own shoes," he added, with a smile, and looked straight in her eyes.
+
+The smile and the look went far to win her heart, as they had won that
+of her mistress: she felt them true, and wondered how such a
+fair-spoken, sweet-faced boy could be on the tramp. She poured him out
+a huge cup of coffee, fried him a piece of bacon, and cut him as much
+bread and butter as he could dispose of. He had not often eaten
+anything but dry bread, in general very dry, since he left the
+menagerie, and now felt feasted like an emperor. Pleased with the
+master, the cook fed the dog with equal liberality; and then, curious
+to witness their reception by John, between whom and herself was
+continuous feud, she conducted Clare to the gardener. From a distance
+he saw them coming. With look irate fixed upon the dog, he started to
+meet them. Clare knew too well the meaning of that look, and saw in
+him Satan regarding Abdiel with eye of fire, and the words on his
+lips--
+
+  "And fly, ere evil intercept thy flight."
+
+The moment he came near enough, without word, or show of malice beyond
+what lay in his eye, he made, with the sharp hoe he carried, a sudden
+downstroke at the faithful angel, thinking to serve him as Gabriel
+served Moloch. But Abdiel was too quick for him: he had read danger in
+his very gait the moment he saw him move, and enmity in his eyes when
+he came nearer. He kept therefore his own eyes on the hoe, and never
+moved until the moment of attack. Then he darted aside. The weapon
+therefore came down on the hard gravel, jarring the arm of his
+treacherous enemy. With a muttered curse John followed him and made
+another attempt, which Abdiel in like manner eluded. John followed and
+followed; Abdiel fled and fled--never farther than a few yards,
+seeming almost to entice the man's pursuit, sometimes pirouetting on
+his hind legs to escape the blows which the gardener, growing more and
+more furious with failure, went on aiming at him. Fruitlessly did
+Clare assure him that neither would the dog do any harm, nor allow any
+one to hit him. It was from very weariness that at last he desisted,
+and wiping his forehead with his shirt-sleeve, turned upon Clare in
+the smothered wrath that knows itself ridiculous. For all the time the
+cook stood by, shaking with delighted laughter at his every fresh
+discomfiture.
+
+"Awa', ye deil's buckie," he cried, "an tak' the little Sawtan wi' ye!
+Dinna lat me see yer face again."
+
+"But the lady told me you would give me a job!" said Clare.
+
+"I didna tell her I wad gie yer tyke a job! I wad though, gien he wad
+lat me!"
+
+"He's given you a stiff one!" said the cook, and laughed again.
+
+The gardener took no notice of her remark.
+
+"Awa' wi' ye!" he cried again, yet more wrathfully, "--or--"
+
+He raised his hand.
+
+Clare looked in his eyes and did not budge.
+
+"For shame, John!" expostulated the cook. "Would you strike a child?"
+
+"I'm no child, cook!" said Clare. "He can't hurt me much. I've had a
+good breakfast!"
+
+"Lat 'im tak' awa' that deevil o' a tyke o' his, as I tauld him,"
+thundered the gardener, "or I'll mak' a pulp o' 'im!"
+
+"I've had such a breakfast, sir, as I'm bound to give a whole day's
+work in return for," said Clare, looking up at the angry man; "and I
+won't stir till I've done it. Stolen food on my stomach would turn me
+sick!"
+
+"Gien it did, it wadna be the first time, I reckon!" said the
+gardener.
+
+"It _would_ be the first time!" returned Clara "You are very rude.--If
+Abdiel understood Scotch, he would bite you," he added, as the dog,
+hearing his master speak angrily, came up, ears erect, and took his
+place at his side, ready for combat.
+
+"Ye'll hae to tak' some ither mode o' payin' the debt!" said John.
+"Stick spaud in yird here, ye sall not! You or I maun flit first!"
+
+With that he walked slowly away, shouldering his hoe.
+
+"Come, Abdiel," said Clare; "we must go and tell Miss Tempest! Perhaps
+she'll find something else for us to do. If she can't, she'll forgive
+us our breakfast, and we'll be off on the tramp again. I thought we
+were going to have a day's rest--I mean work; that's the rest we want!
+But this man is an enemy to the poor."
+
+The gardener half turned, as if he would speak, but changed his mind
+and went his way.
+
+"Never mind John!" said the cook, loud enough for John to hear. "He's
+an old curmudgeon as can't sleep o' nights for quarrellin' inside
+him. I'll go to mis'ess, and you go and sit down in the kitchen till I
+come to you."
+
+
+
+Chapter LIV.
+
+The Kitchen.
+
+
+Clare went into the kitchen, and sat down. The housemaid came in, and
+stood for a moment looking at him. Then she asked him what he wanted
+there.
+
+"Cook told me to wait here," he answered.
+
+"Wait for what?"
+
+"Till she came to me. She's gone to speak to Miss Tempest."
+
+"I won't have that dog here."
+
+"When I had a home," remarked Clare, "our servant said the cook was
+queen of the kitchen: I don't want to be rude, ma'am, but I must do as
+she told me."
+
+"She never told you to bring that mangy animal in here!"
+
+"She knew he would follow me, and she said nothing about him. But he's
+not mangy. He hasn't enough to eat to be mangy. He's as lean as a
+dried fish!"
+
+The housemaid, being fat, was inclined to think the remark personal;
+but Clare looked up at her with such clear, honest, simple eyes, that
+she forgot the notion, and thought what a wonderfully nice boy he
+looked.
+
+"He's shamefully poor, though! His clothes ain't even decent!" she
+remarked to herself.
+
+And certainly the white skin did look through in several places.
+
+"You won't let him put his nose in anything, will you?" she said quite
+gently, returning his smile with a very pleasant one of her own.
+
+"Abdiel is too much of a gentleman to do it," he answered.
+
+"A dog a gentleman!" rejoined the housemaid with a merry laugh,
+willing to draw him out.
+
+"Abdiel can be hungry and not greedy," answered Clare, and the young
+woman was silent.
+
+Miss Tempest and Mrs. Mereweather had all this time been turning over
+the question of what was to be done with the strange boy. They agreed
+it was too bad that anyone willing to work should be prevented from
+earning even a day's victuals by the bad temper of a gardener. But his
+mistress did not want to send the man away. She had found him
+scrupulously honest, as is many a bad-tempered man, and she did not
+like changes. The cook on her part had taken such a fancy to Clare
+that she did not want him set to garden-work; she would have him at
+once into the house, and begin training him for a page. Now Miss
+Tempest was greatly desiring the same thing, but in dread of what the
+cook would say, and was delighted, therefore, when the first
+suggestion of it came from Mrs. Mereweather herself. The only obstacle
+in the cook's eyes was that same long, spectral dog. The boy could not
+be such a fool, however,--she said, not being a lover of animals--as
+let a wretched beast like that come betwixt him and a good situation!
+
+"It's all right, Clare," said Mrs. Mereweather, entering her queendom
+so radiant within that she could not repress the outshine of her
+pleasure. "Mis'ess an' me, we've arranged it all. You're to help me in
+the kitchen; an' if you can do what you're told, an' are willin' to
+learn, we'll soon get you out of your troubles. There's but one thing
+in the way."
+
+"What is it, please?" asked Clare.
+
+"The dog, of course! You must part with the dog."
+
+"That I cannot do," returned Clare quietly, but with countenance
+fallen and sorrowful. "--Come, Abdiel!"
+
+The dog started up, every hair of him full of electric vitality.
+
+"You don't mean you're going to walk yourself off in such a beastly
+ungrateful fashion--an' all for a miserable cur!" exclaimed the cook.
+
+"The lady has been most kind to us, and we're grateful to her, and
+ready to work for her if she will let us;--ain't we, Abdiel? But
+Abdiel has done far more for me than Miss Tempest! To part with
+Abdiel, and leave him to starve, or get into bad company, would be
+sheer ingratitude. I should be a creature such as Miss Tempest ought
+to have nothing to do with: I might serve her as that young butler I
+told her of! It's just as bad to be ungrateful to a dog as to any
+other person. Besides, he wouldn't leave me. He would be always
+hanging about."
+
+"John would soon knock him on the head."
+
+"Would he, Abdiel?" said Clare.
+
+The dog looked up in his master's face with such a comical answer in
+his own, that the cook burst out laughing, and began to like Abdiel.
+
+"But you don't really mean to say," she persisted, "that you'd go off
+again on the tramp, to be as cold and hungry again to-morrow as you
+were yesterday--and all for the sake of a dog? A dog ain't a
+Christian!"
+
+"Abdiel's more of a Christian than some I know," answered Clare: "he
+does what his master tells him."
+
+"There's something in that!" said the cook.
+
+"If I parted with Abdiel, I could never hold up my head among the
+angels," insisted Clare. "Think what harm it might do him! He could
+trust nobody after, his goodness might give way! He might grow worse
+than Tommy!--No; I've got to take care of Abdiel, and Abdiel's got to
+take care of me!--'Ain't you, Abby?"
+
+"We can't have him here in the kitchen nohow!" said the cook in
+relenting tone.
+
+"Poor fellow!" said the housemaid kindly.
+
+The dog turned to her and wagged his tail
+
+"What wouldn't I give for a lover like that!" said the housemaid--but
+whether of Clare or the dog I cannot say.
+
+"I know what I shall do!" cried Clare, in sudden resolve. "I will ask
+Miss Tempest to have him up-stairs with her, and when she is tired of
+either of us, we will go away together."
+
+"A probable thing!" returned the cook. "A lady like Miss Tempest with
+a dog like that about her! She'd be eaten up alive with fleas! In ten
+minutes she would!"
+
+"No fear of that!" rejoined Clare. "Abdiel catches all his _own_
+fleas!--Don't you, Abby?"
+
+The dog instantly began to burrow in his fell of hair--an answer which
+might be taken either of two ways: it might indicate comprehension and
+corroboration of his master, or the necessity for a fresh hunt. The
+women laughed, much amused.
+
+"Look here!" said Clare. "Let me have a tub of water--warm, if you
+please--he likes that: I tried him once, passing a factory, where a
+lot of it was running to waste. Then, with the help of a bit of soap,
+I'll show you a body of hair to astonish you."
+
+"What breed is he?" asked the housemaid.
+
+"He's all the true breeds under the sun, I fancy," returned his
+master; "but the most of him seems of the sky-blue terrier sort."
+
+The more they talked with Clare, the better the women liked him. They
+got him a tub and plenty of warm water. Abdiel was nothing loath to be
+plunged in, and Clare washed him thoroughly. Taken out and dried, he
+seemed no more for a lady's chamber unmeet.
+
+"Now," said Clare, "will you please ask Miss Tempest if I may bring
+him on to the lawn, and show her some of his tricks?"
+
+The good lady was much pleased with the cleverness and instant
+obedience of the little animal. Clare proposed that she should keep
+him by her.
+
+"But will he stay with me? and will he do what _I_ tell him?" she
+asked.
+
+Clare took the dog aside, and talked to him. He told him what he was
+going to do, and what he expected of him. How much Abdiel understood,
+who can tell! but when his master laid him down at Miss Tempest's
+feet, there he lay; and when Clare went with the cook, he did not
+move, though he cast many a wistful glance after the lord of his
+heart. When his new mistress went into the house, he followed her
+submissively, his head hanging, and his tail motionless. He soon
+recovered his cheerfulness, however, and seemed to know that his
+friend had not abandoned him.
+
+
+
+Chapter LV.
+
+The wheel rests for a time.
+
+
+That part of the human race which is fond of dolls, may now imagine
+the pleasure of the cook in going to the town in the omnibus to buy
+everything for a live doll so big as Clare! In a very few days she had
+him dressed to her heart's content, and the satisfaction of her
+mistress, who would not have him in livery, but in a plain suit of
+dark blue cloth: for she loved blue, all her men-people being, or
+having been in the navy. Thus dressed, he looked as much of a
+gentleman as before: his look of refinement had owed nothing to the
+contrast of his rags. Better clothes make not a few seem commoner.
+
+When Mrs. Mereweather came back from the town the first day, she found
+that the ragged boy had got her kitchen and scullery as nice and
+clean, and everything as ready to her hand, as if she had got her work
+done before she went, which the omnibus would not permit. This
+rejoiced her much; but being a woman of experience, she continued a
+little anxious lest his sweet ways should go after his rags, lest his
+new garments should breed bumptiousness and bad manners. For such a
+change is no unfrequent result of prosperity. But such had been
+Mr. Porson's teaching and example, such Mrs. Person's management, and
+such the responsiveness of the boy's disposition, that the thought
+never came to him whether this or that was a thing fit for him to do:
+if the thing was a right thing, and had to be done, why should not he
+do it as well as another! To earn his own and Abdiel's bread, he would
+do anything honest, setting up his back at nothing. But when about a
+thing, he forgot even his obligation to do it, in the glad endeavour
+to do it well.
+
+As the days went on, Mrs. Mereweather was not once disappointed in
+him. He did everything with such a will that both she and the
+housemaid were always ready to spare and help him. Very soon they
+began to grow tender over him; and on pretence of his being the
+earlier drest to open the door, did certain things themselves which he
+had been quite content to do, but which they did not like seeing him
+do. Many--I am afraid most boys would have presumed on their
+generosity, but Clare was nowise injured by it.
+
+Nothing could be kinder than the way his mistress treated him. Having
+lent him some books, and at once perceived that he was careful of
+them, she let him have the run of her library when his day's work was
+over. For he not only read but respected books. Nothing shows
+vulgarity more than the way in which some people treat books. No
+gentleman would write his remarks on the margins of another person's
+book; no lady would brush her hair as she read one of her own.
+
+From hungry days and cold nights, Clare and Abdiel found themselves
+_in clover_--the phrase surely of some lover of cows!--and they were
+more than content. Clare had longed so much for work, and had for so
+many a weary day sought it in vain, that he valued it now just because
+it was work. And he seemed to know instinctively that a man ranks, not
+according to the thing he does, but according to the way he does
+it. In life it is far higher to do an inferior thing well than to do a
+superior thing passably.
+
+Clare made good use of his privileges, and read much, educating
+himself none the worse that he did it unconsciously. He read whatever
+came in his way. He read really--not as most people read, leaving the
+sentences behind them like so many unbroken nuts, the kernel of whose
+meaning they have not seen. He learned more than most boys at school,
+more even than most young men at college; for it is not what one
+knows, but what one uses, that is the true measure of learning.
+Whatever he read, he read from the point of practice. In history or
+romance he saw--not merely what a man ought to be or do, but what he
+himself must, at that moment, be or do. There is a very common sort of
+man calling himself practical, but neglecting to practise the most
+important things, who would laugh at the idea of Clare being
+practical, seeing he did not trouble his head about money, or "getting
+on in the world"--what servants call "bettering themselves;" but such
+a practical man will find he has been but a practical fool. Clare took
+heed to do what was right, and grow a better man. Such a life is the
+only really practical one.
+
+People wondered how Miss Tempest had managed to get hold of such a
+nice-looking page, and the good lady was flattered by their
+wonder. But she knew the world too well to be sure of him yet. She
+knew that it is difficult, in the human tree, to distinguish between
+blossom and fruit. Deeds of lovely impulse are the blossom; unvarying,
+determined Tightness is the fruit.
+
+
+
+Chapter LVI.
+
+Strategy.
+
+
+Miss Tempest was the last of an old family, with scarce a relation,
+and no near one, in the world. Hence the pieces of personal property
+that had continued in the possession of various branches of the family
+after land and money, through fault or misfortune, were gone, had
+mostly drifted into the small pool of Miss Tempest's life now slowly
+sinking in the sands of time, there to gleam and sparkle out their
+tale of its old splendour. She did not think often of their
+money-worth: had she done so, she would have kept them at her
+banker's; but she valued them greatly both for their beauty and their
+associations, constantly using as many of them as she could. More than
+one of her friends had repeatedly tried to persuade her that it was
+not prudent to have so much plate and so many jewels in the house, for
+the fact was sure to be known where it was least desirable it should:
+she always said she would think about it. At times she would for a
+moment contemplate sending her valuables to the bank; but her next
+thought--by no means an unwise one--would always be, "Of what use will
+they be at the bank? I might as well not have them at all! Better sell
+them and do some good with the money!--No; I must have them about me!"
+
+There are predatory persons in every large town, who either know or
+are learning to know the houses in it worth the risk of robbing. When
+it falls to the lot of this or that house to be attempted, one of the
+gang will make the acquaintance of some servant in it, with the object
+of discovering beforehand where its treasure lies, and so reducing the
+time to be spent in it, and the risk of frustration or capture. Often
+they seduce one of the household to let them in, or hand out the
+things they want. Any such gang, however, must soon have become
+convinced that at Miss Tempest's corruption was impossible, and that
+they could avail themselves solely of their own internal resources.
+
+It was well now for Miss Tempest that she was so faithful herself as
+to encourage faithfulness in others: gladly would she have had Abdiel
+sleep in her room, but she would not take the pleasure of his company
+from his old master and companion in suffering. The dog therefore
+slept on Clare's bed, just as he did when the bed was as hard to
+define as to lie upon, only now he had to take the part neither of
+blanket nor hot bottle.
+
+One night, about half-past twelve, watchful even in slumber, he sprang
+up in his lair at his master's feet, listened a moment, gave a low
+growl, again listened, and gave another growl. Clare woke, and found
+his bed trembling with the tremor of his little four-footed
+guardian. Telling him to keep quiet, he rose on his elbow, and in his
+turn listened, but could hear nothing. He thought then he would light
+his candle and go down, but concluded it wiser to descend without a
+light, and listen under cloak of the darkness. If he could but save
+Miss Tempest from a fright! He crept out of bed, and went first to the
+window--a small one in the narrowing of the gable-wall of his attic
+room: the night was warm, and, loving the night air, he had it
+open. Hearkening there for a moment, he thought he heard a slight
+movement below. Very softly he put out his head, and looked
+down. There was no moon, but in the momentary flash of a lantern he
+caught sight of a small pair of legs disappearing inside the scullery
+window, which was almost under his own. Swift and noiseless he hurried
+down, and reached the scullery door just in time for a little fellow
+who came stealing out of it, to run against him.
+
+Now Clare had heard the housemaid read enough from the newspapers to
+guess, the moment he looked from the garret window, that the legs he
+saw were those of a boy sent in to open a door or window, and when the
+boy, feeling his way in the dark, came against him, he gripped him by
+the throat with the squeeze that used to silence Tommy. The prowler
+knew the squeeze. The moment Clare relaxed it, in a piping whisper
+came the words,
+
+"Clare! Clare! they said they'd kill me if I didn't!"
+
+"Didn't what?"
+
+"Open the door to them."
+
+"If you utter one whimper, I'll throttle you," said Clare.
+
+He tightened his grasp for an instant, and Tommy, who had not
+forgotten that what Clare said, he did, immediately gave in, and was
+led away. Clare took him in his arms and carried him to his room, tied
+him hand and foot, and left him on the floor, fast to the bedstead.
+Then he crept swiftly to the servants' room, and with some difficulty
+waking them, told them what he had done, and asked them to help him.
+
+Both women of sense and courage, they undertook at once to do their
+part. But when he proposed that they should open a window, as if it
+were done by Tommy, and so enticing the burglars to enter, secure the
+first of them, they, naturally enough, and wisely too, declined to
+encounter the risk.
+
+The burglars, perplexed by the lack of any sign from Tommy yet the
+utter quiet of the house, concluded probably that he had fallen
+somewhere, and was lying either insensible, or unable to move and
+afraid to cry out--in which case they would be at the mercy of what he
+might say when he was found.
+
+Those within could hear as little noise without. They went from door
+to window, wherever an attempt might be made, but all was still. Then
+it occurred to Clare that he had left the scullery window
+unwatched. He hastened to it--and was but just in time: two long thin
+legs were sticking through, and showed by their movements that
+considerable effort was being made by the body that belonged to them,
+to enter after them. Legs first was the wrong way, but the youth
+feared the unknown fate of Tommy, and being pig-headed, would go that
+way or not at all.
+
+A boy in courage equal to Clare, but of less coolness, would at once
+have made war on the intrusive legs; but Clare bethought him that, so
+long as that body filled the window, no other body could pass that
+way; so it would be well to keep it there, a cork to the house, making
+it like the nest of a trap-door-spider. He begged the women,
+therefore, who had followed him, to lay hold each of an ankle, and
+stick to it like a clamp, while he ran to get some string.
+
+The women, entering heartily into the business, held on bravely. The
+owner of the legs made vigorous efforts to release them, more anxious
+a good deal to get out than he had been to get in, but he was not very
+strong, and had no scope. His accomplices laid hold of him and pulled;
+then, with good mother-wit, the women pulled away from each other, and
+so made of his legs a wedge.
+
+Clare came back with a piece of clothes-line, one end of which he
+slipped with a running knot round one ankle, and the other in like
+fashion round the other. Then he cut the line in halves, and drawing
+them over two hooks in the ceiling, some distance apart, so that the
+legs continued widespread like a V upside down, hauled the feet up as
+high as he could, and fastened the ends of the lines. Hold lines and
+hooks, it was now impossible to draw the fellow out.
+
+Leaving the women to watch, and telling them to keep a hand on each of
+the lines because the scullery was pitch-dark, he went next to his
+room and looked again from the window. He feared they might be trying
+to get in at some other place, for they would not readily abandon
+their accomplices, and doubtless knew what a small household it was!
+He would see first, therefore, what was doing outside the scullery,
+and then make a round of doors and windows!
+
+Right under him when he looked out, stood a short, burly figure;
+another man was taking intermittent hauls at the arms of their
+leg-tied companion, regardless of his stifled cries of pain when he
+did so. Clare went and fetched his water-jug, which was half full, and
+leaning out once more, with the jug upright in his two hands, moved it
+this way and that until he had it, as nearly as he could determine,
+just over the man beneath him, and then dropped it. The jug fell
+plumb, and might have killed the man but that he bent his head at the
+moment, and received it between his shoulders. It knocked the breath
+out of him, and he lay motionless. The other man fled. The
+window-stopper, hearing the crash of the jug, wrenched and kicked and
+struggled, but in vain. There he had to wait the sunrise, for not a
+moment sooner would the cook open the door.
+
+When they went out at last, the stout man too was gone. He had risen
+and staggered into the shrubbery, and there fallen, but had risen once
+more and got away.
+
+Their captive pretended to be all but dead, thinking to move their
+pity and be set free. But Clare went to the next house and got the
+man-servant there to go for the police, begging him to make haste: he
+knew that his tender-hearted mistress, if she came down before the
+police arrived, would certainly let the fellow go, and Tommy with him;
+and he was determined the law should have its way if he could compass
+it What hope was there for the wretched Tommy if he was allowed to
+escape! And what right had they to let such people loose on their
+neighbours! It was selfishness to indulge one's own pity to the danger
+of others! He would be his brother's keeper by holding on to his
+brother's enemy!
+
+Going at last to his room, he found Tommy asleep. The boy was better
+dressed, but no cleaner than when first he knew him. Clare proceeded
+to wash and dress. Tommy woke, and lay staring, but did not utter a
+sound.
+
+"Have your sleep out," said Clare. "The police won't be here, I
+daresay, for an hour yet."
+
+"I believe you!" returned Tommy, as impudent as ever. His
+contemplation of Clare had revived his old contempt for him. "I mean
+to go. I 'ain't done nothing."
+
+"Go, then," said Clare, and took no more heed of him.
+
+"If it's manners you want, Clare," resumed Tommy, "_please_ let me
+go!"
+
+Clare turned and looked at him. The evil expression was hardened on
+his countenance. He gave him no answer.
+
+"You ain't never agoin' to turn agin an old pal, aire you?" said
+Tommy.
+
+"I ain't a pal of yours, Tommy, or of any other thief's!" answered
+Clare.
+
+"I'll take my oath on it to the beak!"
+
+"You'll soon have the chance; I've sent for the police." Tommy changed
+his tone.
+
+"Please, Clare, let me go," he whined.
+
+"I will not. I did what I could for you before, and I'll do what I can
+for you now. You must go with the police."
+
+Tommy began to blubber, or pretend--Clare could not tell which.
+
+"This beastly string's a cuttin' into me!" he sobbed.
+
+Clare examined it, and found it easy enough.
+
+"I won't undo one knot," he answered, "until there's a policeman in
+the room. If you make a noise, I will stuff your mouth."
+
+His dread was that his mistress might hear, and spoil all. "It's her
+house," he said to himself, "but they're my captives!"
+
+Tommy lay still, and the police came.
+
+When they untied and drew out the cork of the scullery window, Clare
+thought he had seen him before, but could not remember where. One of
+the policemen, however, the moment his eyes fell on his face, cried
+out joyfully,
+
+"Ah, ha, my beauty! I've been a lookin' for you!"
+
+"Never set eyes on ye afore," growled the fellow.
+
+"Don't ye say now ye ain't a dear friend o' mine," insisted the
+policeman, "when I carry yer pictur' in my bosom!"
+
+He drew out a pocket-book, and from it a photograph, at which he gazed
+with satisfaction, comparing it with the face before him. In another
+moment Clare recognized the lad sent by Maidstone to exchange
+band-boxes with him.
+
+"Her majesty the queen wants you for that robbery, you know!" said the
+policeman.
+
+A boy who loved romance and generosity more than truth and
+righteousness, would now have regretted the chance he had lost of
+doing a fine action, and sought yet to set the rascal free. There are
+men who cheat and make presents; there are men who are saints abroad
+and churls at home, as Bunyan says; there are men who screw down the
+wages of their clerks and leave vast sums to the poor; men who build
+churches with the proceeds of drunkenness; men who promote bubble
+companies and have prayers in their families morning and evening; men,
+in a word, who can be very generous with what is not their own; for
+nothing ill-gotten is a man's own any more than the money in a thief's
+pocket: Clare was not of the contemptible order of the falsely
+generous.
+
+Profiting, doubtless, by Maidstone's own example, the fellow had, as
+Clare now learned, run away from his master, carrying with him the
+contents of the till: whether he deserved punishment more than his
+master, may be left undiscussed.
+
+When first Miss Tempest's friends heard of the attempt to break into
+her house, they said--what could she expect if she took tramps into
+her service! They were consider-ably astonished, however, when they
+read in the newspaper the terms in which the magistrate had spoken of
+the admirable courage and contrivance of Miss Tempest's page, and the
+resolution with which the women of her household had seconded him. If
+every third house were as well defended, he said, the crime of
+burglary would disappear.
+
+After the trial, Clare begged and was granted an interview with the
+magistrate. He told him what he knew about Tommy, and entreated he
+might be sent to some reformatory, to be kept from bad company until
+he was able to distinguish between right and wrong, which he thought
+he hardly could at present The magistrate promised it should be done,
+and with kind words dismissed him.
+
+Things returned to their old way at Miss Tempest's. Her friends never
+doubted she would now at last commit her plate to her banker's strong
+room, but they found themselves mistaken: she was convinced that, with
+such servants and Abdiel, it was safe where it was.
+
+The leader of the gang, injured by Clare's water-jug, was soon after
+captured, and the gang was broken up.
+
+
+
+Chapter LVII.
+
+Ann Shotover.
+
+
+So void of self-assertion was Clare, so prompt at the call of whoever
+needed him, so quiet yet so quick, so silent in his sympathetic
+ministrations, so studious and so capable, that, after two years, Miss
+Tempest began to feel she ought to do what she could to "advance his
+prospects," even at the loss to herself of his services.
+
+He never came to regard Miss Tempest as he did the other women who had
+saved him: he never thought of her as his fourth mother. Truly good
+and kind she was, but she had a certain manner which prevented him
+from feeling entirely comfortable with her. It did not escape him,
+however, that Abdiel was thoroughly at his ease in her company; and he
+believed therefore that the dog knew her better, or at least was more
+just to her, than he.
+
+The fact was Miss Tempest kept down all her feelings, with a vague
+sense that to show them would be to waste her substance: it was the
+one shape that the yet lingering selfishness of a very unselfish
+person took. Thus she kept him at a distance, and he stayed at a
+distance, she on her part wondering that he did not open out to her
+more, but neither doubting that all was right between them. Nothing,
+indeed, was wrong--only they might have come a little nearer. Perhaps,
+also, Miss Tempest was a little too conscious of being his patroness,
+his earthly saviour.
+
+It was natural that, after the defeated robbery, Clare should become a
+little known to the friends of the mistress he had so well served;
+when, therefore, Miss Tempest spoke to her banker concerning the
+ability of her page, mentioning that, in his spare time, he had been
+reading hard, as well as attending an evening-school for mathematics,
+where he gained much approbation from his master, she spoke of one
+already known by him to one accustomed to regard character.
+
+The banker listened with a solemn listening from which she could not
+tell what he was thinking. No one ever could tell what Mr. Shotover
+was thinking: his face was not half a face; it was more a mask than a
+face. High in the world's regard, rich, and of unquestioned integrity,
+he was believed to have gathered a large fortune; but he kept his
+affairs to himself. That he liked his own way so much as never to
+yield it, I give up to the admiration of such as himself: often
+kind--when the required mode of the kindness pleased him, a constant
+church-goer and giver of money, always saying less the more he made up
+his mind, he had generally no trouble in getting it.
+
+Priding himself on his moral discrimination, he had, now and then, as
+suited his need, taken from a lower position a young man he thought
+would serve his purpose, and modelled him to it. He had had his eye on
+Clare ever since reading the magistrate's eulogy of his contrivance
+and courage; but when Miss Tempest spoke, he had not made up his mind
+about him, for something in the boy repelled him. He had scarcely
+troubled himself to ask what it was, nor do I believe he could have
+discovered, for the root of the repulsion lay in himself.
+
+Moved in part, however, by the representations of Miss Tempest, in
+part also, I think, by a desire to discover that the boy was a
+hypocrite, Mr. Shotover consented to give him a trial, whereupon Miss
+Tempest made haste to disclose to her _protegé_ the grand thing she
+had done for him.
+
+She was disappointed at the coolness and lack of interest with which
+Clare heard her great news. She could not but be gratified that he did
+not want to leave her, but she was annoyed that he seemed unaware of
+any advantage to be gained in doing so--high as the social ascent from
+servitude to clerkship would by most be considered. But Clare's
+horizon was not that of the world. He had no inclination to more of
+figures and less of persons. Miss Tempest, however, insisting that she
+knew what was best for him, and what it was therefore his duty to do,
+he listened in respectful silence to all she had to say. But what she
+counted her most powerful argument--that he owed it to himself to rise
+in the world--did not even touch him, did not move the slightest
+response in a mind nobly devoid of ambition. Her argument was in truth
+nonsense; for a man owes himself nothing, owes God everything, and
+owes his neighbour whatever his own conscience goes on to require of
+him for his neighbour. Feeling at the same time, however, that she had
+a huge claim on his compliance with her wishes, Clare consented to
+leave her kitchen for her friend's bank, where he had of course to
+take the lowest position, one counted by the rest of the clerks,
+especially the one just out of it, _menial_, requiring him to be in
+the bank earlier by half an hour than the others, to be the last to go
+away at night, and to sleep in the house--where a not uncomfortable
+room in the attic story was appointed him.
+
+Mr. Shotover himself lived above the bank--with his family, consisting
+of his wife and two daughters. Mrs. Shotover suffered from a terrible
+disease--that of thinking herself ill when nothing was the matter with
+her except her paramount interest in herself--the source of at least
+half the incurable disease among idle people. The elder daughter was a
+high-spirited girl about twenty, with a frank, friendly manner,
+indicating what God meant her to be, not what she was, or had yet
+chosen to be. She was not really frank, and seemed far more friendly
+than she was, being more selfish than she knew, and far more selfish
+than she seemed: she was merry, and that goes a great way in
+seeming. Her mother spent no regard upon her; her heart was too full
+of herself to have in it room for a grown-up daughter as well, with
+interests of her own. The younger was a child about six, of whom the
+mother took not so much care by half as a tigress of her cub.
+
+One morning, a little before eight o'clock, as Clare was coming down
+from his room to open the windows of the bank, he just saved himself
+from tumbling over something on the attic stair, which was dark, and
+at that point took rather a sharp turn. The something was a child, who
+gave a low cry, and started up to run away: there was not light enough
+for either to discern easily what the other was like. But Clare, to
+whom childhood was the strongest attraction he yet knew, bent down his
+face from where he stood on the step above her, and its moonlight glow
+of love and faith shone clear in the eyes of the little girl. The
+moment she saw his smile, she knew the soul that was the light of the
+smile, and her doll dropped from her hands as she raised them to lay
+her arms gently about his neck.
+
+"Oh!" she said, "you're come!"
+
+He saw now, in the dusk, a pale, ordinary little face, with rather
+large gray eyes, a rather characterless, tiny, up-turned nose, and a
+rather pretty mouth.
+
+"Yes, little one. Were you expecting me?" he returned, with his arms
+about her.
+
+"Yes," she answered, in the tone of one stating what the other must
+know.
+
+"How was it I frightened you, then?"
+
+"Only at first I thought you was an ogre! That was before I saw
+you. Then I knew!"
+
+"Who told you I was coming?"
+
+"Nobody. Nobody knew you was coming but me. I've known it--oh, for
+such a time!--ever since I was born, I think!"
+
+She turned her head a little and looked down where the doll lay a step
+or two below.
+
+"You can go now, dolly," she said. "I don't want you any more." Here
+she paused a while, as if listening to a reply, then went on: "I am
+much obliged to you, dolly; but what am I to do with you? You won't
+never speak! It has made me quite sad many a time, you know very well!
+But you can't help it! So go away, please, and be nobody, for you
+never would be anybody! I did my best to get you to be somebody, but
+you wouldn't! Thank you all the same! I will take you and put you
+where you can be as dull as you please, and nobody will mind."--Here
+she left Clare, went down, and lifted her plaything.--"Dolly, dolly,"
+she resumed, "he's come! I knew he would! And you don't know it
+because you're nobody!"
+
+Without looking back, or a word of adieu to Clare, she went slowly
+down the steps, one by one, with the doll in her arms, manifesting for
+it neither contempt nor tenderness. Many a child would have carried
+the discrowned favourite by one leg; she carried her in both hands.
+
+Clare waited a while on the narrow, closed-in, wooden stair, not a
+little wondering, and full of thought. His wonder, however, had no
+puzzlement in it. The child's behaviour involved no difficulty. The
+two existences came together, and each understood the other in virtue
+of its essential nature. In after years Clare could put the thing into
+such words; he sought none at the time. The child was lonely. She had
+done her best with her doll, but it had failed her. It was not
+companionable. The moment she looked in Clare's face, she knew that he
+loved her, and that she had been waiting for _him_! She was not
+surprised to see him; how should it be otherwise than just so! He was
+come: good bye, dolly! The child had imagination--next to conscience
+the strongest ally of common sense. She knew, like St. Paul, that an
+idol is nothing. As men and women grow in imagination and common
+sense, more and more will sacred silly dolls be cast to the moles and
+the bats. But pretty Fancy and limping Logic are powerful usurpers in
+commonplace minds.
+
+Clare saw nothing more of her that day, neither tried to see her; but
+he did his work in an atmosphere of roses. The work was not nearly so
+interesting as house-work, but Clare was an honest gentleman,
+therefore did it well: that it was not interesting was of no account;
+it was his work! But to know that a child was in the house, not merely
+a child for him to love, but a child that already loved him so that he
+could be her servant indeed, changed the stupid bank almost into the
+dome of the angels.
+
+His fellow clerks took little notice of him beyond what, in the
+routine of the day, was unavoidable. He had been a page-boy: the less
+they did with him the better! Were they not wronged by his
+introduction into their company? The poorest creature of them believed
+he would have served out the burglars better if the chance had been
+his.
+
+
+
+Chapter LVIII.
+
+Child-talk.
+
+
+As Clare came down the next morning but one, there was the child again
+on the dark narrow stair. She had no doll. Her hands lay folded in her
+lap. She sat on the same step, the very image of child-patience. As he
+approached she did not move. I believe she held solemn revel of
+expectation. He laid his hand on the whitey-brown hair smoothed flat
+on her head with a brush dipped in water. Not much dressing was wasted
+on Ann--common little name!
+
+She rose, turned to him, and again laid her arms about his neck. No
+kiss followed: she had not been taught to kiss.
+
+"Where's dolly?" asked Clare.
+
+"Nowhere. Buried," answered the child.
+
+"Where did you bury her? In the garden?"
+
+"No. The garden wouldn't be nowhere!"
+
+"Where, then?"
+
+"Nowhere. I threw her out of the window."
+
+"Into the street?"
+
+"Yes. She did fell on a horse's back, and he jumped. I was sorry."
+
+"It didn't hurt him. I hope it didn't hurt dolly!"
+
+The moment he said it, Clare's heart reproached him: he was not
+talking true! he was not talking out of his real heart to the child!
+Almost with indignation she answered:--
+
+"_Things_ don't be hurt! Dolly was a thing! She's _no_ thing now!"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because she fell under the horse, and was seen no more."
+
+"Is she old enough," thought Clare, "to read the Pilgrim's Progress?"
+
+"Will you tell me, please," he said, "_when_ a thing is only a thing?"
+
+"When it won't mind what you do or say to it."
+
+"And when is a thing no thing any more?"
+
+"When you never think of it again."
+
+"Is a fly a thing?"
+
+"I _could_ make a fly mind, only it would hurt it!"
+
+"Of course we wouldn't do that!"
+
+"No; we don't want to make a fly mind. It's not one of our creatures."
+
+Clare thought that was far enough in metaphysics for one morning.
+
+"I waited for you yesterday," he said, "but you didn't come!"
+
+"Dolly didn't like to be buried. I mean, I didn't like burying
+dolly. I cried and wouldn't come."
+
+"Then why did you bury dolly?"
+
+"She _had_ to be buried. I told you she couldn't _be_ anybody! So I
+_made_ her be buried."
+
+"I see! I quite understand.--But what have you to amuse yourself with
+now?"
+
+"I don't want to be mused now. You's come! I'm growed up!"
+
+"Yes, of course!" answered Clare; but he was puzzled what to say next.
+
+What could he do for her? Glad would he have been to take her down to
+the sea, or to the docks, or into the country somewhere, till
+dinner-time, and then after dinner take her out again! But there was
+his work--ugly, stupid work that had to be done, as dolly _had_ to be
+buried! Alas for the child who has discarded her toys, and is suddenly
+growed up! What is she to do with herself? Clare's coming had caused
+the loss of Ann's former interests: he felt bound to make up to her
+for that loss. But how? It was a serious question, and not being his
+own master, he could not in a moment answer it.
+
+"I wish I could stay with you all day!" he said. "But your papa wants
+me in the bank. I must go."
+
+Clare had not had a good sight of the child, and was at a loss to
+think what must be her age. Her language, both in form and utterance,
+was partly precise and _grown-up_, and partly childish; but her wisdom
+was child-like--and that is the opposite both of precise and
+childish. It was the wisdom that comes of unity between thought and
+action.
+
+"Is there anything I can do for you before I go--for I must go?" said
+Clare.
+
+"Who says _must_ to you? Nurse says _must_ to me."
+
+"Your papa says _must_ to me."
+
+"If you didn't say _yes_ when papa said _must_, what would come next?"
+
+"He would say, 'Go out of my house, and never come in again.'"
+
+"And would you do it?"
+
+"I must: the house is his, not mine."
+
+"If I didn't say _yes_ when papa said _must_, what would happen?"
+
+"He would try to make you say it."
+
+"And if I wouldn't, would he say, 'Go out of my house and never come
+in again'?"
+
+"No; you are his little girl!"
+
+"Then I think he shouldn't say it to you.--What is your name?"
+
+"Clare."
+
+"Then, Clare, if my papa sends you out of his house, I will go with
+you.--You wouldn't turn me out, would you, when I was a _little_
+naughty?"
+
+"No; neither would your papa."
+
+"If he turned you out, it would be all the same. Where you go, I will
+go. I must, you know! Would you mind if he said 'Go away'?"
+
+"I should be very sorry to leave you."
+
+"Yes, but that's not going to be! Why do you stay with papa? Were you
+in the house always--ever so long before I saw you?"
+
+"No; a very little while only."
+
+"Did you come in from the street?"
+
+"Yes; I came in from the street. Your papa pays me to work for him."
+
+"And if you wouldn't?"
+
+"Then I should have no money, and nothing to eat, and nowhere to sleep
+at night."
+
+"Would that make you uncomfable?"
+
+"It would make me die."
+
+"Have you a papa?"
+
+"Yes, but he's far away."
+
+"You could go to him, couldn't you?"
+
+"One day I shall."
+
+"Why don't you go now, and take me?"
+
+"Because he died."
+
+"What's _died_?"
+
+"Went away out of sight, where we can't go to look for him till we go
+out of sight too."
+
+"When will that be?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Does anybody know?"
+
+"Nobody."
+
+"Then perhaps you will never go?"
+
+"We must go; it's only that nobody knows when."
+
+"I think the when that nobody knows, mayn't never come.--Is that why
+you have to work?"
+
+"Everybody has to work one way or another."
+
+"I haven't to work!"
+
+"If you don't work when you're old enough, you'll be miserable."
+
+"_You're_ not old enough."
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed I am! I've been working a long time now."
+
+"Where? Not for papa?"
+
+"No; not for papa."
+
+"Why not? Why didn't you come sooner? Why didn't you come _much_
+sooner--_ever_ so much sooner? Why did you make me wait for you all
+the time?"
+
+"Nobody ever told me you were waiting."
+
+"Nobody ever told me you were coming, but I knew."
+
+"You had to wait for me, and you knew. I had to wait for you, and I
+didn't know! When we have time, I will tell you all about myself, and
+how I've been waiting too."
+
+"Waiting for me?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Who for?"
+
+"For my father and mother--and somebody else, I think."
+
+"That's me."
+
+"No; I'm waiting yet. I didn't know I was coming to you till I came,
+and there you were!"
+
+The child was silent for a moment. Then she said thoughtfully,
+
+"You will tell me _all_ about yourself! That _will_ be nice!--Can you
+tell stories?" she added. "--Of course you can! You can do
+_every_thing!"
+
+"Oh, no, I can't!"
+
+"Can't you?"
+
+"No; I can do _some_ things--not many. I can love you, little
+one!--Now I must go, or I shall be late, and nobody ever ought to be
+late."
+
+"Go then. I will go to my nursery and wait again."
+
+She went down the stair without once looking behind her. Clare
+followed. On the next floor she went one way to her nursery, and he
+another to the back-stairs.
+
+One of the causes and signs of Clare's manliness was, that he never
+aimed at being a man. Many men continue childish because they are
+always trying to act like men, instead of simply trying to do
+right. Such never develop true manliness, Clare's manhood stole upon
+him unawares. That which at once made him a man and kept him a child,
+was, that he had no regard for anything but what was real, that is,
+true.
+
+All the day the thought kept coming, what could he do for the little
+girl Perhaps what stirred his feeling for her most, was a suspicion
+that she was neglected. But the careless treatment of a nurse was
+better for her than would have been the capricious blandishments and
+neglects of a mother like Mrs. Shotover. Clare, however, knew nothing
+yet about Ann's mother. He knew only, by the solemnly still ways of
+the child, that she must be much left to her own resources, and was
+wonderfully developed in consequence--whether healthily or not, he
+could not yet tell. The practical question was--how to contrive to be
+her occasional companion; how to offer to serve her.
+
+After much thinking, he concluded that he must wait: opportunity might
+suggest mode; and he would rather find than make opportunity!
+
+
+
+Chapter LIX.
+
+Lovers' walks.
+
+
+He had not long to wait. That very afternoon, going a message for the
+head-clerk, he met Ann walking with a young lady--who must be Miss
+Shotover. Neither sister seemed happy with the other. Ann was very
+white, and so tired that she could but drag her little feet after
+her. Miss Shotover, flushed with exertion, and annoyed with her part
+of nursemaid, held her tight and hauled her along by the hand. She
+looked good-natured, but not one of the ministering sort. Every now
+and then she would give the little arm a pull, and say, though not
+_very_ crossly, "Do come along!" The child did not cry, but it was
+plain she suffered. It was plain also she was doing her best to get
+home, and avoid rousing her sister's tug.
+
+Keen-sighted, Clare had recognized Ann at some distance, and as he
+approached had a better opportunity than on the dark stair of seeing
+what his little friend was like. He saw that her eyes were unusually
+clear, and, paces away, could distinguish the blue veins on her
+forehead: she looked even more delicate than he had thought her. The
+lines of her mouth were straightened out with the painful effort she
+had to make to keep up with her sister. Her nose continued
+insignificant, waiting to learn what was expected of it.
+
+For Miss Shotover, there was not a good feature in her face, and even
+to a casual glance it might have suggested a measure of meanness. But
+a bright complexion, and the youthful charm which vanishes with youth,
+are pleasant in their season. Her figure was lithe, and in general she
+had a look of fun; but at the moment heat and impatience clouded her
+countenance.
+
+Clare stopped and lifted his hat. Then first the dazed child saw him,
+for she was short-sighted, and her observation was dulled by
+weariness. She said not a word, uttered no sound, only drew her hand
+from her sister's, and held up her arms to her friend--in dumb prayer
+to be lifted above the thorns of life, and borne along without pain.
+He caught her up.
+
+"I beg your pardon, ma'am," he said, "but the little one and I have
+met before:--I live in the house, having the honour to be the youngest
+of your father's clerks. If you will allow me, I will carry the
+child. She looks tired!"
+
+Miss Shotover was glad enough to be relieved of her clog, and gave
+smiling consent.
+
+"If you would be so kind as to carry her home," she said, "I should be
+able to do a little shopping!"
+
+"You will not mind my taking her a little farther first, ma'am? I am
+on a message for Mr. Woolrige. I will carry her all the way, and be
+very careful of her."
+
+Miss Shotover was not one to cherish anxiety. She already knew Clare
+both by report and by sight, and willingly yielded. Saying, with one
+of her pleasant smiles, that she would hold him accountable for her,
+she sailed away, like a sloop that had been dragging her anchor, but
+had now cut her cable. Clare thought what a sweet-looking girl she
+was--and in truth she was sweet-_looking_. Then, all his heart turned
+to the little one in his arms.
+
+What a walk was that for both of them! Little Ann seemed never to have
+lived before: she was actually happy! She had been long waiting for
+Clare, and he was come--and such as she had expected him! It was bliss
+to glide thus along the busy street without the least exertion,
+looking down on the heads of the people, safe above danger and fear
+amid swift-moving things and the crowding confusions of life! To be in
+Clare's arms was better than being in the little house on the
+elephant's back in her best picture-book! True, little one! To be in
+the arms of love, be they ever so weak, is better than to ride the
+grandest horse in all the stables of God--and God would have you know
+it! Never mind your pale little face and your puny nose! While your
+heart is ready to die for love-sake, you are blessed among women!
+Only remember that to die of disappointment is not to die either of or
+for love!
+
+And to Clare, after all those days upon days during which only a dog
+would come to his arms, what a glory of life it was to have a human
+child in them, the little heart of the pale face beating against his
+side! He was not going to forget Abdiel. Abdiel was not a fact to be
+forgotten. Abdiel was not a doll, Abdiel was not a thing that would
+not come alive. Abdiel was a true heart, a live soul, and Clare would
+love him for ever!--not an atom the less that now he had one out upon
+whom a larger love was able to flow! All true love makes abler to
+love. It is only false love, the love of those who take their own
+meanest selfishness, their own pleasure in being loved, for love, that
+shrinks and narrows the soul.
+
+To the pale-faced, listening child, Clare talked much about the
+wonderful Abdiel, and about the kind good Miss Tempest who was keeping
+him to live again at length with his old master; and Ann loved the dog
+she had never seen, because the dog loved the Clare who was come at
+last.
+
+When they returned, Clare rang the house-bell, and gave up his charge
+to the man who opened the door. Without word or tone, gesture or look
+of objection, or even of disinclination, the child submitted to be
+taken from Clare's loving embrace, and carried to a nurse who was
+neither glad nor sorry to see her.
+
+He had been so long gone that Mr. Woolrige found fault with him for
+it. Clare told him he had met Miss Shotover with her sister, and the
+child seemed so tired he had asked leave to carry her with him,
+Mr. Woolrige was not pleased, but he said nothing; on the spot the
+clerks nicknamed him _Nursie_; and Clare did his best to justify the
+appellation-he never lost a chance of acting up to it, and always
+answered when they summoned him by it.
+
+Before the week was ended, he sought an interview with Miss Shotover,
+and asked her whether he might not take little Ann out for a walk
+whenever the evening was fine. For at five o'clock the doors of the
+bank were shut, and in half an hour after he was free. Miss Shotover
+said she saw no objection, and would tell the nurse to have her ready
+as often as the weather was fit; whereupon Clare left her with a
+gratitude far beyond any degree of that emotion by her conceivable.
+The nurse, on her part, was willing to gratify Clare, and not sorry to
+be rid of the child, who was not one, indeed, to interest any ordinary
+woman.
+
+The summer came and was peculiarly fine, and almost every evening
+Clare might be seen taking his pleasure--neither like bank-clerk nor
+like nurse-maid, for always he had little Ann in his arms, or was
+leading her along with care and entire attention: he never let her
+walk except on entreaty, and not always then. To his fellow clerks
+this proof of an utter lack of dignity seemed consistent with his
+origin--of which they knew nothing; they knew only his late
+position. To themselves they were fine gentlemen with cigars in their
+mouths, and he was a lackey to the bone! To himself Clare was the
+lover of a child; and about them he did not think. Theirs was the life
+of a town; Clare's was a life of the universe.
+
+The pair came speedily to understand and communicate like twin brother
+and sister. Clare, as he carried her, always knew when Ann wanted a
+change of position; Ann always knew when Clare began to grow
+weary--knew before Clare himself--and would insist on walking.
+Neither could remember how it came, but it grew a custom that, when
+they walked hand in hand, Clare told her stories of his life and
+adventures; when he carried her, he told her fairy-tales, which he
+could spin like a spider: she preferred the former.
+
+So neither bank nor nursery was any longer dreary.
+
+At length came the gray, brooding winter, causing red fingers and
+aches and chilblains. But it was not unfriendly to little Ann. True,
+she was not permitted to go out in the evening any more, but Clare,
+with the help of the cook, devoted to her his dinner-hour instead. It
+was no hardship to eat from a basket in place of a table, to one who
+never troubled himself as to the kind, quality, or quantity of his
+food itself. He had learned, like a good soldier, to endure
+hardness. I have heard him say that never did he enjoy a dinner more
+than when, in those homeless days of his boyhood, he tore the flakes
+off a loaf fresh from the baker's oven, and ate them as he walked
+along the street. The old highlanders of Scotland were trained to
+think it the part of a gentleman not to mind what he ate--sign of
+scant civilization, no doubt, in the eyes of some who now occupy but
+do not fill their place--as time will show, when the call is for men
+to fight, not to eat.
+
+
+
+Chapter LX.
+
+The shoe-black.
+
+
+The head-clerk, while he had not a word against him, as he confessed
+to Mr. Shotover, yet thought Clare would never make a man of
+business. When pressed to say on what he grounded the opinion, he
+could only answer that the lad did not seem to have his heart in it.
+But if, to be a man of business, it is not enough to do one's duty
+scrupulously, but the very heart must be in it, then is there
+something wrong with business. The heart fares as its treasure: who
+would be content his heart should fare as not a few sorts of treasure
+must? Mr. Woolrige passed no such judgment, however, upon certain
+older young men in the bank, whose hearts certainly were not in the
+business, but even worse posited.
+
+One cold, miserable day, at once damp and frosty, on which it was
+quite unfit to take Ann out, Clare, having eaten a hasty dinner, and
+followed it with a walk, was returning through the town in good time
+for the recommencement of business, when he came upon a little boy, at
+the corner of a street, blowing his fingers, and stumping up and down
+the pavement to keep his blood moving while he waited for a job: his
+brushes lay on the top of his blacking-box on the curbstone. Clare saw
+that he was both hungry and cold--states of sensation with which he
+was far too familiar to look on the signs of them with indifference.
+To give him something to do, and so something to eat, he went to his
+block and put his foot on it. The boy bustled up, snatched at his
+brushes, and began operations. But, whether from the coldness or
+incapacity of his hands, Clare soon saw that his boots would not be
+polished that afternoon.
+
+"You don't seem quite up to your business, my boy!" he said. "What's
+the matter?"
+
+The boy made no answer, but went on with his vain attempt. A moment
+more, and Clare saw a tear fall on the boot he was at work upon.
+
+"This won't do!" said Clare. "Let me look at _your_ boots."
+
+The boy stood up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
+
+"Ah!" said Clare, "I don't wonder you can't polish my boots, when you
+don't care to polish your own!"
+
+"Please, sir," answered the boy, "it's Jim as does it! He's down wi'
+the measles, an' I ain't up to it."
+
+"Look here, then! I'll give you a lesson," said Clare. "Many's the
+boot I've blacked. Up with your foot! I'll soon show you how the
+thing's done!"
+
+"Please, sir," objected the boy, "there ain't enough boot left to take
+a polish!"
+
+"We'll see about that!" returned Clare. "Put it up. I've worn worse in
+my time."
+
+The boy obeyed. The boot was very bad, but there was enough leather to
+carry some blacking, and the skin took the rest.
+
+Clare was working away, growing pleasantly hot with the quick, sharp
+motion, while two of his fellow clerks were strolling up on the other
+side of the corner, who had been having more with their lunch than was
+good for them. Swinging round, they came upon a well dressed youth
+brushing a ragged boy's boots. It was an odd sight, and one of them,
+whose name was Marway, thought to get some fun out of the phenomenon.
+
+"Here!" he cried, "I want my boots brushed."
+
+Clare rose to his feet, saying,
+
+"Brush the gentleman's boots. I will finish yours after, and then you
+shall finish mine."
+
+"Hullo, Nursie! it's you turned boot-black, is it?--Nice thing for the
+office, Jack!" remarked Marway, who was the finest gentleman, and the
+lowest blackguard among the clerks.
+
+He put his foot on the block. The boy began his task, but did no
+better with his boots than he had done with Clare's.
+
+"Soul of an ass!" cried Marway, "are you going to keep my foot there
+till it freezes to the block? Why don't you do as Nursie tells you?
+_He_ knows how to brush a boot! _You_ ain't worth your salt! You ain't
+fit to black a donkey's hoofs!"
+
+"Give me the brushes, my boy," said Clare.
+
+The boy rose abashed, and obeyed. After a few of Clare's light rapid
+strokes, the boots looked very different.
+
+"Bravo, Nursie!" cried Marway. "There ain't a flunkey of you all could
+do it better!"
+
+Clare said nothing, finished the job, and stood up. Marway, turning on
+the other heel as he set his foot down, said, "Thank you, Nursie!"
+and was walking off.
+
+"Please, Mr. Marway, give the boy his penny," said Clare.
+
+But Marway wanted to _take a rise out of_ Clare.
+
+"The fool did nothing for me!" he answered. "He made my boot worse
+than it was."
+
+"It was I did nothing for you, Mr. Marway," rejoined Clare. "What I
+did, I did for the boy."
+
+"Then let the boy pay you!" said Marway.
+
+The shoe-black went into a sudden rage, caught up one of his brushes,
+and flung it at Marway as he turned. It struck him on the side of the
+head. Marway swore, stalked up to Clare and knocked him down, then
+strode away with a grin.
+
+The shoe-black sent his second brush whizzing past his ear, but he
+took no notice. Clare got up, little the worse, only bruised.
+
+"See what comes of doing things in a passion!" he said, as the boy
+came back with the brushes he had hastened to secure. "Here's your
+penny! Put up your foot."
+
+The boy did as he was told, but kept foaming out rage at the bloke
+that had refused him his penny, and knocked down his friend. It did
+not occur to him that he was himself the cause of the outrage, and
+that his friend had suffered for him. Clare's head ached a good deal,
+but he polished the boy's boots. Then he made him try again on his
+boots, when, warmed by his rage, he did a little better. Clare gave
+him another penny, and went to the bank.
+
+Marway was not there, nor did he show himself for a day or two. Clare
+said nothing about what had taken place, neither did the others.
+
+
+
+Chapter LXI.
+
+A walk with consequences.
+
+
+Clare had been in the bank more than a year, and not yet had
+Mr. Shotover discovered why he did not quite trust him. Had Clare
+known he did not, he would have wondered that he trusted him with such
+a precious thing as his little Ann. But was his child very precious to
+Mr. Shotover? When a man's heart is in his business, that is, when he
+is set on making money, some precious things are not so precious to
+him as they might be--among the rest, the living God and the man's own
+life. He would pass Clare and the child without even a nod to indicate
+approval, or a smile for the small woman. He had, I presume,
+sufficient regard for the inoffensive little thing to be content she
+should be happy, therefore did not interfere with what his clerks
+counted so little to the honour of the bank. But although, as I have
+said, he still doubted Clare, true eyes in whatever head must have
+perceived that the child was in charge of an angel. The countenance of
+Clare with Ann in his arms, was so peaceful, so radiant of simple
+satisfaction, that surely there were some in that large town who,
+seeing them, thought of the angels that do alway behold the face of
+the Father in heaven.
+
+One evening in the early summer, when they had resumed their walks
+after five o'clock, they saw, in a waste place, where houses had been
+going to be built for the last two years, a number of caravans drawn
+up in order.
+
+A rush of hope filled the heart of Clare: what if it should be the
+menagerie he knew so well! And, sure enough, there was Mr. Halliwell
+superintending operations! But if Glum Gunn were about, he might find
+it awkward with the child in his arms! Gunn might not respect even
+her! Besides he ought to ask leave to take her! He would carry her
+home first, and come again to see his third mother and all his old
+friends, with Pummy and the lion and the rest of the creatures.
+
+Little Ann was eager to know what those curious houses on wheels
+were. Clare told her they were like her Noah's ark, full of beasts,
+only real, live beasts, not beasts made of bits of stick. She became
+at once eager to see them--the more eager that her contempt of things
+like life that wouldn't come alive had been growing stronger ever
+since she threw her doll out of the window. Clare told her he could
+not take her without first asking leave. This puzzled her: Clare was
+her highest authority.
+
+"But if _you_ take me?" she said.
+
+"Your papa and mamma might not like me to take you."
+
+"But I'm yours!"
+
+"Yes, you're mine--but not so much," he added with a sigh, "as
+theirs!"
+
+"Ain't I?" she rejoined, in a tone of protesting astonishment mingled
+with grief, and began to wriggle, wanting to get down.
+
+Clare set her down, and would have held her, as usual, by the hand,
+but she would not let him. She stood with her eyes on the ground, and
+her little gray face looking like stone. It frightened Clare, and he
+remained a moment silent, reviewing the situation.
+
+"You see, little one," he said at length, "you were theirs before I
+came! You were sent to them. You are their own little girl, and we
+must mind what they would like!"
+
+"It was only till you came!" she argued. "They don't care _very_ much
+for me. Ask them, please, to sell me to you. I don't think they would
+want much money for me! How many shillings do you think I am worth,
+Clare? Not many, I hope!--Six?"
+
+"You are worth more than all the money in your papa's bank," answered
+Clare, looking down at her lovingly.
+
+The child's face fell.
+
+"Am I?" she said. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know I was worth so
+much!--and not yours!" she added, with a sigh that seemed to come from
+the very heart of her being. "Then you're not able to buy me?"
+
+"No, indeed, little one!" answered Clare. "Besides, papas don't sell
+their little girls!"
+
+"Oh, yes, they do! Gus said so to Trudie!" Clare knew that _Trudie_
+meant her sister Gertrude.
+
+"Who is Gus?" he asked.
+
+"Trudie calls him Gus. I don't know more name to him. Perhaps they
+call him something else in the bank."
+
+"Oh! he's in the bank, is he?" returned Clare. "Then I think I know
+him."
+
+"He said it to her one night in my nursery. Jane went down; I was in
+my crib. They talked such a long time! I tried to go to sleep, but I
+couldn't. I heard all what he said to her. It wasn't half so nice as
+what you talk to me!"
+
+This was not pleasant news to Clare. Augustus Marway was, if half the
+tales of him were true, no fit person for his master's daughter to be
+intimate with! He had once heard Mr. Shotover speak about gambling in
+such terms of disapprobation as he had never heard him use about
+anything else; and it was well known in the bank that Marway was in
+the company of gamblers almost every night. He was so troubled, that
+at first he wished the child had not told him. For what was he to do?
+Could it be right to let the thing go on? Clare felt sure Mr. Shotover
+either did not know that Marway gambled, or did not know that he
+talked in the nursery with his daughter. But, alas, he could do
+nothing without telling, and they all said none but the lowest of cads
+would carry tales! For the young men thought it the part of gentlemen
+_to stick by each other_, and hide from Mr. Shotover some things he
+had a right to know. But Clare saw that, whatever they might think, he
+must act in the matter. Little Ann wondered that he scarcely spoke to
+her all the way home. But she did not say anything, for she too was
+troubled: she did not belong to Clare so much as she had thought she
+did!
+
+Clare reflected also as he went, how much he owed Ann's sister for
+letting him have the little one. She had always spoken to him kindly
+too, and never seemed, like the clerks, to look down upon him because
+he had been a page-boy--though, he thought, if they were to be as
+often hungry as he had been, they would be glad to be page-boys
+themselves! For himself, he liked to be a page-boy! He would do
+anything for Miss Tempest! And he must do what he could for Miss
+Shotover! It would be wicked to let her marry a man that was wicked!
+He had himself seen him drunk! Would it be fair, knowing she did not
+know, not to tell? Would it not be helping to hurt her? Was he to be a
+coward and fear being called bad names? Was he, for the sake of the
+good opinion of rascals, to take care of the rascal, and let the lady
+take care of herself? There was this difficulty, however, that he
+could assert nothing beyond having seen him drunk!
+
+He carried Ann to the nursery, and set out for the menagerie. When he
+knocked at the door of the house-caravan, Mrs. Halliwell opened it,
+stared hardly an instant, threw her arms round his neck, and kissed
+him.
+
+"Come in, come in, my boy!" she said. "It makes me a happy woman to
+see you again. I've been just miserable over what might have befallen
+you, and me with all that money of yours! I've got it by me safe,
+ready for you! I lie awake nights and fancy Gunn has got hold of you,
+and made away with you; then fall asleep and am sure of it. He's been
+gone several times, a looking for you, I know! I think he's afraid of
+you; I know he hates you. Mind you keep out of his sight; he'll do you
+a mischief if he has the chance. He's the same as ever, a man to make
+life miserable."
+
+"I've never done him wrong," said Clare, "and I'm not going to keep
+out of his way as if I were afraid of him! I mean to come and see the
+animals to-morrow."
+
+A great deal more passed between them. They had their tea
+together. Mr. Halliwell, who did not care for tea, came and went
+several times, and now the night was dark. Then they spoke again of
+Gunn.
+
+"Well, I don't think he'll venture to interfere with you," said
+Mrs. Halliwell, "except he happens to be drunk.--But what's that
+talking? _We_'re all quiet for the night. Listen."
+
+For some time Clare had been conscious of the whispered sounds of a
+dialogue somewhere near, but had paid no attention. The voices were
+now plainer than at first When his mother told him to listen, he did,
+and thought he had heard one of them before. It was peculiar--that of
+an old Jew whom he had seen several times at the bank. As the talking
+went on, he began to think he knew the other voice also. It was that
+of Augustus Marway. The two fancied themselves against a caravan full
+of wild beasts.
+
+Marway was the son of the port-admiral, who, late in life, married a
+silly woman. She died young, but not before she had ruined her son,
+whose choice company was the least respectable of the officers who
+came ashore from the king's ships.
+
+He had of late been playing deeper and having worse luck; and had
+borrowed until no one would lend him a single sovereign more. His
+father knew, in a vague way, how he was going on, and had nearly lost
+hope of his reformation. Having yet large remains of a fine physical
+constitution, he seldom failed to appear at the bank in the
+morning--if not quite in time, yet within the margin of lateness that
+escaped rebuke. Mr. Shotover was a connection by marriage, which gave
+Marway the privilege of being regarded by Miss Shotover as a cousin--a
+privilege with desirable possibilities contingent, making him anxious
+to retain the good opinion of his employer.
+
+Clare heard but a portion here and there of the conversation going on
+outside the wooden wall; but it was plain nevertheless that Marway was
+pressing a creditor to leave him alone until he was married, when he
+would pay every shilling he owed him.
+
+The young fellow had a persuasive tongue, and boasted he could get the
+better of even a Jew. Clare heard the money-lender grant him a renewal
+for three months, when, if Marway did not pay, or were not the
+accepted suitor of the lady whose fortune was to redeem him, his
+creditor would take his course.
+
+The moment he perceived they were about to part, Clare hastened from
+the caravan, and went along the edge of the waste ground, so as to
+meet Marway on his road back to the town: at the corner of it they
+came jump together. Marway started when Clare addressed him. Seeing,
+then, who claimed his attention, he drew himself up.
+
+"Well?" he said.
+
+"Mr. Marway," began Clare, "I heard a great deal of what passed
+between you and old Lewin."
+
+Marway used worse than vulgar language at times, and he did so now,
+ending with the words,
+
+"A spy! a sneaking spy! Would you like to lick my boot? By Jove, you
+shall know the taste of it!"
+
+"Nobody minds being overheard who hasn't something to conceal! If I
+had low secrets I would not stand up against the side of a caravan
+when I wanted to talk about them. I was inside. Not to hear you I
+should have had to stop my ears."
+
+"Why didn't you, then, you low-bred flunkey?"
+
+"Because I had heard of you what made it my duty to listen."
+
+Marway cursed his insolence, and asked what he was doing in such a
+place. He would report him, he said.
+
+"What I was doing is my business," answered Clare. "Had I known you
+for an honest man I would not have listened to yours. I should have
+had no right."
+
+"You tell me to my face I'm a swindler!" said Marway between his
+teeth, letting out a blow at Clare, which he cleverly dodged.
+
+"I do!"
+
+"I don't know what you mean, but bitterly shall you repent your
+insolence, you prying rascal! This is your sweet revenge for a blow
+you had not the courage to return!--to dog me and get hold of my
+affairs! You cur! You're going to turn informer next, of course, and
+bear false witness against your neighbour! You shall repent it, I
+swear!"
+
+"Will it be bearing false witness to say that Miss Shotover does not
+know the sort of man who wants to marry her? Does she know why he
+wants to marry her? Does her father know that you are in the clutches
+of a money-lender?"
+
+Marway caught hold of Clare and threatened to kill him. Clare did not
+flinch, and he calmed down a little.
+
+"What do you want to square it?" he growled.
+
+"I don't understand you," returned Clare.
+
+"What's the size of your tongue-plaster?"
+
+"I don't know much slang."
+
+"What bribe will silence you then? I hope that is plain enough--even
+for _your_ comprehension!"
+
+"If I had meant to hold my tongue, I should have held it."
+
+"What do you want, then?"
+
+"To keep you from marrying Miss Shotover."
+
+"By Jove! And suppose I kick you into the gutter, and tell you to mind
+your own business--what then?"
+
+"I will tell either your father or Mr. Shotover all about it."
+
+"Even you can't be such a fool! What good would it do you? You're not
+after her yourself, are you?--Ha! ha!--that's it! I didn't nose
+that!--But come, hang it!  where's the _use_?--I'll give you four
+flimsies--there! Twenty pounds, you idiot! There!"
+
+"Mr. Marway, nothing will make me hold my tongue--not even your
+promise to drop the thing."
+
+"Then what made you come and cheek me? Impudence?"
+
+"Not at all! I should have been glad enough not to have to do it! I
+came to you for my own sake."
+
+"That of course!"
+
+"I came because I would do nothing underhand!"
+
+"What are you going to do next, then?"
+
+"I am going to tell Mr. Shotover, or Admiral Marway--I haven't yet
+made up my mind which."
+
+"What are you going to tell them?"
+
+"That old Lewin has given you three months to get engaged to Miss
+Shotover, or take the consequences of not being able to pay what you
+owe him."
+
+"And you don't count it underhand to carry such a tale?"
+
+"I do not. It would have been if I hadn't told you first. I would tell
+Miss Shotover, only, if she be anything of a girl, she wouldn't
+believe me."
+
+"I should think not! Come, come, be reasonable! I always thought you a
+good sort of fellow, though I _was_ rough on you, I confess. There!
+take the money, and leave me my chance."
+
+"No. I will save the lady if I can. She shall at least know the sort
+of man you are."
+
+"Then it's war to the knife, is it?"
+
+"I mean to tell the truth about you."
+
+"Then do your worst. You shall black my boots again."
+
+"If I do, I shall have the penny first."
+
+"You cringing flunkey!"
+
+"I haven't cringed to you, Mr. Marway!"
+
+Marway tried to kick him, failed, and strode into the dark between him
+and the lamps of the town.
+
+
+
+Chapter LXII.
+
+The cage of the puma.
+
+
+Marway was a fine, handsome fellow, whose manners, where he saw
+reason, soon won him favour, and two of the young men in the office
+were his ready slaves. Every moment of the next day Clare was
+watched. Marway had laid his plans, and would forestall
+frustration. Clare could hardly do anything before the dinner-hour,
+but Marway would make assurance double sure.
+
+At anchor in the roads lay a certain frigate, whose duty it was to
+sail round the islands, like a duck about her floating brood. Among
+the young officers on board were two with whom Marway was intimate. He
+had met them the night before, and they had together laid a plot for
+nullifying Clare's interference with Marway's scheme--which his
+friends also had reason to wish successful, for Marway owed them both
+money. Clare had come in the way of all three.
+
+Now little Ann was a guardian cherub to the object of their enmity,
+and he and she must first of all be separated. Clare had asked leave
+of Miss Shotover to take the child to Noah's ark, as she called it,
+that evening, and Marway had learned it from her: Clare's going would
+favour their plan, but the child's presence would render it
+impracticable.
+
+One thing in their favour was, that Mr. Shotover was from home. If
+Clare had resolved on telling him rather than the admiral, he could
+not until the next evening, and that would give them abundant time. On
+the other hand, having him watched, they could easily prevent him from
+finding the admiral. But Clare had indeed come to the just conclusion
+that his master had the first right to know what he had to tell. His
+object was not the exposure of Marway, but the protection of his
+master's daughter: he would, therefore, wait Mr. Shotover's return.
+He said to himself also, that Marway would thereby have a chance to
+bethink himself, and, like Hamlet's uncle, "try what repentance can."
+
+As soon as he had put the bank in order for the night, he went to find
+his little companion, and take her to Noah's ark. The child had been
+sitting all the morning and afternoon in a profound stillness of
+expectation; but the hour came and passed, and Clare did not appear.
+
+"You never, never, never came," she said to him afterward. "I had to
+go to bed, and the beasts went away."
+
+It was many long weeks before she told him this, or her solemn little
+visage smiled again.
+
+He went to the little room off the hall, where he almost always found
+her waiting for him, dressed to go. She was not there. Nobody came. He
+grew impatient, and ran in his eagerness up the front stair. At the
+top he met the butler coming from the drawing-room--a respectable old
+man, who had been in the family as long as his master.
+
+"Pardon me, Mr. Porson," said the butler, who was especially polite to
+Clare, recognizing in him the ennoblement of his own order, "but it is
+against the rules for any of the gentlemen below to come up this
+staircase."
+
+"I know I'm in the wrong," answered Clare; "but I was in such a hurry
+I ventured this once. I've been waiting for Miss Ann twenty minutes."
+
+"If you will go down, I will make inquiry, and let you know directly,"
+replied the butler.
+
+Clare went down, and had not waited more than another minute when the
+butler brought the message that the child was not to go out. In vain
+Clare sought an explanation; the old man knew nothing of the matter,
+but confessed that Miss Shotover seemed a little put out.
+
+Then Clare saw that his desire to do justice had thwarted his
+endeavour: Marway had seen Miss Shotover, he concluded, and had so
+thoroughly prejudiced her against anything he might say, that she had
+already taken the child from him! He repented that he had told him his
+purpose before he was ready to follow it up with immediate
+action. Distressed at the thought of little Ann's disappointment, he
+set out for the show, glad in the midst of his grief, that he was
+going to see Pummy once more.
+
+The weather had been a little cloudy all day, but as he left the
+closer part of the town, the vaporous vault gave way, and the west
+revealed a glorious sunset. Troubled for the trouble of little Ann,
+Clare seemed drawn into the sunset. The splendour said to him: "Go on;
+sorrow is but a cloud. Do the work given you to do, and the clouds
+will keep moving; stop your work and the clouds will settle down
+hard."
+
+"When I was on the tramp," thought Clare, "I always went on, and
+that's how I came here. If I hadn't gone on, I should never have found
+the darling!"
+
+As little as during any day's tramp did he know how his reflection was
+going to be justified.
+
+He wandered on, and the minutes passed slowly: it was wandering now
+with no child in his arms! He was in no haste to go to the menagerie;
+he would be in good time for the beasts; and the later he was, the
+sooner he would see his mother alone and have a talk with her!
+
+At last, it being now quite dark, he turned, and made for the
+caravans.
+
+A crowd was going up the steps, passing Mrs. Halliwell slowly, and
+descending into the area surrounded by the beasts. Clare went up, and
+laid his money on the little white table. The good woman took it with
+a smile, threw it in her wooden bowl, and handed him, as if it had
+been his change, three bright sovereigns. Clare turned his face
+away. He could not take them. He felt as if it would break one bond
+between them.
+
+"The money's your own!" she said, in a low voice.
+
+"By and by, mother!" he answered.
+
+"No, no, take it now," she insisted, in an almost angry whisper; but
+the same moment threw the sovereigns among the silver, and some
+coppers that lay on the table over them.
+
+Judging by her look that he had better say nothing, he turned and went
+down the steps. Before he reached the bottom of them, Glum Gunn
+elbowed his way past him, throwing a scowl on him from his ugly eyes
+at the range of a few inches.
+
+The place was fuller than it had been all the evening, and with a
+rougher sort of company. The show would close in about an hour. It
+seemed to Clare not so well lighted as usual. Perhaps that was why he
+did not observe that he was watched and followed by Marway, with two
+others, and one burly, middle-aged, sailor-looking fellow. But I doubt
+whether he would have seen them in any light, for he had no
+suspicions, and was not ready to analyze a crowd and distinguish
+individuals.
+
+He avoided making straight for Pummy, contenting himself for the
+moment with an occasional glimpse of him between the moving heads, now
+opening a vista, now closing it again, for he hoped to get gradually
+nearer unseen, so as to be close to the animal when first he should
+descry him, for he dreaded attracting attention by becoming, while yet
+at a distance, the object of an uproarious outbreak of affection on
+the part of the puma.
+
+But while he was yet a good way from him, a most ferocious yell sprang
+full grown into the air, which the very fibres of his body knew as one
+of the cries of the puma when most enraged. There he was on his hind
+legs, ramping against the front of the cage, every hair on him
+bristling, his tail lashing his flanks. The same instant arose a
+commotion in the crowd behind Clare, a pushing and stooping and
+swaying to and fro, with shouts of, "Here he is! here he is!"
+
+Filled with a foreboding that was almost a prescience, he fell to
+forcing his way without ceremony, and had got a little nearer to the
+puma, when, elbowing roughly through the spectators, with red, evil
+face, in drink but not drunk, Glum Gunn appeared, almost between him
+and the cage--once more, to the horror of Clare, holding by the neck
+his poor little Abdiel, curled up into the shape of a flea. The brute
+was making his way with him to the cage of the puma, whose wrath,
+grown to an indescribable frenzy, now blazed point-blank at the dog.
+
+I think some waft of the wild odour of the menagerie must have reached
+the nostrils of the loving creature, brought back old times and his
+master, and waked the hope of finding him. That he had but just
+arrived was plain, for he had not had time to get to his master.
+
+Clare was almost at the edge of the close-packed, staring crowd,
+absorbed in the sight of the huge raving cat. Breaking through its
+outermost ring in the strength of sudden terror, he darted to the cage
+to reach it before Glum Gunn. A man crossed and hustled him. Gunn
+opened the door of the cage, and flung Abdiel to the puma. Ere he
+could close it, Clare struck him once more a stout left-hander on the
+side of his head. Gunn staggered back. Clare sprang into the
+cage--just as Pummy spying him uttered a jubilant roar of
+recognition. His jumping into the cage just prevented the puma from
+getting out, and the crowd from trampling each other to death to
+escape The Christians' Friend; but now that Clare was in, the
+cage-door might have swung all night open unheeded--so long, that is,
+as no dog appeared.
+
+As for Abdiel the puma had forgotten him: the dog was out of his sight
+for the moment, though only behind him, while his friend and he were
+rubbing recognizant noses. Abdiel showed his wisdom by keeping in the
+background. The moment he was flung into the cage, he had got into a
+corner of it, and stood up on his hind legs.
+
+His master believed that, knowing how the puma loved the human form
+divine, he thought to prejudice him in his favour by showing how near
+he could come to it. There he yet stood, his head sunk on his chest,
+watching out of his eyes for the terrible moment when his enemy should
+again catch sight of him.
+
+The moment came. The puma's delight had broken out in wildest
+motion. He sprang to the roof of his cage, and grappling there, looked
+down with retorted neck, and saw the dog. Poor Abdiel immediately
+raised his head, and in hope of propitiation all but forlorn, began a
+little dance his master had taught him.
+
+What Pummy would have done with him, I fear, but I cannot tell. Clare
+sprang to the rescue, and the weight of the puma's bulk descended, not
+on Abdiel, but on the shoulders of Clare who had the dog in his
+bosom. In a moment more it was evidenced that a common love, however
+often the cause of jealousy, is the most powerful mediator between the
+generous. The puma forgot his hate, the dog forgot his fear, and
+presently, to the admiration of the crowd, Clare and Pummy and Abby
+were rolling over and over each other on the floor of the cage.
+
+Pummy had the best of the rough game. One moment he would be a bend in
+a seemingly unloosable knot of confused animality, the next he would
+be clinging to the top of his cage, where the others could not follow
+him. Perhaps to have a human to play with, was even better than dreams
+of loveliest frolics with brothers and sisters, and a mother as madly
+merry as they, in still, moonlit nights among the rocks, where neither
+sound nor scent of horse woke the devil in any of their bosoms!
+
+Glum Gunn, too angry to speak, stood watching with a scowl fit for
+Lucifer when he rose from his first fall from heaven. He could do
+nothing! If he touched one, all three would be upon him! Experience
+had taught him what the puma would do in defence of Clare! He must
+bide his time!--But he must keep hold of his chance! He drew from his
+pocket his master-key, and at a moment when Clare was under the other
+two, slid it into the key-hole, and locked the door of the cage. He
+had him now--and his beast of a dog too! If he could have turned the
+puma mad, and made him tear them both to shreds, he would not have
+delayed an instant. But he must think! He must say, like Hamlet,
+"About, my brains!"
+
+The man, however, who wishes to do evil, will find as ready helpers as
+he who wishes to do well: in the place were those who wanted Gunn's
+aid, and would give him theirs.
+
+He felt a touch on his arm, glanced sullenly round, and saw a face
+under whose beauty lay the devil. Marway, with eye and thumb,
+requested him to withdraw for a moment, and he did not hesitate. As he
+went he chuckled to himself at the thought of Clare when he found the
+door locked.
+
+Marway's three accomplices had drifted off one by one to wait him
+outside: he rejoined them with Gunn; and, retiring a little way from
+the caravans, the five held a council, the results of which make an
+important part of Clare's history.
+
+Clare seemed absorbed in his game with his four-footed, one-tailed
+friends, but he was wide awake: he had Abdiel to deliver, and kept,
+therefore, all the time, at least half an eye on Glum Gunn. He saw
+Marway come up to him, and saw them retire together: it was the very
+moment to leave the cage with Abdiel! He rose, not without difficulty,
+because of the jumping of his playmates upon him and over him, and
+went to the door.
+
+The moment he did so, the crowd was greatly amused to see the puma
+turn upon the dog with a snarl, and the dog, at the fearful sound of
+altered mood, immediately put on the man, rise to one pair of feet,
+and begin to dance. The puma turned from him, went to the heel of his
+chosen master, and there stood.
+
+In vain Clare endeavoured to open the gate. He had never known it
+locked, and could not think when it had been done. At length, amid the
+laughter of the spectators, he desisted, and the three resumed their
+frolics.
+
+At this the admiration of the visitors broke out. They had seen the
+door made fast, and had kept pretty quiet, waiting what would come:
+they had thus earned their amusement when he sought in vain to open
+it. When his withdrawal confessed him foiled, the merrier began to
+mock and the ruder to jeer. But when they saw him laugh, and all three
+return to their gambols, they applauded heartily.
+
+Just before this last portion of the entertainment, Mr. Halliwell, who
+had been looking on for a while, retired, not knowing the cage-door
+was locked. He went to his wife and said, that, if they had but the
+boy and his dog again, and were but free of that brother of his, the
+menagerie would be a wild-beast paradise. He would have had her go and
+see the pranks in the puma's cage, but she was too tired, she said; so
+he strolled out with his pipe, and left his men to close the
+exhibition. Mrs. Halliwell fastened her door and went to bed, a little
+hurt that Clare did not come to her.
+
+Gradually the folk thinned away; and at last only a few who had got in
+at half-price remained. To them the attendants hinted that they were
+going to shut shop, and one by one they shuffled out, the readier that
+Clare was now so tired that Pummy could not get up the merest tail of
+a lark more. He was quite fresh himself, and had he been out in the
+woods, would certainly not have gone home till morning. But he was
+such a human creature that he would not insist when he saw Clare was
+weary; and that he had no inclination to play with Abdiel when his
+master was out of the game, was quite as well for Abdiel, for Pummy
+might have forgot himself. When Abby, not free from fear, as knowing
+well he was not free from danger, crept to his master's bosom, Pummy
+gave a low growl, and shoving his nose under the long body of the dog,
+with one jerk threw him a yard off upon the floor, whence Abdiel
+returned to content himself with his master's feet, abandoning the
+place of honour to one who knew himself stronger, and probably counted
+himself better. So they all fell asleep in peace. For although Clare
+knew himself and Abdiel Gunn's prisoners, he feared no surprise with
+two such rousable companions.
+
+
+
+Chapter LXIII.
+
+The dome of the angels.
+
+
+When Clare awoke, he knew he had been asleep a long time. It was,
+notwithstanding, quite dark, and there was something wrong with
+him. His head ached: it had never ached before. He put out his hands:
+Pummy's hairy body was nowhere near. He called Abdiel: no whimper
+answered; no cold nose was thrust into his hand. He had gone to sleep,
+surely between his two friends! Could he have only dreamed it?
+
+Why was the darkness so thick? There must surely be light in the
+clouds by this time! He felt half awake and half dreaming.
+
+What was the curious motion he grew aware of? Was something trying to
+keep him asleep, or was something trying to wake him? Had they put him
+in a big cradle? Were they heaving him about to rouse him? Or could it
+be a gentle earthquake that was rocking him to and fro? Would it wake
+up in earnest presently, and pull and push, and shake and rattle,
+until the dome of the angels came shivering down upon him?
+
+Where was he? Not on the hard floor of Pummy's cage, but on something
+much harder--like iron. Was he in the wagon in which they carried the
+things for setting up the show? Something had happened to him, and his
+mother was taking him with her! But in that case he would be lying
+softer! _She_ would not have given him a bed so full of aches!
+
+What would they think at the bank? What would little Ann think if he
+came to her no more?
+
+He could not be in a caravan; the motion was much too smooth and
+pleasant for that!
+
+He put his hand to his face: what was it wet on his cheek? It did not
+feel nice; it felt like blood! Had he had a blow on the head? Was that
+what gave him this headache? He felt his head all over, but could find
+no hurt.
+
+Why was he lying like a log, wondering and wondering, instead of
+getting up and seeing what it all meant? It must be the darkness and
+the headache that kept him down! The place was very close! He
+_must_ get out of it!
+
+He tried to get on his feet, but as he rose, his head struck
+something, and he dropped back. He got again on his knees and groped
+about. On all sides he was closed in. But he was not shut in a dungeon
+of stone. He seemed to be in a great wooden box--small enough to be a
+box, much too large for a coffin. Could it be one of the oubliettes in
+the roof of the doge's palace at Venice? He laughed at the idea, for
+the motion continued, the gentle earthquake that seemed trying to rock
+him to sleep: the doge's palace could hardly be afloat on the grand
+canal!
+
+What could it all mean? What would little Ann do without him? She
+would not cry: she never cried--at least, he had never seen her cry!
+but that would not make it easier for her!
+
+What had become of Abdiel? Had Glum Gunn got him? Then the wet on his
+face was Abdiel's blood--shed in his defence, perhaps, when his
+enemies were taking him away!
+
+Fears and anxieties, such as he had never known before, began to crowd
+upon him--not for himself; he was not made to think of himself, either
+first or second. Something dreadful might be going on that he could
+not prevent! He had never been so miserable. It was high time to do
+something--to ask the great one somewhere, he did not know where, who
+could somehow, he did not know how, hear the thoughts that were not
+words, to do what ought to be done for little Ann, and Abdiel, and
+Pummy! He prayed in his heart, lay still, and fell fast asleep.
+
+He came to himself again, in the act of drawing a deep breath of cool,
+delicious air. He was no longer shut in the dark, stifling box. He was
+coming alive! A comforting wind blew all about him. It was like a live
+thing putting its own life into him. But his eyelids were heavy; he
+was unable to open them.
+
+All at once they opened of themselves.
+
+The dome of the angels had come down and closed in round him, but
+bringing room for him, taking none away. It was blue, and filled with
+the loveliest white clouds, possessed by a blowing wind that never was
+able to blow them away. They were of strangely regular shapes; not the
+less were they alive--piled one above the other, up and up--up ever so
+high! They all kept their places, and some had the loveliest blue
+shadows upon them, which glided about a little. But the dome of the
+angels rose high, and ever higher still, above them. The dome of the
+angels was at home, and the clouds were at home in it. He gazed
+entranced at the sight. Then came a sudden strong heave and roll of
+the earthquake, and a light shone in his eyes that blinded him.
+
+It was but the strong friendly sun. When Clare opened his eyes again,
+he knew that he was lying on the deck of one of the great ships he had
+so frequently looked at from the shore. Oh, how often had he not
+longed after this one and that one of them, as if in some one
+somewhere, perhaps in that one, lay something he could not do without,
+which yet he could never set his eyes, not to say his hands upon. He
+had his heart's desire, and what was to come of it? He lay on the
+ship, and the ship lay on the sea, a little world afloat on the water,
+moving as a planet moves through the heavens, but carrying her own
+heaven with her, attended by her own clouds, bearing her whither she
+would. Up into those clouds he lay gazing, up into the dome of the
+angels, drawing deeper and deeper breaths of gladness, too happy to
+think--when a foot came with a kick in the ribs, and a voice ordered
+him to get up: was he going to lie there till the frigate was paid
+off?
+
+
+
+Chapter LXIV.
+
+The panther.
+
+
+Clare scrambled to his feet, and surveyed the man who had thus roused
+him. He had a vague sense of having seen him before, but could not
+remember where. Feeling faint, and finding himself beside a gun, he
+leaned upon it.
+
+The sailor regarded him with an insolent look.
+
+"Wake up," he said, "an' come along to the cap'n. What's the service a
+comin' to, I should like to know, when a beggarly shaver like you has
+the cheek to stow hisself away on board one o' his majesty's frigates!
+Wouldn' nothin' less suit your highness than a berth on the Panther?"
+
+"Is that the name of the ship?" asked Clare.
+
+"Yes, that's the name of the ship!" returned the man, mimicking
+him. "You'll have the Panther, his mark, on the back o' _you_
+presently! Come along, I say, to the cap'n! We ha' got to ask _him_,
+what's to be done wi' rascals as rob their masters, an' then stow
+theirselves away on board his majesty's ships!"
+
+"Take me to the captain," said Clare.
+
+The man seemed for a moment to doubt whether there might not be some
+mistake: he had expected to see him cringe. But he took him by the
+collar behind, and pushed him along to the quarter-deck, where an
+elderly officer was pacing up and down alone.
+
+"Well, Tom," said the captain, stopping in his walk, "what's the
+matter? Who's that you've got?"
+
+"Please yer honour," answered the boatswain, giving Clare a shove,
+"this here's a stowaway in his majesty's ship, Panther. I found him
+snug in the cable-tier.--Salute the captain, you beggar!"
+
+Clare had no cap to lift, but he bowed like the gentleman he was. The
+captain stood looking at him. Clare returned his gaze, and smiled. A
+sort of tremble, much like that in the level air on a hot summer day,
+went over the captain's face, and he looked harder at Clare.
+
+A sound arose like the purring of an enormous cat, and, sure enough,
+it was nothing else: chained to the foot of the forward binnacle stood
+a panther, a dark yellow creature with black spots, bigger than Pummy,
+swinging his tail. Clare turned at the noise he made. The panther made
+a bound and a leap to the height and length of his chain, and uttered
+a cry like a musical yawn. Clare stretched out his arms, and staggered
+toward him. The next moment the animal had him. The captain darted to
+the rescue. But the beast was only licking him wherever there was a
+bare spot to lick; and Clare wondered to find how many such spots
+there were: he was in rags! The panther kept tossing him over and over
+as if he were a baby, licking as he tossed, and in his vibrating body
+and his whole behaviour manifested an exceeding joy. The captain stood
+staring "like one that hath been stunned."
+
+The boatswain was not astonished: he had seen Clare at home among wild
+animals, and thought the panther was taken with the wild-beast smell
+about him.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir," said Clare, rolling himself out of the
+panther's reach, and rising to his feet, "but wild things like me,
+somehow! I slept with a puma last night. He and this panther, sir,
+would have a terrible fight if they met!"
+
+The captain threw a look of disappointment at the panther.
+
+"Go forward, Tom," he said.
+
+The man did not like the turn things had taken, and as he went wore
+something of the look of one doomed to make the acquaintance of
+another kind of cat.
+
+"What made you come on board this ship, my lad?" asked the captain, in
+a voice so quiet that it sounded almost kind.
+
+"I did not come on board, sir."
+
+"Don't trifle with _me_," returned the captain sternly.
+
+Clare looked straight at him, and said--
+
+"I have done nothing wrong, sir. I know you will help me. I fell
+asleep last night, as I told you, sir, in the cage of a puma. I knew
+him, of course! How I came awake on board your ship, I know no more
+than you do, sir."
+
+The smile of Clare's childhood had scarcely altered, and it now shone
+full on the captain. He turned away, and made a tack or two on the
+quarter-deck. He was a tall, thin man, with a graceful carriage, and a
+little stoop in the shoulders. He had a handsome, sad face, growing
+old. His hair was more than half way to gray, and he seemed somewhere
+about fifty. He had the sternness of a man used to command, but under
+the sternness Clare saw the sadness.
+
+The attention of the boy was now somewhat divided between the captain
+and his panther, which seemed possessed with a fierce desire to get at
+him, though plainly with no inimical intent. The attention of the
+captain seemed divided between the boy and the panther; his eyes now
+rested for a moment on the animal, now turned again to the boy. Two
+officers on the port side of the quarter-deck stole glances at the
+strange group--the stately, solemn, still man; the ragged creature
+before him, who looked in his face without fear or anxiety, and with
+just as little presumption; and the wildly excited panther, whose
+fierce bounding alternated with cringing abasement of his beautiful
+person, accompanied by loving sweeps of his most expressive tail.
+
+The captain made a tack or two more on the quarter-deck, then turned
+sharp on the boy.
+
+"What is your name?" he asked.
+
+"I don't quite know, sir," answered Clare.
+
+"Come with me," said the captain.
+
+To the surprise of the officers, he led the way to his state-room, and
+the boy followed. The panther gave a howl as Clare disappeared. The
+officers remarked that the captain looked strange. His lips were
+compressed as if with vengeance, but the muscles of his face were
+twitching.
+
+
+
+Chapter LXV.
+
+At home.
+
+
+Clare followed, wondering, but nowise anxious. He saw nothing to make
+him anxious. The captain looked a good man, and a good man was a
+friend to Clare! But when he entered the state-room, and saw himself
+from head to foot in a mirror let into a bulkhead, he was both
+startled and ashamed: how could the captain take such a scarecrow into
+his room! he thought. He did not reflect that it was just the sort of
+thing he did himself. He had indeed felt dirty and disreputable, and
+been aware of the dry, rasping tongue of the panther on many patches
+of bare skin, but he had had no idea what a wretched creature he
+looked. Not one of the garments he saw in the mirror was his own, and
+they were disgracefully torn. His hair was sticking out every way, and
+his face smeared with blood. His feet were bare, and one trouser-leg
+rent to the knee. His enemies had done their best to ensure prejudice,
+and frustrate belief. They did not see in his look what no honest man
+could misread. Innocent as he knew himself, he could not help feeling
+for a moment disconcerted. But his faithfulness threw him on the mercy
+of the man before him.
+
+The captain turned and sat down. The boy stood in the doorway, staring
+at his reflex self in the mirror. The captain understood his
+consternation.
+
+"Come along, my poor boy," he said. "How did you get into this mess?"
+
+"I think I know," answered Clare, "but I'm not sure."
+
+"You must have been drunk," sighed the captain.
+
+"Oh, no, sir!" returned Clare, with one of his radiant smiles. "I've
+had but one glass of beer in my life, and I didn't like it."
+
+The captain smiled too, and gazed at him for several moments without
+speaking.
+
+"It seems to me," he said at last, but as if he were thinking of
+something quite different, "you must be in want of food."
+
+"Oh, no, sir!" answered Clare again, "I'm used to going without."
+
+Like a child the sport of an evil fairy, he was again the boy of the
+old wanderings, in the old, hungry times. But did he ever look so lost
+as in the mirror before him? he wondered.
+
+"You haven't told me----" said the captain, and stopped short, as if
+he dreaded going further.
+
+"I will tell you anything you want to know, sir. Please ask me."
+
+"You say you did not come on board the frigate: what am I to
+understand by that?"
+
+"That I was brought, sir, in my sleep. It wouldn't be fair, would it,
+sir, to mention names, when I don't know for certain who they were
+that brought me? I never knew anything till I opened my eyes, and
+thought I was in----"
+
+He paused.
+
+"_Where_ did you think you were?" asked the captain eagerly.
+
+"In the dome of the angels, sir," answered Clare.
+
+The captain's face fell. He thought him an innocent, on whom rascals
+had been playing a practical joke. But that made no difference! If he
+were a simpleton, he might none the less be----! Was _her_ boy left
+to----?
+
+He shuddered visibly, and again was silent.
+
+"Tell me," he said at length, "what you remember."
+
+He meant--of the circumstances that immediately preceded his coming to
+himself on board the Panther; but Clare began with the first thing his
+memory presented him with. Perhaps he was yet a little dazed. He had
+not got through a single sentence, when he saw that something earlier
+wanted telling first; and the same thing happening again and again
+within the first five minutes of his narration, sir Harry saw he had
+before him a boy either of fertile imagination, or of "strange,
+eventful history." But either supposition had its difficulty. If, on
+the one hand, he had had the tenth part of the experiences hinted at;
+if, for one thing, he had been but a single month on the tramp, how
+had he kept such an innocent face, such an angelic smile? If, on the
+other hand, he was making up these tales, why did he not look sharper?
+and whence the angelic smile? Did the seeming innocence indicate only
+such a lack of intellect as occasionally accompanies a remarkable
+individual gift? He must make him begin at the beginning, and tell
+everything he knew, or might pretend to know about himself!
+
+"Stop," he said. "You told me you did not quite know your name: what
+did they call you as far back as you can remember?"
+
+"Clare Porson," answered the boy.
+
+At the first word the captain gave a little cry, but repressed his
+emotion, and went on. His face was very white, and his breath came and
+went quickly.
+
+"Why did you say you did not _quite_ know your name?"
+
+"My father and mother called me by their name because there was nobody
+to tell them what my real name was."
+
+"Then they weren't your own father and mother that gave you the name?"
+
+"No, sir. I'm but using theirs till I get my own. I shall one day."
+
+"Why do you think so?"
+
+"Don't _you_ think, sir, that everything will come right one day?"
+
+"God grant it!" responded the captain with a groan, self-reproached
+for the little faith beside the strong desire.
+
+"Do you think it wrong, sir, to use a name that is not quite my own?"
+said Clare. "People sometimes seem to think so."
+
+"Not at all, my boy! You must have a name. You did not steal it. They
+gave it you."
+
+The look of the boy when he thus answered him, completely restored sir
+Harry's confidence in his mental soundness, while both the mode and
+the nature of his answer to every question he put to him, bore the
+strongest impress of truth.
+
+"If the boy be a liar," he said to himself, "I will never more trust
+my kind. I will turn to the wild-beasts, and believe in panthers and
+hyenas!"
+
+"They did, sir," answered Clare. "Mr. Porson gave me his own name, and
+he was a clergyman. So I thought afterwards, when I had to think about
+it, that it couldn't be wrong to use it."
+
+But how could sir Harry palter so with himself? He might have got at
+the necessary facts so much quicker!
+
+Sir Harry shrank from seeing his suddenly wakened hope, dead for many
+a year, crumble before his eyes. He dared not yet drive question
+close.
+
+"Did Mr. Porson give you both your names?" he asked.
+
+"No, sir. My mother said I brought the first with me. She said I told
+them--I don't remember myself--that my name was Clare."
+
+The captain drove back the words that threatened to break from his
+lips in spite of him. His boy's name was Clarence, but his mother,
+whose dearest friend was a _Clara_, called her child always _Clare_!
+
+"I mean my second mother, sir," explained Clare; "my own mother is in
+the dome of the angels."
+
+A flash lightened from the captain's eyes, but he seemed to himself to
+have gone blind. Clare saw the flash, and wondered.
+
+Again _the dome of the angels_! The words burst into meaning. Out of
+the depths of the world of life rose to his mind's eye the terrible
+thing that had made him a lonely man. Again he stood with his head
+thrown back, looking up at the Assumption of the Virgin painted in
+that awful dome; again the earthquake seized the church, and shook the
+painted heaven down upon them. He knew no more. His little boy had
+been standing near him, holding his mother's hand, but staring up like
+his father!
+
+He had to force the next words from his throat.
+
+"Where did the good people who gave you their name find you?"
+
+"Sitting on my mother--my own mother. The angels fell down on her, and
+when they went up again, she had got mixed with them, and went up
+too."
+
+Some people thought my friend Skymer "a little queer, you know!" I
+leave my reader to his own thought: he will judge after his
+kind. Clare's father no longer doubted his perfect faculty.
+
+All through Clare's life, as often as the old, vague, but ever ready
+vision brought back its old feelings, with them came the old thoughts,
+the old forms of them, and the old words their attendant shadows; and
+then Clare talked like a child.
+
+The stern, sorrowful man hid his face In his hands.
+
+"Grace," he murmured--and Clare knew somehow that he spoke to his
+wife, "we have him again! We will never distrust him more!"
+
+His frame heaved with the choking of his sobs.
+
+Then Clare understood that the grand man was his father. The awe of a
+perfect gladness fell upon him. He knelt before him, and laid his
+hands together as in prayer.
+
+"Why did you distrust me, father?" said the half-naked outcast.
+
+"It was not my child, it was my father I distrusted. I am ashamed,"
+said sir Harry, and clasped him in his arms.
+
+The boy laid his blood-stained face against his father's bosom, and
+his soul was in a better home than a sky full of angels, a home better
+than the dome itself of all the angels, for his home was his father's
+heart.
+
+How long they remained thus I cannot tell. It seemed to both as if so
+it had been from eternity, and so to eternity it would be. When a
+thing is as it should be, then we know it is from eternity to
+eternity. The true is.
+
+The father relaxed at length the arms that strained his child to his
+heart. Clare looked up with white, luminous face. He gazed at his
+father, cried like little Ann, "You're come!" and slid to his feet. He
+clasped and kissed and clung to them--would hardly let them go.
+
+All this time the officers on the quarter-deck were wondering what the
+captain could have to do with the beggarly stowaway. The panther stood
+on his feet, anxiously waiting, his ears starting at every sound. He
+was longing for the boy with whom he had played, panther cub with
+human infant, in the years long gone by. The sweet airs of his
+childhood were to the panther plainly recognizable through all the
+accretions that disfigured but could not defile him. The two were the
+same age. They had rolled on floor and deck together when neither
+could hurt--and now neither would. For the animal was perfectly
+harmless, and chained only because apt to be unseasonably
+frolicsome. When they let him loose, it was a season of high jinks and
+rare skylarking. Then the men had to look out! He had twice knocked a
+man overboard, and had once tumbled overboard himself. But he had
+never killed a creature, was always gentle with children, and might be
+trusted to look after any infant.
+
+Sir Harry raised his son, kissed him, set him on his own chair, and
+retired into an inner cabin.
+
+A knock came to the door. Clare said, "Come in." The quartermaster
+entered. Instead of sir Harry, he saw the miserable stowaway, seated
+in the captain's own chair. He swore at him, and ordered him out,
+prepared to give him a kick as he passed.
+
+"Out with you!" he cried. "Go for'ard. Tell the bo's'n to look out a
+rope's end. I'll be after you."
+
+"The captain told me to sit here," answered Clare, and sat.
+
+The officer looked closer at him, begged his pardon, saluted, and
+withdrew.
+
+The father heard, and said to himself, "The boy is a gentleman: he
+knows where to take his orders."
+
+He called him into the inner cabin, and there washed him from head to
+foot, rejoicing to find under his rags a skin as clean as his own.
+
+"Now what are we to do for clothes, Clare?" said sir Harry.
+
+"Perhaps somebody would lend me some," answered Clare. "Mayn't I be
+your cabin-boy, father? You will let me be a sailor, won't you, and
+sail always with you?"
+
+"You shall be a sailor, my boy," answered sir Harry, "and sail with me
+as long as God pleases. You know to obey orders!"
+
+"I will obey the cook if you tell me, father."
+
+"You shall obey nobody but myself," returned sir Harry; "--and the
+lord high admiral," he added, with a glance upward, and a smile like
+his son's.
+
+For that day Clare kept to the captain's state-room; the next, he went
+on deck in a midshipman's uniform, which he wore like a gentleman that
+could obey orders.
+
+
+
+Chapter LXVI.
+
+The end of Clare Skymer's boyhood.
+
+
+His father had a hammock slung for him in the state-room; he could not
+be parted from him even when they slept.
+
+One night sir Harry, lying awake, heard a movement in the state-room,
+and got up. It was a still, star-lit night. The frigate was dreaming
+away northward with all sail set. Through the windows shone the level
+stars. From a beam above hung a dim lamp. He could see no one. He went
+to the hammock. There was no boy in it. Then he spied him, kneeling
+under the stern-windows, with his head down.
+
+"Anything the matter, Clare?" he asked.
+
+"No, father."
+
+"What are you doing?"
+
+"Trying to say _Thank you for my father!_"
+
+"Oh, thank him, thank him, my boy!" returned sir Harry. "Thank him
+with all your heart. He will give us _her_ some day!"
+
+"Yes, father, he will!" responded Clare.
+
+His father knelt beside him, but neither said word that the other
+heard.
+
+The next night, Clare was on the quarter-deck with his father, and
+heard him give certain orders to the officers of the watch. He had
+never heard orders given in such a way: he spoke so quietly, so
+directly, so simply! The night was gusty and dark, threatening foul
+weather. The captain measured the quarter-deck as when first Clare saw
+him, but with a mien how different! He walked as slow and stately as
+before, but with a look almost of triumph in his eyes, glancing often
+at the clouds. The thought of having such a father made Clare tremble
+with delight from head to foot. His father was the power of the
+sea-planet that bore them! Him the great vessel, and all aboard of
+her, obeyed! He was the life of her motions, the soul of her! At his
+pleasure she bowed her obedient head, and swept over the seas! Clare's
+heart swelled within him.
+
+But this father had, the night before, knelt with him in the presence
+of one unseen, worshipping and thanking a higher than himself! As the
+captain of the Panther sailed his frigate through the seas, so the
+great father, the father of his father, the father of all fathers, to
+whom the captain kneeled as a little child, sailed through the heaven
+of heavens the huge ship of the world, guided fleet upon fleet
+innumerable through trackless space! And over an infinitely grander
+sea than the measureless ocean of worlds, the Father was carrying
+navies of human souls, every soul a world whose affairs none but the
+Father could understand, through many a storm, and waterspout, and
+battle with the powers of evil, safe to the haven of the children, the
+Father's house! And Clare began to understand that so it was.
+
+One day his father said to him--
+
+"Clare, whatever you forget, whatever you remember, mind this--that
+you and I and your mother are the children of one father, and that we
+have all three to be good children to that father. If we do as he
+tells us, he will bring us all at length to the same port. Our admiral
+is Jesus Christ. We take our orders from him. But each has to sail his
+own ship."
+
+The boatswain shook in his wide shoes, but Clare never showed him the
+least disfavour. He recognized at once the two officers he had seen at
+the menagerie, but beyond giving each a look he could hardly mistake,
+he showed no sign of having any knowledge of them.
+
+He set himself to be a sailor, and learned fast. I need scarcely say
+he was as precise in obeying any superior officer as the best sailor
+on board. In a few weeks he felt and looked to the manner born--as
+indeed he was, for not only his father, but his grandfather, and his
+great-grandfather, and more yet of his ancestors,--how many I do not
+know, were sailors.
+
+He had had a rough shaking. The earthquake had come and gone, and come
+again and gone a many times. But the shaking earth was his nurse, and
+she taught him to dwell in a world that cannot be shaken.
+
+[Illustration: Clare, Tommy, and the baby in custody.]
+
+[Illustration: Mrs. Porson finds Clare by the side of his dead mother.]
+
+[Illustration: Clare is heard talking to Maly.]
+
+[Illustration: Clare makes friends during Mr. Porson's absence.]
+
+[Illustration: The blacksmith gives Clare and Tommy a rough greeting.]
+
+[Illustration: Clare and Abdiel at the locked pump.]
+
+[Illustration: Clare proceeds to untie the ropes from the ring in the
+bull's nose.]
+
+[Illustration: Clare finds the advantage of a powerful friend.]
+
+[Illustration: The gardener's discomfiture.]
+
+[Illustration: Clare asks Miss Shotover to let him carry Ann home.]
+
+[Illustration: Clare is found giving the shoeblack a lesson.]
+
+[Illustration: Clare asleep in the puma's cage.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Rough Shaking, by George MacDonald
+
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