 CHAPTER 47 KID'S MOTHER AND THE SINGLE GENTLEMAN Upon whose track it is expedient to follow with hurried steps, lest this history should be chargeable within constancy and the offence of leaving its characters and situations of uncertainty and doubt. KID'S MOTHER AND THE SINGLE GENTLEMAN, speeding onward in the post-shays and fore, whose departure from the notary's door we have already witnessed, soon left the town behind them, and struck fire from the flints of the broad highway. The good woman, being not a little embarrassed by the novelty of her situation, and certain material apprehensions that perhaps by this time little Jacob, or the baby, or both, had fallen into the fire, or tumbled downstairs, or had been squeezed behind doors, or had scalded their windpipes in endeavouring to allay their thirst at the spouts of teak-eddles, preserved an uneasy silence, and meeting from the window the eyes of turnpike men, omnibus drivers, and others, felt in the new dignity of her position like a mourner at a funeral, who, not being greatly afflicted by the loss of the departed, recognises his everyday acquaintance from the window of the mourning coach, but is constrained to preserve a decent solemnity and the appearance of being indifferent to all external objects. To have been indifferent to the companionship of the single gentleman would have been tantamount to being gifted with nerves of steel. Never did Shays enclose or horses draw such a restless gentleman as he. He never sat in the same position for two minutes together, but was perpetually tossing his arms and legs about, pulling up the sashes and letting them violently down, or thrusting his head out of one window to draw it in again, and thrusted out of another. He carried in his pocket, too, a fire-box of mysterious and unknown construction, and as sure as ever Kit's mother closed her eyes, so surely, whisk, rattle, fizz, there was the single gentleman consulting his watch by a flame of fire, and letting the sparks fall down among the straw, as if there were no such thing as a possibility of himself and Kit's mother being roasted alive before the boys could stop their horses. Whenever they halted to change, there he was, out of the carriage without letting down the steps, bursting about the in-yard like a lighted cracker, pulling out his watch by lamp-light and forgetting to look at it before he put it up again, and, in short, committing so many extravagances that Kit's mother was quite afraid of him. Then, when the horses were two, in he came like a harlequin, and before they had gone a mile, out came the watch and the fire-box together, and Kit's mother as wide awake again, with no hope of a wink of sleep for that stage. "'Are you comfortable?' the single gentleman would say, after one of these exploits turning sharply round. "'Quite, sir. Thank you.' "'Are you sure? Aren't you cold?' "'It is a little chilly, sir,' Kit's mother would reply. "'I knew it,' cried the single gentleman, letting down one of the front glasses. "'She wants some brandy and water. Of course she does. How could I forget it? "'Hello! Stop it next in, and call out for a glass of hot brandy and water.' It was in vain for Kit's mother to protest that she stood in need of nothing of the kind. The single gentleman was inexorable, and whenever he had exhausted all other modes and fashions of restlessness, it invariably occurred to him that Kit's mother wanted brandy and water. In this way they travelled on until near midnight when they stopped to supper. For which meal the single gentleman ordered everything eatable that the house contained, and because Kit's mother didn't eat everything at once, and eat it all, he took it into his head that she must be ill. "'You're faint,' said the single gentleman, who did nothing himself but walk about the room. "'I see what's the matter with you, ma'am. You're faint.' "'Thank you, sir. I'm not indeed.' "'I know you are. I'm sure of it. I drag this poor woman from the bosom of her family at a minute's notice, and she goes on getting fainter and fainter before my eyes. "'I'm a pretty fellow. How many children have you got, ma'am?' "'Two, sir, besides Kit.' "'Boys, ma'am?' "'Yes, sir.' "'Are they christened?' "'How near off-baptised is yet, sir.' "'I'm Godfather to both of them. Remember that, if you please, ma'am. "'You'd better have some mulled wine.' "'I couldn't touch a drop indeed, sir.' "'You must,' said the single gentleman, "'I see you want it. "'I ought to have thought of it before.' "'Immediately flying to the bell, and calling for mulled wine as impetuously as if it had been wanted for instant use in the recovery of some person apparently drowned, the single gentleman made Kit's mother swallow a bumper of it at such a high temperature that the tears ran down her face, and then hustled her off to the shays again, where, not impossibly from the effects of this agreeable sedative, she soon became insensible to his restlessness and fell fast asleep. Nor were the happy effects of this prescription of a transitory nature, as notwithstanding that the distance was greater and the journey longer than the single gentleman had anticipated, she did not awake until it was broad day, and they were clattering over the pavement of a town. "'This is the place,' cried her companion, letting down all the glasses, "'drive to the wexwork.' The boy on the wheeler touched his hat, and, setting spurs to his horse, to the end that they might go in brilliantly, all four broke into a smart canter, and dashed through the streets with the noise that brought the good folks wandering to their doors and windows, and drowned the sober voices of the town clocks as they chimed out half by state. They dove up to a door round which a crowd of persons were collected, and there stopped. "'What's this?' said the single gentleman, thrusting out his head. "'Is anything the matter here?' "'A wedding, sir. A wedding,' cried several voices. "'Hurrah!' The single gentleman, rather bewildered by finding himself the centre of this noisy throng, alighted with the assistance of one of the postillions, and handed out kit's mother at sight of whom the populace cried out, "'Here's another wedding,' and roared and leaped for joy. "'The world has gone mad, I think,' said the single gentleman, pressing through the concourse with his supposed bride, "'Stand back here, will you, and let me knock. Everything that makes a noise is satisfactory to a crowd. A score of dirty hands were raised directly to knock for him, and seldom has a knocker of equal powers been made to produce more deafening sounds than this particular engine on the occasion in question. Having rendered these voluntary services, the throng modestly retired a little, preferring that the single gentleman should bear their consequences alone. "'Now, sir, what you want?' said a man with a large white bow at his buttonhole, opening the door and confronting him with a very stoical aspect. "'Who has been married here, my friend?' said the single gentleman. "'I have—you?—and to whom, in the devil's name?' "'What right of you to ask?' returned the bridegroom, eyeing him from top to toe. "'What right?' cried the single gentleman, drawing the arm of kit's mother more tightly through his own, for that good woman evidently had it in contemplation to run away. "'A right, you little dream-of! "'Mind, good people, if this fellow has been marrying a minor, that can't be. "'Where is the child you have here, my good fellow? You call her Nell. Where is she?' As he propounded this question, which kit's mother echoed, somebody in a room near at hand uttered a great shriek, and a stout lady in a white dress came running to the door and supported herself upon the bridegroom's arm. "'Where is she?' cried this lady. "'What news have you brought me? What has become of her?' The single gentleman started back, and gazed upon the face of the late Mrs. Jolly. That morning wedded to the philosophic George, to the eternal wrath and despair of Mr. Sloan the poet. With looks of conflicting apprehension, disappointment and incredulity, at length he stammered out, "'I ask you where she is. What do you mean?' "'Ah, sir,' cried the bride, "'if you have come here to do her any good, why weren't you here a week ago?' "'She is not dead,' said the person to whom she addressed herself, turning very pale. "'No, not so bad as that.' "'I thank God,' cried the single gentleman feebly. "'Let me come in.' They drew back to admit him, and when he had entered closed the door. "'You see in me good people,' he said, turning to the newly married couple, one to whom life itself is not a dearer than the two persons whom I seek. They would not know me. My features are strange to them, but if they or either of them are here, take this good woman with you, and let them see her first, for her they both know. If you deny them from any mistake and regard or fear for them, judge of my intentions by their recognition of this person as their old, humble friend.' "'I always said it,' cried the bride, "'I knew she was not a common child. Alas, sir, we have no power to help you, for all that we could do has been tried in vain.' With that they related to him without disguise or concealment, all that they knew of Nell and her grandfather, from their first meeting with them down to the time of their sudden disappearance, adding, which was quite true, that they had made every possible effort to trace them, but without success, having been at first in great alarm for their safety, as well as on account of the suspicions to which they themselves might one day be exposed in consequence of their abrupt departure. They dwelt upon the old man's imbecility of mind, upon the uneasiness the child had always testified when he was absent, upon the company he had been supposed to keep, and upon the increased depression which had gradually crapped over her, and changed her both in health and spirits. Whether she had missed the old man in the night, and knowing or conjecturing whether he had bent his steps, had gone in pursuit, or whether they had left the house together, they had no means of determining. Certain they considered it, that there was but slender prospect left of hearing of them again, and that whether their flight originated with the old man, or with the child, there was now no hope of their return. To all this the single gentleman listened with the air of a man quite borne down by grief and disappointment. He shed tears when they spoke of the grandfather, and appeared in deep affliction. Not to protract this portion of our narrative, and to make short work of a long story, let it be briefly written that before the interview came to a close, the single gentleman deemed he had sufficient evidence of having been told the truth, and that he endeavoured to force upon the bride and bridegroom an acknowledgment of their kindness to the unfriended child, which, however, they steadily declined accepting. In the end the happy couple jolted away in the caravan to spend their honeymoon in a country excursion, and the single gentleman and kids' mother stood ruefully before their carriage door. Where shall we draw of you, sir? said the post-boy. You may drive me, said the single gentleman, to the— He was not going to add in, but he added it for the sake of kids' mother, and to the in they went. Rumours had already got abroad at the little girl who used to show the waxwork was the child of great people who had been stolen from her parents in infancy and had only just been traced. Opinion was divided whether she was the daughter of a prince, a duke, an earl, a vicount, or a baron, but all agreed upon the main fact, and that the single gentleman was her father, and all bent forward to catch a glimpse, though it were only of the tip of his noble nose as he rode away, desponding in his four-horse chaise. What would he have given to know, and what sorrow would have been saved if he had only known, that at that moment both child and grandfather were seated in the old church porch, patiently awaiting the schoolmaster's return. Chapter 47 Popular rumour concerning the single gentleman and his errand, travelling from mouth to mouth, and waxing stronger in the marvellous as it was bandied about. For your popular rumour, unlike the rolling stone of the proverb, is one which gathers a deal of moss in its wanderings up and down, occasioned his dismounting at the indoor to be looked upon as an exciting and attractive spectacle which could scarcely be enough admired, and do together a large concourse of idlers, who having recently been, as it were, thrown out of employment by the closing of the waxwork and the completion of the nuptial ceremonies, considered his arrival as little else than a special providence and hailed it with demonstrations of the liveliest joy. Not at all participating in the general sensation, but wearing the depressed and wearied look of one who sought to meditate on his disappointment in silence and privacy, the single gentleman alighted, and handed out kits mother with a gloomy politeness which impressed the lookers on extremely. That done he gave her his arm and escorted her into the house, while several active waiters ran on before as a skirmishing party to clear the way, and to show the room which was ready for their reception. Any room will do, said the single gentleman, let it be near at hand at all. Close here, sir, if you are pleased to walk this way. What the gentleman like this room? Said a voice, as a little out-of-the-way door at the foot of the well staircase flew briskly open, and a head popped out. He's quite welcome to it. He's as welcome as flowers in May or coals at Christmas. Would you like this room, sir? Honor me by walking in. Do me the favour, pray. Goodness gracious me! cried kits mother, falling back in extreme surprise. Only think of this. She had some reason to be astonished, for the person who proffered the gracious invitation was no other than Daniel Quilpe. The little door out of which he had thrust his head was close to the inn larder, and there he stood, bowing with grotesque politeness, as much at his ease as if the door were that of his own house, blighting all the legs of mutton and coal roast fowls by his close companionship, and looking like the evil genius of the cellars come from underground upon some work of mischief. Would you do me the honour? said Quilpe. I prefer being alone, replied the single gentleman. Ow! said Quilpe, and with that he darted in again with one jerk and clapped the little door, too, like a figure in the Dutch clock when the hour strikes. Why, it was only last night, sir, whispered kits mother, that I left him in little bithel. Indeed, said her fellow passenger, when did that person come here, waiter? Come down by the night-coach this morning, sir. And when is he going? Can't say, sir, really. When the chambermaid asked him just now if he should want a bed, sir, he first made faces at her, and then wanted a kisser. Beg him to walk this way, said the single gentleman. I should be glad to extreme to word with him, tell him. Beg him to come at once, do here. The man stared on receiving these instructions, for the single gentleman had not only displayed as much astonishment as kits mother at sight of the dwarf, but standing in no fear of him had been at less pains to conceal his dislike and repugnance. He departed on his errand, however, and immediately returned ushering in its object. Your servant, sir, said the dwarf, I encountered your messenger half-way, I thought you'd allow me to pay my compliments to you. I hope you're well. I hope you're very well. There was a short pause, while the dwarf, with half-shut eyes and puckered face, stood waiting for an answer. Receiving none, he turned towards his more familiar acquaintance. Christopher's mother. He cried, Such a dear lady, such a worthy woman, so blessed in her honest son. How is Christopher's mother? Have change of ear and seen improved her? Her little family, too, and Christopher, do they thrive? Do they flourish? Are they growing into worthy citizens, eh? Making his voice ascend on the scale with every succeeding question, Mr. Quilp finished in a shrill squeak, and subsided into the panting-look which was customary with him, and which, whether it were assumed or natural, had equally the effect of banishing all expression from his face, and rendering it, as far as it afforded any index to his mood or meaning, a perfect blank. Mr. Quilp, said the single gentleman, the dwarf put his hand to his great flapped ear and counterfeited the closest attention. We, too, have met before. Surely! cried Quilp, nodding his head. Oh, surely, sir, such an honour and pleasure, it's both. Christopher's mother, it's both, is not to be forgotten so soon, by no means. You may remember that the day I arrived in London, and found the house to which I drove, empty and deserted, I was directed by some of the neighbours to you, and waited upon you without stopping for rest or refreshment. How precipitate that was! and yet what an earnest and vigorous measure! said Quilp, conferring with himself an imitation of his friend Mr. Samson Brass. I found, said the single gentleman, you most unaccountably, in possession of everything that had so recently belonged to another man, and that other man, who up to the time of your entering upon his property, had been looked upon as affluent, reduced to sudden beggary, and driven from house and home. We had warrant from what we did, my good sir. rejoined Quilp. We had our warrant, don't say driven, either. He went to his own accord, vanished in the night, sir. No matter, said the single gentleman angrily, he was gone. Yes, he was gone, said Quilp, with the same exasperating composure. No doubt he was gone. The only question was where, and it's a question still. Now, what am I to think? said the single gentleman sternly, regarding him. Of you, who plainly indisposed to give me any information then, nay, obviously holding back, and sheltering yourself with all kinds of cunning, trickery, and evasion, are dogging my footsteps now. I, dogging, cried Quilp. Why are you not? returned his questioner, fretted into a state of the utmost irritation. Were you not a few hours since, sixty miles off, and in the chapel to which this good woman goes to say her prayers? She was there, too, I think, said Quilp, still perfectly unmoved. I might say, if I was inclined to be rude, how do I know but you are dogging my footsteps? Yes, I was at the chapel. What then? I've read in books that childrens were used to go to the chapel before they went on journeys to put up petitions for their safe return. Wise men. Journeys are very perilous, especially outside the coach. Wheels come off, horses take fright, coachmen drive too fast, coaches overturn. I always go to chapel before I start on journeys. It's the last thing I do on such occasions, indeed. That Quilp lied most heartily in this speech. It needed no very great penetration to discover. Although for anything that he suffered to appear in his face, voice or manner, he might have been clinging to the truth with the quiet constancy of a martyr. In the name of all that's calculated to drive one crazy man, said the unfortunate single gentleman, have you not for some reason of your own taken upon yourself my errand? Don't you know with what object I have come here? And if you do know, can you throw no light upon it? You think I'm a conjurer, sir? replied Quilp shrugging up his shoulders. If I was, I should tell my own fortune and make it. We have said all we need to say, I see. Returned the other, throwing himself impatiently upon a sofa. Pray leave us, if you please. Willingly, returned Quilp, most willingly, Christopher's mother, my good soul, farewell, a pleasant journey back, sir. With these parting words, and with a grin upon his features altogether indescribable, but which seem to be compounded of every monstrous grimace of which men or monkeys are capable, the dwarf slowly retreated and closed the door behind him. Oh, ho! He said, when he had regained his own room, and sat himself down in a chair with his arms akimbo. Oh, ho! Are you there, my friend? Indeed. Chuckling as though in very great glee, and recompensing himself for the restraint he had lately put upon his countenance by twisting it into all imaginable varieties of ugliness, Mr. Quilp, rocking himself to and fro in his chair and nursing his left leg at the same time, fell into certain meditations, of which it may be necessary to relate the substance. First, he reviewed the circumstances which had led to his repairing to that spot, which were briefly these. Dropping in at Mr. Samson Brass's office on the previous evening, in the absence of that gentleman and his learned sister, he had lighted upon Mr. Swiveller, who chanced at the moment to be sprinkling a glass of warm gin and water on the dust of the law, and to be moistening his clay, as the phrase goes, rather copiously. But as clay in the abstract, when too much moistened becomes of a weak and uncertain consistency, breaking down in unexpected places, retaining impressions but faintly, and preserving no strength or steadiness of character, so Mr. Swiveller's clay, having imbibed a considerable quantity of moisture, was in a very loose and slippery state, in so much that the various ideas impressed upon it were fast losing their distinctive character and running into each other. It is not uncommon for human clay in this condition to value itself above all things upon its great prudence and surrogacy. And Mr. Swiveller, especially prizing himself upon these qualities, took occasion to remark that he had made strange discoveries in connection with the single gentleman who lodged above, which he had determined to keep within his own bosom, and which neither tortures nor cagellary should ever induce him to reveal. Of this determination Mr. Quilp expressed his high approval, and setting himself in the same breath to goad Mr. Swiveller armed to further hints, soon made out that the single gentleman had been seen in communication with Kitt, and that this was the secret which was never to be disclosed. Possessed of this piece of information, Mr. Quilp directly supposed that the single gentleman above stairs must be the same individual who had waited on him, and having assured himself by further inquiries that this surmise was correct, had no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that the intent and object of his correspondence with Kitt was the recovery of his old client and the child. Working with curiosity to know what proceedings were afoot, he resolved to pounce upon Kitt's mother, as the person least able to resist his arts, and consequently the most likely to be entrapped into such revelations as he sought. So taking an abrupt leave of Mr. Swiveller, he hurried to her house. The good woman being from home, he made inquiries of a neighbor as Kitt himself did soon afterwards, and being directed to the chapel, he took himself there in order to waylay her at the conclusion of the service. He had not sat in the chapel more than a quarter of an hour, and with his eyes piously fixed upon the ceiling was chuckling inwardly over the joke of his being there at all, when Kitt himself appeared. Watchful as a lynx, one glance showed the dwarf that he had come on business. Absorbed in appearance as we have seen, and feigning a profound abstraction, he noted every circumstance of his behaviour, and when he withdrew with his family, shot out after him. In fine he traced them to the notary's house, learnt the destination of the carriage and one of the pastillions, and knowing that a fast night-coach started for the same place, at the very hour which was on the point of striking from a street hard by, darted round to the coach-office without more ado, and took his seat upon the roof. After passing and repassing the carriage on the road, and being passed and repassed by its sundry times in the course of the night, according as their stoppages were longer or shorter, or their rate of travelling varied, they reached the town almost together. Quilp kept the sheys in sight, mingled with the crowd, learnt the single gentleman's errand and its failure, and having possessed himself of all that it was material to know, hurried off, reached the inn before him, had the interview just now detailed, and shut himself up in the little room in which he hastily reviewed all these occurrences. You are there, are you, my friend? he repeated, greedily biting his nails. I am suspected, and thrown aside, and kits the confidential agent, is he? I shall have to dispose of him, my fear. If we had come up with them this morning—he continued, after thoughtful pause—I was ready to prove a pretty good claim. I could have made my profit. But for these canting hypocrites, the lad and his mother, I could get this fiery gentleman as comfortably into my net as our old friend, our mutual friend, and chubby, rosy nail. At the worst it's a golden opportunity not to be lost. Let us find them first, and our fine means of draining you of some of your superfluous cash, sir, while there are prison bars and bolts and locks to keep your friend or kinsman safely. I hate your virtuous people," said the dwarf, throwing off a bumper of brandy and smacking his lips. I hate them every one. This was not a mere empty vaunt, but a deliberate avowal of his real sentiments, for Mr. Quillpe, who loved nobody, had by little and little come to hate everybody nearly or remotely connected with his ruined client. The old man himself, because he had been able to deceive him and elude his vigilance, the child, because she was the object of Mrs. Quillpe's commiseration and constant self-reproach, the single gentleman, because of his unconcealed aversion to himself, it and his mother most mortally for the reasons shown. Above and beyond that general feeling of opposition to them, which would have been inseparable from his ravenous desire to enrich himself by these altered circumstances, Daniel Quillpe hated them every one. In this amiable mood Mr. Quillpe had livened himself and his hatreds with more brandy, and then changing his quarters with due to an obscure ale-house, under cover of which seclusion he instituted all possible inquiries that might lead to the discovery of the old man and his grandchild. But all was in vain. What the slightest trace or clue could be obtained. They had left the town by night. No one had seen them go. No one had met them on the road. The driver of no coach, cart, or wagon had seen any travellers answering their description. Nobody had fallen in with them or heard of them. Convinced at last, at for the present, all such attempts were hopeless, he appointed two or three scouts, with promises of large rewards in case of their forwarding him any intelligence, and returned to London by next day's coach. It was some gratification to Mr. Quillpe to find, as he took his place upon the roof, that Kit's mother was alone inside, from which circumstance he derived in the course of the journey much cheerfulness of spirit, in as much as her solitary condition enabled him to terrify her with many extraordinary annoyances, such as hanging over the side of the coach at the risk of his life, and staring in with his great goggle eyes, which seemed in her as the more horrible from his face being upside down. Dodging her in this way from one window to another, getting nimbly down whenever they changed horses and thrusting his head in at the window with a dismal squint, which ingenious tortures had such an effect upon Mrs. Nubbles, that she was quite unable for the time to resist the belief that Mr. Quillpe did in his own person represent and embody that evil power who was so vigorously attacked at Little Bethel, and who, by reason of her backslidings in respect of Astleys and Oysters, was now frolicksome and rampant. Kit, having been apprised by letter of his mother's intended return, was waiting for her at the coach office, and great was his surprise when he saw leering over the coachman's shoulder like some familiar demon, invisible to all eyes but his, the well-known face of Quillpe. How are you, Christopher? croaked the door from the coach-top. All right, Christopher. Mother's inside. Why? How did he come here, mother? whispered Kit. I don't know how he came, or why, my dear? rejoined Mrs. Nubbles, dismounting with her son's assistance, but he has been a terrifying of me out of my seven senses all this blessed day. He has, cried Kit, you won't believe it, that you wouldn't, replied his mother, but don't say a word to him, for I really don't believe he's human. Hush! Don't turn round as if I was talking of him, but he's a squinting at me now in the full place of the coach-lamp, quite awful. In spite of his mother's injunction Kit turned sharply round to look. Mr. Quillpe was serenely gazing at the stars, quite absorbed in celestial contemplation. Oh! He's the awfulest creature! cried Mrs. Nubbles, but come away, don't speak to him for the world. Yes, I will, mother! What nonsense! I say, sir! Mr. Quillpe affected to start and looked smilingly round. You let my mother alone, will you? said Kit. How dare you tease a poor lone woman like her, like in her miserable and melancholy, as if she hadn't got enough to make herself without you! Aren't you ashamed of yourself, you little monster? Monster! said Quillpe inwardly, with a smile, ugliest dwarf that could be seen anywhere for a penny. Monster! Ah! You show her any of your impigants again, resumed Kit, shouldering the bandbox, and I tell you what, Mr. Quillpe, I won't bear with you any more. You have no right to do it. I'm sure we never interfered with you. This isn't the first time, and if ever you worry or frighten her again, you'll oblige me, though I should be very sorry to do it on account of your size, to beat you. Quillpe said not a word in reply. But walking so close to Kit, as to bring his eyes within two or three inches of his face, looked fixedly at him, retreated a little distance, without averting his gaze, approached again, again withdrew, and so on for half a dozen times, like a head in a phantasmagoria. Kit stood his ground, as if in expectation of an immediate assault, but finding that nothing came of these gestures, snapped his fingers, and walked away. His mother dragging him off as fast as she could, and even in the midst of his news of little Jacob and the baby, looking anxiously over her shoulder to see if Quillpe were following. CHAPTER 49 Kit's mother might have spared herself the trouble of looking back so often, for nothing was further from Mr. Quillpe's thoughts than any intention of pursuing her and her son, or renewing the quarrel with which they had parted. He went his way, whistling from time to time some fragments of a tune, and with a face quite tranquil and composed, jogged pleasantly towards home, entertaining himself as he went with visions of the fears and terrors of Mrs. Quillpe, who, having received no intelligence of him for three whole days and two nights, and having had no previous notice of his absence, was doubtless by that time in a state of distraction, and constantly fainting away with anxiety and grief. This facetious probability was so congenial to the dwarf's humour, and so exquisitely amusing to him that he laughed as he went along until the tears ran down his cheeks, and more than once, when he found himself in a by-street, vended his delight in a shrill scream, which, greatly terrifying any lonely passenger who happened to be walking on before him expecting nothing so little, increased his mirth, and made him remarkably cheerful and light-hearted. In this happy flow of spirits, Mr. Quillpe reached Tower Hill, when gazing up at the window of his own sitting-room, he thought he described more light than is usual in a house of mourning. Drawing nearer, and listening attentively, he could hear several voices in earnest conversation, among which he could distinguish not only those of his wife and mother-in-law, but the tongues of men. Ha! cried the jealous dwarf. What's this? Do they entertain visitors while I'm away? A smothered cough from above was the reply. He felt in his pockets for his latch-key, but had forgotten it. There was no resource but to knock at the door. A light in the passage, said Quillpe, peeping through the key-hole. A very soft knock, and by your leave, my lady, I may yet steal upon you unawares. So ho! A very low and gentle rap received no answer from within. But after a second application to the knocker, no louder than the first, the door was softly opened by the boy from the wharf, whom Quillpe instantly gagged with one hand and dragged into the street with the other. You throw me, monster! whispered the boy. Like how? Will you? How's upstairs, you dog? retorted Quillpe in the same tone. Tell me, and don't speak above your breath, or I'll choke you in good earnest. The boy could only point to the window and reply with a stifled giggle, expressive of such intense enjoyment that Quillpe clutched him by the throat and might have carried his threat into execution, or at least have made very good progress towards that end. But for the boy's nimbly extricating himself from his grasp, and fortifying himself behind the nearest post, at which, after some fruitless attempts to catch him by the hair of the head, his master was obliged to come to a parley. Will you answer me? said Quillpe, what's going on above? You won't live, they won't speak, replied the boy. I think you're dead. Dead, cried Quillpe, relaxing into a grim laugh himself. Now do they, do they really, you dog? They think you're, you're drowned, replied the boy, who in his malicious nature had a strong infusion of his master. You was last seen on the brink of the wharf, and I think you tumbled out. The prospect of playing the spy, and of such delicious circumstances, and of disappointing them all by walking in alive, gave more delight to Quillpe than the greatest stroke of good fortune could possibly have inspired him with. He was no less tickled than his hopeful assistant, and they both stood for some seconds grinning and gasping and wagging their heads at each other on either side of the post like an unmatchable pair of Chinese idols. Not a word, said Quillpe, making toward the door on tiptoe. Not a sound, not so much as a creaking board or a stumble against a cobweb. Drowned, eh, Mrs. Quillpe? Drowned! So saying, he blew out the candle, kicked off his shoes, and groped his way upstairs, leaving his delighted young friend in an ecstasy of summer sets on the pavement. The bedroom door on the staircase being unlocked, Mr. Quillpe slipped in, and planted himself behind the door of communication between that chamber and the sitting-room, which standing ajar to render both more airy and having a very convenient chink of which he had often availed himself for purposes of a spile and had indeed enlarged with his pocket-knife, enabled him not only to hear but to see distinctly what was passing. Applying his eye to this convenient place, he described Mr. Brass seated at the table with pen, ink, and paper, and the case- bottle of rum, his own case-bottle, and his own particular Jamaica, convenient to his hand, with hot water, fragrant lemons, white lump sugar, and all things fitting, from which choice materials, sapsoned by no means insensible to their claims upon his attention, had compounded a mighty glass of punch weaking hot, which he was at that very moment stirring up with a teaspoon, and contemplating with looks in which a faint assumption of sentimental regret struggled but weakly with a bland and comfortable joy. At the same table, with both her elbows upon it, was Mrs. Ginnywin. No longer sipping other people's punch feloniously with teaspoons, but taking deep draughts from a jorum of her own, while her daughter, not exactly with ashes on her head or sackcloth on her back, but preserving a very decent and becoming appearance of sorrow nevertheless, was reclining in an easy chair, and soothing her grief with the smaller allowance of the same glib liquid. There were also present a couple of water-side men, bearing between them certain machines called drags. Even these fellows were accommodated with a stiff glass apiece, and as they drank with a great relish, and were naturally of a red-nosed, pimple-faced, convivial look, their presence rather increased than detracted from that decided appearance of comfort which was the great characteristic of the party. If I could poison that dear old lady's rum and water, murmured Quilp, I'd die happy. Ah! said Mr. Brass, breaking the silence, and raising his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh, who knows, that he may be looking down upon us now, who knows, that he may be surveying of us from—from somewheres or another, and contemplating us with a watchful eye. Oh, Lord! Here Mr. Brass stopped to drink half his punch, and then resumed, looking at the other half as he spoke with a dejected smile. I can almost fancy, said the lawyer shaking his head, that I see his eye glistening down at the very bottom of my liquor. When shall we look upon his like again? Never, never. One minute we are here, holding his tumbler before his eyes, the next we are there, gulping down its contents and striking himself emphatically a little below the chest, in the silent tomb, to think that I should be drinking his very rum. It seems like a dream. With the view, no doubt, of testing the reality of his position, Mr. Brass pushed his tumbler as he spoke towards Mrs. Ginnywyn for the purpose of being replenished, and turned towards the attendant mariners. Their search has been quite unsuccessful, then. Quiet, Master! Why, I should say, if he turns up anywhere, you come ashore somewhere about Greenwich, to-morrow, adeptide, I might. The other gentleman assented, observing that he was expected at the hospital, and that several pensioners would be ready to receive him whenever he arrived. Then we have nothing for it but resignation, said Mr. Brass. Nothing but resignation and expectation. It would be a comfort to have his body. It would be a dreary comfort. Owl! Beyond a doubt! assented Mrs. Ginnywyn hastily. If we once had that, we should be quite sure. With regard to the descriptive advertisement, said Samson Brass, taking up his pen, it is a melancholy pleasure to recall his treats, respecting his legs now. Crooked, certainly, said Mrs. Ginnywyn. Do you think they were, Crooked, said Brass, in an insinuating tone? I think I see them now, coming up the street, very wide apart. In nankine pantaloons, a little shrunk, and without straps. Ah! What a veil of tears we live in, do we say, Crooked? I think they were a little so. Observed Mrs. Culp with a sob. Legs, Crooked, said Brass, writing as he spoke. Large head, short body, legs, Crooked. Very Crooked, suggested Mrs. Ginnywyn. We will not say very Crooked, ma'am, said Brass, piously. Let us not bear hard upon the weaknesses of the deceased. He has gone, ma'am, to where his legs will never come in question. We will content ourselves with Crooked, Mrs. Ginnywyn. I thought you wanted the truth, said the old lady. That's all. Blast your eyes, how I love you! muttered Culp. There she goes again, nothing but punch. This is an occupation, said the lawyer, laying down his pen and emptying his glass, which seems to bring him before my eyes like the ghost of Hamlet's father, and the very clothes that he wore on workadays. His coat, his waistcoat, his shoes and stockings, his trousers, his hat, his wit and humour, his pathos and his umbrella, all come before me like visions of my youth. His linen, said Mr. Brass, smiling fondly at the wall. His linen, which was always of a particular colour, for such was his whim and fancy. Now plain I see his linen now. You had better go on, sir, said Mrs. Ginnywyn, impatiently. True, ma'am, true, cried Mr. Brass, our faculties must not freeze with grief. I'll trouble you for a little more of that, ma'am. Question now arises, with relation to his nose. Flat, said Mrs. Ginnywyn. Aqueline, cried Quilp, thrusting in his head and striking the feature with his fist. Aqueline, you hag, do you see it? Do your call must fall out. Do you, aye? Oh, capital, capital, shouted Brass from the mere force of habit. Excellent! Oh, very good he is! He's a most remarkable man, so extremely whimsical, such an amazing power of taking people by surprise. Quilp paid no regard whatever to these compliments, nor to the dubious and frightened look into which the lawyer gradually subsided, nor to the freaks of his wife and mother-in-law, nor to the ladders running from the room, nor to the formers fainting away. Seeing his eye fixed on Samson Brass, he walked up to the table, and, beginning with his glass, drank off the contents and went regularly round until he had emptied the other two, when he seized the case-bottle and, hugging it under his arm, surveyed him with the most extraordinary lear. Not yet, Samson, said Quilp, not just yet! Oh, very good indeed! Brass, recovering his spirits a little. Oh, exceedingly good! There's not another man alive who could carry it off like that, a most difficult position to carry off. But he has such a flow of good humour, such an amazing flow! Good night! said the dwarf, nodding expressively. Good night, sir! Good night! cried the lawyer, retreating backwards towards the door. This is a joyful occasion indeed, extremely joyful! Very rich! Very rich indeed, remarkably so! Waiting until Mr. Brass's ejaculations died away in the distance, for he continued to pour them out all the way downstairs, Quilp advanced towards the two men who yet lingered in a kind of stupid amazement. Have you been dragging the river all day, gentlemen? said the dwarf, holding the door open with great politeness. And yesterday too, master! Dear me! You've had a deal of trouble. Pray consider everything yours that you find upon the body. Good night! The men looked at each other, but had evidently no inclination to argue the point just then, and shuffled out of the room. The speedy clearance effected, Quilp locked the doors, and still embracing the case-bottle with shrugged-up shoulders and folded arms, stood looking at his insensible wife like a dismounted nightmare. CHAPTER 50 Matrimonial differences are usually discussed by the parties concerned in the form of dialogue in which the lady bears at least her full half-share. Those of Mr. and Mrs. Quilp, however, were an exception to the general rule. The remarks which the occasioned being limited to a long soliloquy on the part of the gentleman, with perhaps a few deprecatory observations from the lady, not extending beyond a trembling monosyllable uttered at long intervals, and in a very submissive and humble tone. On the present occasion Mrs. Quilp did not for a long time venture even on this gentle defence, but when she had recovered from her fainting fit, sat in a tearful silence, meekly listening to the reproaches of her lord and master. Of these Mr. Quilp delivered himself with the utmost animation and rapidity, and with so many distortions of limb and feature, that even his wife, although tolerably well accustomed to his proficiency in these respects, was well nigh beside herself with alarm. Was a Jamaica rum, and the joy of having occasioned a heavy disappointment, by degrees cooled Mr. Quilp's wrath, which from being at savage heat, dropped slowly to the bantering or chuckling point at which it steadily remained. So you thought I was dead and gone, did you?" said Quilp. You thought you were a widow, eh? You jade! Indeed, Quilp—returned his wife—I'm very sorry. Who doubts it? cried the dwarf. You very sorry? To be sure you are. Who doubts that you are very sorry. I don't mean sorry that you have come home again alive and well, said his wife, but sorry that I should have been led into such a belief. I am glad to see you, Quilp—indeed I am. In truth Mrs. Quilp did seem a great deal more glad to behold her lord than might have been expected, and did evince a degree of interest in his safety, which, all things considered, was rather unaccountable. Upon Quilp, however, this circumstance made no impression. Rather than as it moved him to snap his fingers, close to his wife's eyes, with diverse grins of triumph and derision. How could you go away so long, without sighing a word to me, or letting me hear a view, or know anything about you? asked the poor little woman sobbing. How could you be so cruel, Quilp? How could I be so cruel? Cruel? cried the dwarf, because I was in the humour. I'm in the humour now. I shall be cruel when I like. I'm going away again. Not again? Yes, again. I'm going away now. I'm off directly. I'll meet the girl, and live wherever the fancy seizes me, at the wharf, at the counting-house, and be a jolly bachelor. You are a widow in anticipation. Damn! screamed the dwarf, I'll be a bachelor in earnest. You can't be serious, Quilp, sobbed his wife. I tell you, said the dwarf, exulting in his project, that I'll be a bachelor, and devil may care, bachelor, and I'll have my bachelor's hall at the counting-house, and at such times come new it if you dare. And mind, too, that I don't pounce in upon you at unseasonable hours again, for I'll be a spy upon you, and come and go like a mole, or a weasel. Tom Scott, where is Tom Scott? Here I am, master! cried the voice of the boy, as Quilp threw up the window. Wait there, you dog! returned the dwarf, to carry a bachelor's portmanteau. Pack it up, Mrs. Quilp. Knock up the dear old lady to help. Knock her up. Hello there! Hello! With these exclamations, Mr. Quilp caught up the poker, and hurrying to the door of the good lady's sleeping closet, beat upon it therewith until she awoke an inexpressible terror, thinking that her amiable son-in-law surely intended to murder her in justification of the legs she had slandered. Impressed of this idea, she was no sooner fairly awake, and she screamed violently, and would have quickly precipitated herself out of the window and through a neighbouring skylight if her daughter had not hastened in to under-see her and implore her assistance. Somewhat reassured by her account of the service she was required to render, Mrs. Ginny-Win made her appearance in a flannel dressing-gown, and both mother and daughter, trembling with terror and cold, for the night was now far advanced, obeyed Mr. Quilp's directions in submissive silence. Prolonging his preparations as much as possible for their greater comfort, that eccentric gentleman superintended the packing of his wardrobe, and having added to it with his own hands, a plate, knife and fork, spoon, tea-cup and saucer, and other small household matters of that nature, strapped up the portmanteau, took it on his shoulders, and actually marched off without another word, and with the case-bottle, which he had never once put down, still tightly clasped under his arm. Consigning his heavier burden to the care of Tom Scott when he reached the street, taking a dram from the bottle for his own encouragement, and giving the boy a wrap on the head with it as a small taste for himself, Quilp very deliberately led the way to the wharf, and reached it at between three and four o'clock in the morning. Snag! said Quilp, when he had groped his way to the wooden counting-house, and opened the door with a key he carried about with him. Beautiful! Snag! Call me at eight, you dog! With no more formal leave taking or explanation, he clutched the portmanteau, shut the door on his attendant, and climbing on the desk, and rolling himself up as round as a hedgehog in an old boat cloak fell fast asleep. Being roused in the morning at the appointed time, and roused with difficulty after his late fatigues, Quilp instructed Tom Scott to make a fire in the yard of sundry pieces of old timber, and to prepare some coffee for breakfast, for the better furnishing of which repast, he entrusted him with certain small moneys to be expended in the purchase of hot rolls, butter, sugar, yarmouth bloaters, and other articles of housekeeping, so that in a few minutes a savory meal was smoking on the board. With this substantial comfort, the dwarf regaled himself to his heart's content, and being highly satisfied with this free and gypsy mode of life, which he had often meditated as offering whenever he chose to avail himself of it an agreeable freedom from the restraints of matrimony, and a choice means of keeping Mrs. Quilp and her mother in a state of incessant agitation and suspense, bestowed himself to improve his retreat, and render it more commodious and comfortable. With this view he eschewed forth to a place hard by where sea stores were sold, purchased a second-hand hammock, and had it slung in semen-like fashion from the ceiling of the counting-house. He also caused to be erected in the same mouldy cabin, an old ship's stow for the rusty funnel to carry the smoke through the roof, and these arrangements completed surveyed them with ineffable delight. I've got a country-house like Robinson Crusoe," said the dwarf, ogling the accommodations, a solitary, sequestered, desolate island sort of spot, where I can be quite alone when I have business on hand, and be secure from all spies and listeners. Nobody near me here but rats, and they are fine, stealthy, secret fellows. I shall be as merry as a grig among these gentry. I look out for one like Christopher, and poison him. Eh, business, though, business! We must be mindful of business in the midst of pleasure. The time has flown this morning, I declare. In joining Tom Scott to await his return, and not to stand upon his head, or throw a Somerset, or so much as walk upon his hands, meanwhile, on pain of lingering torments, the dwarf threw himself into a boat, and crossing to the other side of the river, and then speeding away on foot, reached Mr. Swiveller's usual house of entertainment in Beaver's Marks, just as that gentleman sat down alone to dinner in its dusky parlour. Dick! said the dwarf, thrusting his head in at the door. My pet, my pupil, the apple of my eye, hey, hey, hey! How! You're there, are you? returned Mr. Swiveller. How are you? How's Dick? retorted quilp. How's the cream of clark's ship, eh? Why, rather sour, sir, replied Mr. Swiveller, beginning at the border upon cheesiness, in fact. What's the matter, said the dwarf advancing, has Sally proved unkind? Of all the girls that are so smart, there's none like, eh, hey, Dick! Certainly not, replied Mr. Swiveller, eating his dinner with great gravity. None like, eh, she's the sphinx of private life, who's Sally B. You're out of spirits, said quilp, drawing up a chair. What's the matter? The Lord don't agree with me. returned Dick. It isn't moist enough, and there's too much confinement. I've been thinking of running away. Bah! said the dwarf, where would you run to, Dick? I don't know. I've been thinking, Mr. Swiveller, towards Highgate, I suppose. Perhaps the bells might strike up, turn again Swiveller, Lord Mayor Landon. What ain't in his name, was Dick? I wish cats were scarcer. Quilp looked at his companion, with his eyes screwed up into a comical expression of curiosity, and patiently awaited his further explanation. Upon which, however, Mr. Swiveller appeared in no hurry to enter, as he ate a very long dinner in profound silence, finally pushed away his plate, threw himself back into his chair, folded his arms, and stared ruefully at the fire, in which some ends of cigars were smoking on their own account, and sending up a fragrant odor. Perhaps he lot a bit of cake, said Dick, at last turning to the dwarf. You're quite welcome to it. You ought to be, for it's of your making. What do you mean? said Quilp. Mr. Swiveller replied, by taking from his pocket a small and very greasy parcel, slowly unfolding it, and displaying a little slab of plum-cake, extremely indigestible in appearance, and bordered with a paste of white sugar, an inch and a half deep. What should you say this was? demanded Mr. Swiveller. It looks like bride-cake, replied the dwarf grinning, and who's should you say it was? inquired Mr. Swiveller, rubbing the pastry against his nose with a dreadful calmness. Who's? Not. Yes, said Dick, the same. You needn't mention her name. There's no such name now. Her name is Cheggs now, Sophie Cheggs. Yet loved I, as man never loved, that addent wooden legs, and my art. My art is brightened for the love of Sophie Cheggs. With this extemporary adaptation of a popular ballad to the distressing circumstances of his own case, Mr. Swiveller folded up the parcel again, beat it very flat between the palms of his hands, thrust it into his breast, buttoned his coat over it, and folded his arms upon the hole. Now, I hope you're satisfied, sir, said Dick, and I hope Fred's satisfied. I've got great partners in the mischief, and I hope you like it. This is the triumph I was to have, is it? It's like the old country dance of that name, where there are two gentlemen and one lady, and one has her, and the other hasn't, but comes limping up behind to make out the figure. But it's destiny, and mine's a crusher. Disguising his secret joy in Mr. Swiveller's defeat, Daniel Quilp adopted the surest means of soothing him, by ringing the bell and ordering in a supply of rosy wine, that is to say, of its usual representative, which he put about with great alacrity, calling upon Mr. Swiveller to pledge him in various toasts to rise of cheques, and eulogistic of the happiness of single men. Such was their impression on Mr. Swiveller, coupled with the reflection that no man could oppose his destiny, that in a very short space of time his spirits rose surprisingly, and he was enabled to give the dwarf an account of the receipt of the cake, which it appeared had been brought to be this marks by the two surviving Miss Wackles' in person, and delivered at the office door with much giggling and joyfulness. Ha! said Quilp, it will be our turn to giggle soon. And that reminds me, you spoke of young Trent, where is he? Mr. Swiveller explained that his respectable friend had recently accepted a responsible situation in a locomotive gaming-house, and was at that time absent on a professional tour among the adventurous spirits of Great Britain. That's unfortunate, said the dwarf, for I came, in fact, to ask you about him. A thought has occurred to me, Dick. Your friend over the way—which friend?—in the first floor. Yes. Your friend in the first floor, Dick, might know him. Now he don't—said Mr. Swiveller shaking his head—don't. No, because he has never seen him, rejoined Quilp, but if we were to bring them together, who knows, Dick, but Fred, properly introduced, would serve his turn almost as well as little Nell or her grandfather. No knows, but it might make the young fellow's fortune, and, through him, yours, eh? Well, the fact is, you see—said Mr. Swiveller—that they have been brought together—have been—cried the dwarf, looking suspiciously at his companion—through whose means—through mine—said Dick, slightly confused. Didn't I mention it to you the last time you called over Yonder? You now you didn't—returned the dwarf. I'll believe you're right—said Dick—now—I didn't—I'll recollect. Oh, yes, I brought them together that very day. It was Fred's suggestion. And what came of it? Why, instead of my friend's bursting atiers when he knew who Fred was, embracing him kindly, and telling him that he was his grandfather, or his grandmother in disguise, which we fully expected, he flew into a tremendous passion, called him all men of names, said it was in a great measure his fault that little Nell and the old gentleman had ever been brought to poverty, didn't hint at our taking anything to drink, and, in short, rather turned us out of the room than otherwise. That's strange, said the dwarf, musing, so we remarked to each other at the time—returned Dick Cooley—but quite true. Quilp was plainly staggered by this intelligence, over which he brooded for some time in moody silence, often raising his eyes to Mr. Swivillor's face and sharply scanning its expression. As he could read in it, however, no additional information or anything to lead him to believe he had spoken falsely, and as Mr. Swivillor left to his own meditations, sighed deeply, and was evidently growing mortal on the subject of Mrs. Chegg's, the dwarf soon broke up the conference, and took his departure, leaving the bereaved one to his melancholy ruminations. "'Have been brought together, eh?' said the dwarf, as he walked the streets alone, "'my friend has stolen a march upon me.' It led him to nothing, and therefore is no great matter, save in the intention. I'm glad he has lost his mistress—he, he, he, he—the blocker mustn't leave the Lord present. I'm sure if him where he is, whenever I want him for my own purpose, and besides, he's a good unconscious spy on brass, and tells in his cups all that he sees and hears. You are useful to me, Dick, and cast nothing but a little treating now and then. I am not sure that it may not be worthwhile, before long, to take credit with the stranger, Dick, by discovering your designs upon the child, but for the present will remain the best friends in the world with your good leave." Pursuing these thoughts, and gasping as he went along after his own peculiar fashion, Mr. Quilp once more crossed the Thames, and shut himself up in his bachelor's hall, which by reason of its newly erected chimney, depositing the smoke inside the room and carrying none of it off, was not quite so agreeable as more frostidious people might have desired. Such inconvenience as, however, instead of disgusting the dwarf with his new abode, rather suited his humour. So after dining luxuriously from the public house, he lighted his pipe, and smoked against the chimney, until nothing of him was visible through the mist, but a pair of red and highly inflamed eyes, with sometimes a dim vision of his head and face. As in a violent fit of coughing, he slightly stirred the smoke, and scattered the heavy wreaths by which they were obscured. In the midst of this atmosphere, which must infallibly have smothered any other man, Mr. Quilp passed the evening with great cheerfulness, solacing himself at all time with the pipe and the case-bottle, and occasionally entertaining himself with the melodious howl, intended for a song, but bearing not the faintest resemblance to any scrap of any piece of music, vocal or instrumental ever invented by man. Thus he amused himself until nearly midnight, when he turned into his hammock with the utmost satisfaction. The first sound that met his ears in the morning, as he half opened his eyes, and finding himself so unusually near the ceiling, entertained a drowsy idea that he must have been transformed into a fly or blue bottle in the course of the night. It was that of a stifled sobbing and weeping in the room. Peeping cautiously over the side of his hammock, he described Mrs. Quilp, to whom, after contemplating her for some time in silence, he communicated a violent start by suddenly yelling out, Hello! Oh! Quilp! cried his poor little wife, looking up. Oh! You frighten me! I meant till. You jade! returned the dwarf. I want here. I'm dead, aren't I? Oh! Please come home! Do come home! said Mrs. Quilp sobbing. We'll never do so any more, Quilp, and after all it was only a mistake that grew out of our anxiety. Out of your anxiety, grinned the dwarf. Yes, I know that, out of your anxiety for my death. I shall come home when I please, I tell you, I shall come home when I please, and go when I please, I'll be a will of the wisp. Now here, now there, dancing about you always, starting up when you least expect me, and keeping you in a constant state of restlessness and irritation. Will you be gone? Mrs. Quilp durst only make a gesture of entreaty. I tell you, no, cried the dwarf, no. If you dare to come here again, unless you're sent for, I'll keep watchdogs in the yard that'll growl and bite. I'll have mantraps, cunningly altered and improved for catching women. I'll have spring guns that shall explode when you tread upon the wires and blow you into little pieces. Will you be gone? Do forgive me. Do come back, said his wife earnestly. No! roared Quilp. Not till my own good time, and then I'll return again as often as I choose, and be accountable to nobody for my goings or comings. You see the door there. Will you go? Mr. Quilp delivered this last command, in such a very energetic voice, and moreover accompanied it with such a sudden gesture, indicative of an intention to spring out of his hammock, and night capped as he was, bear his wife home again through the public streets, that she sped away like an arrow. Her worthy lord stretched his neck and eyes until she had crossed the yard, and then, not at all sorry to have had this opportunity of carrying his point, and asserting the sanctity of his castle, fell into an immoderate fit of laughter, and laid himself down to sleep again. End of Chapter 50. The bland and open-hearted proprietor of Bachelors Hall slept on amidst the congenial accompaniments of rain, mud, dirt, damp, fog, and rats, until late in the day. When summoning his valet, Tom Scott to assist him to rise, and to prepare breakfast, he quitted his couch and made his toilet. This duty performed, and his reparsed ended, he again betook himself to beavers' marks. This visit was not intended for Mr. Swiveller, but for his friend and employer, Mr. Samson Brass. Both gentlemen, however, were from home, nor was the life and light of law Miss Sally at her post, either. The fact of their joint desertion of the office was made known to all comers by a scrap of paper in the handwriting of Mr. Swiveller, which was attached to the bell-handle, and which, giving the reader no clue to the time of day when it was first posted, furnished him with the rather vague and unsatisfactory information that that gentleman would return in an hour. There's a servant, I suppose," said the dwarf, knocking at the house-door. She'll do. After sufficiently long interval, the door was opened, and a small voice immediately accosted him with, "'O, please! Will you leave a card or message?' "'I,' said the dwarf, looking down, it was something quite new to him, upon the small servant. To this the child, conducting a conversation as upon the occasion of her first interview with Mr. Swiveller, again replied, "'O, please! Will you leave a card or message?' "'I'll write a note,' said the dwarf, pushing past her into the office. "'And mind your master has it directly, he comes home.'" So Mr. Quillpe climbed up to the top of a tall stool to write the note, and the small servant, carefully tutored for such emergencies, looked on with her eyes wide open, ready if he so much as abstracted a wafer to rush into the street and give the alarm to the police. As Mr. Quillpe folded his note, which was soon written, being a very short one, he encountered the gaze of the small servant. He looked at her, long and earnestly. "'How are you?' said the dwarf, moistling a wafer with horrible grimaces. The small servant, perhaps frightened by his looks, returned no audible reply. But it appeared from the motion of her lips that she was inwardly repeating the same form of expression concerning the note or message. "'Do they use you ill here?' "'Is your mistress a tartar?' said Quillpe with a chuckle. In reply to the last interrogation, the small servant, with the look of infinite cunning, mingled with fear, screwed up her mouth very tight and round and nodded violently. Whether there was anything in the peculiar slinus of her action, which fascinated Mr. Quillpe, or anything in the expression of her features at the moment which attracted his attention for some other reason, or whether it merely occurred to him as a pleasant whim to stare the small servant out of countenance, certain it is that he planted his elbows square and firmly on the desk and squeezing up his cheeks with his hands, looked at her fixedly. "'Where do you come from?' She said, after a long pause, stroking his chin. "'I don't know.' "'What's your name?' "'Nothing.' "'Nonsense,' retorted Quillpe. "'What is your mistress calling you when she wants you?' "'A little devil,' said the child. She added in the same breath, as if fearful of any further questioning. "'But please, will you leave a card or message?' These unusual answers might naturally have provoked some more inquiries. Quillpe, however, without uttering another word, withdrew his eyes from the small servant, stroked his chin more thoughtfully than before, and then, bending over the note as if to direct it with scrupulous and hair-breadth nicety, looked at her covertly, but very narrowly, from under his bushy eyebrows. The result of this secret survey was that he shaded his face with his hands, and laughed slyly and noiselessly until every vein in it was swollen almost to bursting. Pulling his head over his brow to conceal his mirth and its effects, he tossed the letter to the child and hastily withdrew. Once in the street, moved by some secret impulse, he laughed, and held his sides and laughed again, and tried to peer through the dusty area railings as if to catch another glimpse of the child, until he was quite tired out. At last he travelled back to the wilderness, which was within rifle-shot of his bachelor retreat, and ordered tea in the wooden summer-house that afternoon for three persons, an invitation to Miss Sally Brass and her brother to partake of that entertainment at that place, having been the object both of his journey and his note. It was not precisely the kind of weather in which people usually take tea in summer houses, far less in summer houses in an advanced state of decay, and overlooking the slimy banks of a great river at low water. Nevertheless, it was in this choice retreat that Mr. Quilp ordered a cold collation to be prepared, and it was beneath its cracked and leaky roof that he, in due course of time, received Mr. Samson and his sister Sally. Your fond of the beauties of nature, said Quilp with a grin, Is this charming brass? Is it unusual and sophisticated, primitive? It's delightful indeed, sir, replied the lawyer. Cool, said Quilp, not particularly so, I think, sir, rejoined Brass with his teeth chattering in his head, perhaps a little damp and aguish, said Quilp. Just damp enough to be cheerful, sir, rejoined Brass. Nothing more, sir, nothing more. And Sally, said the delighted dwarf, does she like it? She'll like it better, returned that strong-minded lady, when she has tea. So let us have it, and don't bother. Sweet Sally, cried Quilp, extending his arms, as if about to embrace her, gentle, charming, overwhelming Sally. He's a very remarkable man indeed, so they'll acquies Mr. Brass. He's quite a troubadour, you know, quite a troubadour. These complementary expressions were uttered in a somewhat absent and distracted manner, for the unfortunate lawyer, besides having a bad cold in his head, had got wet in coming, and would have willingly borne some pecuniary sacrifice if he could have shifted his present raw quarters to a warm room, and dried himself at a fire. Quilp, however, who, beyond the gratification of his demon whims, owed Samson some acknowledgment of the part he had played in the morning scene of which he had been a hidden witness, worked these symptoms of uneasiness with a delight past all expression, and arrived from them a secret joy which the costliest banquet could never have afforded him. It is worthy of remark, too, as illustrating a little feature in the character of Miss Sally Brass, that although on her own account she would have borne the discomforts of the wilderness with a very ill grace, and would probably indeed have walked off before the tea appeared, she no sooner beheld the latent uneasiness and misery of her brother, than she developed a grim satisfaction, and began to enjoy herself after her own manner. Though the wet came stealing through the roof and trickling down upon their heads, Miss Brass uttered no complaint, but presided over the tea-equipage with imperturbable composure. While Mr. Quilp, in his abhorious hospitality, seated himself upon an empty beer-barrel, vaunted the place as the most beautiful and comfortable in the three kingdoms, and elevating his glass, drank to their next merry meeting in that jovial spot. And Mr. Brass, with the rain plashing down into his teacup, made a dismal attempt to pluck up his spirits, and appear at his ease. And Tom Scott, who was in waiting at the door under an old umbrella, exalted in his agonies, and bade fair to spit his sides with laughing. While all this was passing, Miss Sally Brass, unmindful of the wet which dripped down upon her own feminine person and fair apparel, sat placidly behind the tea-board, erect and grizzly, contemplating the unhappiness of her brother with a minded ease, and content, in her amiable disregard of self, to sit there all night, witnessing the torments which his abhoritious and groveling nature compelled him to endure, and forbade him to resent. In this it must be observed, or the illustration would be incomplete, although in a business point of view she had the strongest sympathy with Mr. Samson, and would have been beyond measure indignant if he had thwarted their client in any one respect. In the height of his boisterous merriment, Mr. Quillpe, having on some pretence dismissed his attendant spite for the moment, resumed his usual manner all at once, dismounted from his cask, and laid his hand upon the lawyer's sleeve. "'A word,' said the dwarf, before we go farther. Sally, hark he, for a minute.' Miss Sally drew closer, as if accustomed to business conferences with their host, which were the better for not having air. "'Business,' said the dwarf, glancing from brother to sister, "'very private business. Lay your heads together when you're by yourselves.' "'Certainly, sir,' returned Brass, taking out his pocket-book and pencil. "'I'll take down the heads, if you please, sir.' "'Remarkable documents,' added the lawyer, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "'Most remarkable documents.' He states his point so clearly that it's a treat to have him. I don't know any act of parliament that's equal to him in clearness.' "'I shall deprive you of a treat.' Said Krupp. "'Put up your book. We don't want any documents.' "'So, there's a lad named Kit.' Miss Sally nodded, implying that she knew of him.' "'Kit,' said Mr. Samson. "'Kit, ha! I've heard the name before, but I don't exactly call to mind. I don't exactly. You're as slow as a tortoise and more thick-headed than a rhinoceros.' returned his obliging client with an impatient gesture. "'He's extremely pleasant,' cried the obsequious Samson. "'His acquaintance with natural history, too, is surprising. Quite a buffoon. Quite.' There is no doubt that Mr. Brass intended some compliment or other, and it has been argued with a show of reason that he would have said, on, but made use of a superfluous vow. Be this as it may, Krupp gave him no time for correction, as he performed that office himself by more than tapping him on the head with the handle of his umbrella. "'Don't let's have any wrangling,' said Miss Sally, staying his hand. "'I've showed you that I know him, and that's enough.' "'She's always foremost,' said the dwarf, patting her on the back, and looking contemptuously at Samson. "'I don't like Kit, Sally.' "'Nor I,' rejoined Miss Brass. "'Nor I,' said Samson. "'Why, that's right,' cried Krupp. "'Half our work is done already. "'This Kit is one of your honest people. "'One of your fair characters, a prowling, prying hound, "'a hevercret, a double-faced, white-livered, sneaking spy, "'a crouching cur to those that feed and coax him, "'and a barking, yelping dog to all the sides.' "'Fearfully eloquent,' cried Brass with a sneeze, "'quite appalling. "'Come to the point,' said Miss Sally, "'and don't talk so much.' "'Right again,' exclaimed Krupp with another contemptuous look at Samson. "'Always foremost.' "'I say, Sally, he is a yelping, insolent dog "'to all the sides, and most of all to me. "'In short, I owe him a grudge.' "'That's enough, sir,' said Samson. "'No, it's not enough, sir,' sneered Krupp. "'Will you hear me out?' "'Besides as I owe him a grudge on that account, "'he thwarts me at this minute, "'and stands between me and an end "'which might otherwise prove a golden one to us all. "'Apart from that, I repeat that he crosses my humour, "'and I hate him. "'Now, you know the lad? "'And can guess the rest. "'Divise your means of putting me out of my way "'and execute them. "'Shall it be done?' "'It shall, sir,' said Samson. "'Then give me your hand,' retorted Krupp. "'Sally girl, yours. "'I rely as much or more on you than him. "'Tom's gut comes back, "'Lanton pipes, more grog, "'and a jolly night of it.'" No other word was spoken. No other look exchanged, which had the slightest reference to this the real occasion of their meeting. The trio were well accustomed to act together and were linked to each other by ties of mutual interest and advantage, and nothing more was needed. Resuming his boisterous manner with the same ease with which he had thrown it off, Krupp was in an instant the same uproarious reckless little savage he had been a few seconds before. It was ten o'clock at night before the amiable Sally supported her beloved and loving brother from the wilderness, each time he needed the utmost support her tender frame could render, his walk being from some unknown reason anything but steady, and his legs constantly doubling up in unexpected places. Overpowered, notwithstanding his late prolonged slumbers by the fatigues of the last few days, the dwarf lost no time in creeping to his dainty house and was soon dreaming in his hammock. Leaving him to visions in which perhaps the quiet figures we quitted in the old church porch were not without their share, be it our task to rejoin them as they sat and watched. End of Chapter 51 Chapter 52 of the Old Curiosity Shop This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recorded by Mill Nicholson. The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens Chapter 52 After a long time the schoolmaster appeared at the wicked gate of the churchyard and hurried towards them, tingling in his hand as he came along a bundle of rusty keys. He was quite breathless with pleasure and haste when he reached the porch, and at first could only point towards the old building which the child had been contemplating so earnestly. You see, those two old houses! He said at last. Yes, surely. replied Nell. I have been looking at them nearly all the time you have been away. And you would have looked at them more curiously yet if you could have guessed what I have to tell you. said her friend. One of those houses is mine. Without saying any more, or giving the child time to reply, the schoolmaster took her hand and his honest face quite radiant with exultation led her to the place of which he spoke. They stopped before its low arched door. After trying several of the keys in vain, the schoolmaster found one to fit the huge lock which turned back, creaking and admitted them into the house. The room into which they entered was a vaulted chamber, once nobly ornamented by cunning architects and still retaining in its beautiful groin roof and rich stone tracery choice remnants of its ancient splendour. Foliage carved in the stone and emulating the mastery of nature's hand, yet remained to tell how many times the leaves outside had come and gone while it lived on unchanged. The broken figures supporting the burden of the chimney-piece, though mutilated, were still distinguishable for what they had been, far different from the dust without, and showed sadly by the empty hearth like creatures who had outlived their kind and mourned their own too-slow decay. In some old time, for even change was old in that old place, a wooden partition had been constructed in one part of the chamber to form a sleeping-closet into which the light was admitted at the same period by a rude window, or rather niche, cut in the solid wall. This screen, together with two seats in the broad chimney, had at some forgotten date been part of the church or convent, for the oak, hastily appropriated to its present purpose, had been little altered from its former shape, and presented to the eye a pile of fragments of rich carving from old, monkish stalls. An open door leading to a small room or cell, dimmed with the light that came through leaves of ivy, completed the interior of this portion of the ruin. It was not quite destitute of furniture. A few strange chairs, whose arms and legs looked as though they had dwindled away with age, a table, the very spectre of its race, a great old chest that had once held records in the church with other quaintly-fashioned domestic necessaries, and store of firewood for the winter, were scattered around, and gave evident tokens of its occupation as a dwelling-place at no very distant time. The child looked around her with that sullen feeling with which we contemplate the work of ages that have become but drops of water and the great ocean of eternity. The old man had followed them, but they were all three hushed for a space, and drew their breath softly, as if they feared to break the silence, even by so slight a sound. "'It is a very beautiful place,' said the child in a low voice. "'I almost feared you thought otherwise,' returned the schoolmaster. "'You shivered when we first came in, as if you felt it cold or gloomy.' "'It was not that,' said Nell, glancing round with a slight shudder. "'Indeed, I cannot tell you what it was, but when I saw the outside from the church porch, the same feeling came over me. It is its being so old and grey, perhaps.' "'A peaceful place to live in, don't you think so?' said her friend. "'Oh, yes,' rejoined the child, clasping her hands earnestly. "'A quiet, happy place, a place to live and learn to die in.' She would have said more, but that the energy of her thoughts caused her voice to falter and come in trembling whispers from her lips. "'A place to live and learn to live and gather health of mind and body in,' said the schoolmaster. "'This old house is yours.' "'Ours,' cried the child. "'I,' returned the schoolmaster gaily, "'for many a merry year to come, I hope. "'I shall be a close neighbour, only next door, but this house is yours.' Having now disburdened himself of his great surprise, the schoolmaster sat down and, drawing Nell to his side, told her how he had learnt that the ancient tenement had been occupied for a very long time by an old person, nearly a hundred years of age, who kept the keys of the church, opened it and closed it for the services, and showed it to strangers, how she had died not many weeks ago, and nobody had yet been found to fill the office. How, learning all this in an interview with Sexton, who was confined to his bed by rheumatism, he had been bold to make mention of his fellow-traveller, which had been so favourably received by that high authority that he had taken courage, acting on his advice, to propound the matter to the clergyman. In a word, the result of his exertions was that Nell and her grandfather were to be carried before the last-name gentleman next day, and his approval of their conduct and appearance reserved as a matter of form that they were already appointed to the vacant post. "'There—there's a small allowance of money,' said the schoolmaster. "'It is not much, but still enough to live upon in this retired spot. By clubbing our funds together we shall do bravely no fear of that.' "'Heaven, bless and prosper you!' sobbed the child. "'Amen, my dear,' returned her friend cheerfully, "'and all of us, as it will, and has in leading us through sorrow and trouble to this tranquil life. "'But we must look at my house now. Come!' They repaired to the other tenement, tried the rusty keys as before, at length found the right one, and opened the worm-eaten door. It led into a chamber, vaulted and old, like that from which they had come, but not so spacious, and having only one other little room attached. It was not difficult to divine that the other house was of right the schoolmasters, and that he had chosen for himself the least commodious in his care and regard for them. Like the adjoining habitation it held such old articles of furniture as were absolutely necessary, and had its stack of firewood. To make these dwellings as habitable and full of comfort as they could was now their pleasant care. In a short time each had its cheerful fire glowing and crackling on the hearth, and reddening the pale old wall and healthy blush. Nell, busily plying her needle, repaired the tattered window hangings, drew together the wrents that time had worn in the thread-bear scraps of carpet, and made them whole and decent. The schoolmaster swept and smoothed the ground before the door, trimmed the long grass, trained the ivy and creeping plants which hung their drooping heads and melancholy neglect, and gave to the outer walls a cheery air of home. The old man, sometimes by his side and sometimes with the child, lent his aid to both, went here and there on little patient services, and was happy. Neighbours, too, as they came from work, proffered their help, or sent their children with such small presents or loans as the strangers needed most. It was a busy day, and night came on, and found them wondering that there was yet so much to do, and that it should be dark so soon. They took their supper together which may be henceforth called the child's, and when they had finished their meal, drew round the fire and almost and whispers their hearts were too quiet and glad for loud expression, discussed their future plans. Before they separated, the schoolmaster read some prayers aloud, and then, full of gratitude and happiness, they parted for the night. At that silent hour when her grandfather was sleeping peacefully in his bed, the child lingered before the dying embers, and thought of her past fortunes as if they had been a dream, and she only now awoke. The glare of the sinking flame reflected in the oaken panels whose carved tops were dimly seen in the dusky roof, the aged walls where strange shadows came and went with every flickering of the fire, the solemn presence within of that decay which falls on senseless things the most enduring in their nature, and without and round about on every side of death, filled her with deep and thoughtful feelings, but with none of terror or alarm. A change had been gradually stealing over her in the time of her loneliness and sorrow. With failing strength and heightening resolution they had sprung up a purified and altered mind. They had grown in her bosom, blessed thoughts and hopes new, but the weak and drooping. There were none to see the frail, perishable figure as it glided from the fire and leaned pensively at the open casement, none but the stars to look into the upturned face and read its history. The old church bell rang out the hour with a mournful sound as if it had grown sad from so much communing with the dead an unheeded warning to the living. The fallen leaves rustled, the grass stirred upon the graves, all else was still and sleeping. Some of those dreamless sleepers lay close within the shadow of the church, touching the wall as if they clung to it for comfort and protection. Others had chosen to lie beneath the changing shade of trees, others by the path at footsteps might come near them, others among the graves of little children. Some had desire to rest beneath the very ground they had trodden in their daily walks, some where the setting sun might shine upon their beds, some where its light would fall upon them when it rose. Perhaps not one of the imprisoned souls had been able quite to separate itself in living thought from its old companion. If any had, it had still felt for it a love like that which captors have been known to bear towards the cell in which they have been long confined, and even at parting hung upon its narrow bounds affectionately. It was long before the child closed the window and approached her bed. Again something of the same sensation as before, an involuntary chill, a momentary feeling akin to fear, but vanishing directly and leaving no alarm behind. Again, two dreams of the little scholar, of the roof opening, and a column of bright faces rising far away into the sky as she had seen some old scriptural picture once and looking down on her asleep. It was a sweet and happy dream. The quiet spot outside seemed to remain the same, saving that there was music in the air and a sound of angels' wings. After time the sisters came there hand in hand and stood among the graves, and then the dream grew dim and faded. With the brightness and joy of morning came the renewal of yesterday's labours, the revival of its pleasant thoughts, the restoration of its energies, cheerfulness and hope. They worked gaily in ordering and arranging their houses until noon, and then went to visit the clergyman. He was a simple-hearted old gentleman of a shrinking, subdued spirit, accustomed to retirement and very little acquainted with the world, which he had left many years before to come and settle in that place. His wife had died in the house in which he still lived, and he had long since lost sight of any earthly cares or hopes beyond it. He received them very kindly and had once showed an interest in Nell, asking her name and age, her birthplace, the circumstances which had led her there and so forth. The schoolmaster had already told her story. They had no other friends or home to leave, he said, and had come to share his fortunes. He loved the child as though she were his own. Well, well, said the clergyman, let it be as you desire. She is very young. Old adversity in trial, sir," replied the schoolmaster, God help her. Let her rest and forget them, said the old gentleman, but an old church is a dull and gloomy place of one so young as you, my child. Oh, no, sir! Return, Nell, I have no such thoughts indeed. I would rather see her dancing on the green at night. Said the old gentleman, laying his hand upon her head and smiling sadly, than have her sitting in the shadow of our mouldering arches. You must look to this and see that her heart does not grow heavy among these solemn ruins. Your request is granted, friend. After more kind words they withdrew and prepared to the child's house where they were yet in conversation on their happy fortune when another friend appeared. This was a little old gentleman who lived in the Parsonage House and had resided there, so they learnt soon afterwards, ever since the death of the clergyman's wife, which had happened fifteen years before. He had been his college friend and always his close companion in the first shock of his grief he had come to console and comfort him and from that time they had never parted company. The little old gentleman was the active spirit of the place, the adjuster of all differences, the promoter of all merry-makings, the dispenser of his friend's bounty and of no small charity of his own besides the universal mediator, comforter and friend. None of the simple villagers had cared to ask his name and knew it to store it in their memory. Perhaps from some vague rumour of his college honours which had been whispered abroad on his first arrival perhaps because he was an unmarried unencumbered gentleman he had been called the Bachelor. The name pleased him or suited him as well as any other and the Bachelor he had ever since remained and the Bachelor it was it may be added who with his own hands had laid in the stock of fuel which the Wanderers had found in his habitation. The Bachelor then, to call him by his usual appellation, lifted the latch, showed his little round mild face for a moment at the door and stepped into the room like one who was no stranger to it. You are Mr. Martin, the new schoolmaster. He said, greeting Nell's kind friend. I am, sir. You come well recommended and I am glad to see you. I should have been in the way yesterday expecting you, but I rode across the country to carry a message from a sick mother to her daughter in service some miles off and have but just now returned. This is our young churchkeeper. You are not the last welcome friend for her sake or for this old man's nor the worst teacher for having learned humanity. She has been ill, sir, very lately. Said the schoolmaster and answered to the look with which their visitor regarded Nell when he had kissed her cheek. Yes, yes I know she has. He rejoined. There have been suffering and heartache here. Indeed, there have, sir. The little old gentleman glanced at the grandfather and back again at the child whose hand he took tenderly in his and held. You will be happier here. We will try at least to make you so. You have made great improvements here already. Are they the work of your hands? Yes, sir. We may make some others. Not better in themselves but with better means perhaps. Said the bachelor. Let us see now. Let us see. Nell accompanied him into the other little rooms and over both the houses in which he found various small comforts wanting, which he engaged to supply from a certain collection of odds and ends he had at home, and which must have been a very miscellaneous and extensive one, as it comprehended the most opposite articles imaginable. They all came, however, and came without loss of time. For the little old gentleman disappearing for some five or ten minutes, presently returned laden with old shelves, rugs, blankets, household gear, and followed by a boy bearing a similar load. These being cast on the floor in a promiscuous heap yielded a quantity of occupation in arranging, erecting, and putting away. The superintendents of which task evidently afforded the old gentleman extreme delight and engaged him for some time with great briskness and activity. When nothing more was left to be done, he charged the boy to run off and bring his schoolmates to be marshaled before their new master and solemnly reviewed. As good a set of fellows, Martin, as you'd wish to see, he said, turning to the schoolmaster when the boy was gone, but I don't let him know I think so. That wouldn't do at all. The messenger soon returned at the head of a long row of urchins, great and small, who, being confronted by the vature at the house-door, fell into various convulsions of politeness, clutching their hats and caps, squeezing them into the smallest possible dimensions and making all manner of bows and scrapes, which the little old gentleman contemplated with excessive satisfaction and expressed his approval of by a great many nods and smiles. Indeed, his approbation of the boys was by no means so scrupulously disguised as he had led the schoolmaster to suppose. Inasmuch, as it broke out in sundry loud whispers and confidential remarks, which were perfectly audible to them every one. This first boy, schoolmaster," said the bachelor, is John Owen, a lad of good parts, sir, and frank, honest temper, but too thoughtless, too playful, too light-headed by far. That boy, my good sir, would break his neck with pleasure and deprive his parents of their chief comfort. And between ourselves when you come to see him at hair and hounds, taking the fence and ditch by the finger-post and sliding down the face of the little quarry, you will never forget it. It's beautiful. John Owen, having been thus rebuked and being in perfect possession of the speech aside, the bachelor singled out another boy. Now look at that lad, sir," said the bachelor. Do you see that fellow? Richard Evans, his name is, an amazing boy to learn, blessed with a good memory and a ready understanding and, moreover, with a good voice and ear for psalm singing in which he is the best among us. Yet, sir, that boy will come to a bad end. He'll never die in his bed. He's always fallen asleep in sermon time, and to tell you the truth, Mr. Martin, he's always did the same at his age and feel quite certain that it was natural to my constitution and I couldn't help it. This hopeful pupil, edified by the above terrible reproval, the bachelor turned to another. But if we talk of examples to be shunned," said he, if we come to boys that should be a warning and a beacon to all their fellows, here's the one, and I hope you won't spare him. This is the lad, sir. This one with the blue eyes and light hair. This is a swimmer, sir. This fellow, a diver, Lord Savers. This is a boy, sir, who had a fancy for plunging into eighteen feet of water with his clothes on and bringing up a blind man's dog who was being drowned by the weight of his chain and collar while his master stood I sent the boy to Guinea's Anonymous Lisa. added the bachelor in his peculiar whisper. Directly I heard of it, but never mentioned it on any account, for he hasn't the least idea that it came from me. Having disposed of this culprit the bachelor turned to another and from him to another and so on through the whole array laying for their wholesome restriction within due bounds the same cutting emphasis on such of their propensities as were dearest to his heart and were unquestionably referable to his own precept and example. Thoroughly persuaded in the end that he had made them miserable by his severity. He dismissed them with a small present and an admonition to walk quietly home without any leapings, scufflings or turnings out of the way which in junction he informed the schoolmaster in the same audible confidence he did not think he could have obeyed when he was a boy had his life depended on it. Hailing these little tokens of the bachelor's disposition as so many assurances of his own welcome course from that time the schoolmaster parted from him with a light heart and joyous spirits and deemed himself one of the happiest men on earth. The windows of the two old houses were ruddy again that night with the reflection of the cheerful fires that burnt within and the bachelor and his friend paused him to look upon them and spoke softly together of the beautiful child and looked round upon the churchyard with a sigh End of chapter 52