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 Gift of 
 
 MRS. FRANK E. HAUSER 
 
 
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THE 
 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS 
 
 WITH THIRTY-NINE ILLUSTRATIONS B Y C. GREEN 
 
 LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193 PICCADILLY 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 !N April, 1840, I issued the first number of a new weekly publication, price threepence, 
 called Master Humphrey's Clock. It was intended to consist, for the most part, of 
 detached papers, but was to include one continuous story, to be resumed from time to 
 time, with such indefinite intervals between each period of resumption as might best 
 accord with the exigencies and capabilities of the proposed Miscellany. 
 The first chapter of this tale appeared in the fourth number of Master Humphrey's 
 Clock, when I had already been made uneasy by the desultory character of that work, and 
 when, I believe, my readers had thorpughly participated in the feeling. The commencement of a 
 story was a great satisfaction to me, and I had reason to believe that my readers participated in 
 this feeling too. Hence, being pledged to some interruptions and some pursuit of the original 
 design, I set cheerfully about disentangling myself from those impediments as fast as I could ; and, 
 that done, from that time until its completion The Old Curiosity Shop was written and published 
 from week to week in weekly parts. 
 
 When the story was finished, that it might be freed from the encumbrance of associations and 
 interruptions with which it had no kind of concern, I caused the few sheets of Master Humphrey's 
 Clock which had been printed in connection with it to be cancelled ; and, like the unfinished tale 
 of the windy night and the notary in The Sentimental Journey, they became the property of the 
 trunk-maker and the butterman. I was especially unwilling, I confess, to enrich those respectable 
 trades with the opening paper of the abandoned design, in which Master Humphrey described 
 himself and his manner of life. Though I now affect to make the confession philosophically, as 
 referring to a bygone emotion, I am conscious that my pen winces a little even while I write these 
 words. But it was done, and wisely done, and Master Humphrey's Clock, as originally con- 
 structed, became one of the lost books of the earth— which, we all know, are far more precious 
 than any that can be read for love or money. 
 
 In reference to the tale itself, I desire to say very little here. The many friends it won me, 
 and the many hearts it turned to me when they were full of private sorrow, invest it with an 
 interest, in my mind, which is not a public one, and the rightful place of which appears to be " a 
 more removed ground." 
 
 I will merely observe, therefore, that, m writing the book, I had it always in my fancy to 
 surround the lonely figure of the child with grotesque and wild, but not impossible, companions, 
 and to gather about her innocent face and pure intentions associates as strange and uncongenial as 
 the grim objects that are about her bed when her history is first foreshadowed. 
 
 Master Humphrey (before his devotion to the trunk and butter business) was originally 
 supposed to be the narrator of the story. As it was constructed from the beginning, however, with 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 a view to separate publication when completed, his demise has not involved the necessitj^ o^ any 
 alteration. 
 
 I have a mournful pride in one recollection associated with " little Nell." While she was yet 
 upon her wanderings, not then concluded, there appeared in a literary journal, an essay of which 
 she was the principal theme, so earnestly, so eloquently, and tenderly appreciative of her, and of 
 all her shadowy kith and kin, that it would have been insensibility in me if I could have read it 
 without an unusual glow of pleasure and encouragement. Long afterwards, and when I had come 
 to know him well, and to see him, stout of heart, going slowly down into his grave, I knew the 
 writer of that essay to be Thomas Hood. 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 "THE DOOR BEING OPENED, THE CHILD ADDRESSED HIM AS HER GRANDFATHER" . . . Frontispiece 
 
 "THAT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," SAID MRS. JARLET, "IS JASPER PACKLEMERTON OF ATROCIOUS 
 
 memory" . . . • To face page 105 
 
 "halloa!" 186 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT. 
 
 Vignette. 
 
 "The old man sat himself down in a chair, and, 
 with folded hands, looked sometimes at his 
 grandson and sometimes at his strange con^- 
 panion " 
 
 " When he did sit down, he tucked up his sleeves 
 and squared his elbows and put his face close 
 to the copy-book " . 
 
 " Daniel Quilp sat himself down in the wherry to 
 cross to the opposite shore " . 
 
 *' I'll beat you to a pulp, you dogs "... 
 
 " He soon cast his eyes upon a chair, into which he 
 skipped with uncommon agility, and, perching 
 himself on- the back with his feet upon the 
 seat, was thus enabled to look on " 
 
 " Is it good, Brass, is it nice, is it fragrant .^ " 
 
 " Not to be behindhand in the bustle, Mr. Quilp 
 went to work with surprising vigour " . 
 
 " Nelly, kneeling down beside the box, was soon 
 busily engaged in her task " . 
 
 " Now, gentlemen," said Jerry, looking at them 
 attentively. " The dog whose name's called, 
 eats" 
 
 " There was but one lady who seemed to understand 
 the child, and she was one who sat alone in a 
 handsome carriage " 
 
 "And then they went on arm-in-arm very lovingly 
 together" ....... 
 
 I I 
 
 16 
 
 37 
 44 
 
 52 
 64 
 
 72 
 
 76 
 85 
 
 "A small white-headed boy with a sunburnt face 
 appeared at the door while he was speaking, 
 and, stopping there to make a rustic bow, came 
 
 93 
 
 " She handed down to them the tea-tray, the bread 
 and butter, the knuckle of ham, and, in short, 
 everything of which she had partaken herself" lOC 
 
 "And in this state and ceremony rode slowly 
 through the town every morning " . 
 
 108 
 n6 
 
 125 
 
 " You're the wax-work child, are you not ? " . 
 
 " In some of these flourishes it went close to Miss 
 Sally's head " ...... 
 
 " Oh, please," said a little voice very low down in 
 the doorway, " will you come and show the 
 lodgings.'" ....... 128 
 
 " Do you see this .? " 136 
 
 145 
 156 
 
 " At length everything was ready, and they went 
 off" 
 
 " The old man stood helplessly among them for a 
 little time " 
 
 " A man of very uncouth and rough appearance was 
 
 standing over them " 160 
 
 " She is quite exhausted," said the schoolmaster . 168 
 
 " Aquiline ! " cried Quilp, thrusting in his head . 181 
 
 " Both mother and daughter, trembling with teiror 
 and cold, .... obeyed Mr. Quilp's directions 
 in submissive silence " 184 
 
VI 
 
 ILL USTRA TIONS. 
 
 I'AUK 
 
 ' itlevating his glass, drank to their next meiry- 
 
 meeting in that jovial spot " .... 189 
 
 " The child sat down in this old, silent place " . 197 
 
 "Then, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "fire 
 
 away!" 212 
 
 " The air was, ' Away with melancholy ' " . . 2 r6 
 
 " Is it like Kit — is it his picture, his image, his 
 
 very self?" 228 
 
 "TheMarchionessjmnped up quickly, and clapped 
 
 her hands " . . . . . . , . 236 
 
 " She had nothing for it now, therefore, but to run 
 
 after the chaise " ...... 240 
 
 " Tom immediately walked upon his hands to the 
 window, and — if the exprejsion be allowable — 
 looked in with his shoes " . . . . 249 
 
 " The strong tide filled his throat, and bore him on 
 
 upon its rapid current " . . . . . 253 
 
 "Master!" he cried, stooping on one knee, and 
 catching at his hand. "Dear master! Speak 
 to me ! " 264 
 
 " Two wretched people were more than once ob- 
 served to crawl at dusk from the inmost recesses 
 of St. Giles's " 272 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 JiGHT is generally my time for walk- 
 ing, although I am an old man. In 
 the summer I often leave home early 
 in the morning, and roam about 
 fields and lanes all day, or even 
 escape for days or weeks together ; but, 
 saving in the country, I seldom go out 
 until after dark, though, Heaven be 
 thanked, I love its light, and feel the cheerful- 
 ness it sheds upon the earth, as much as any 
 creature living. 
 
 I have fallen insensibly into this habit, both 
 because it favours my infirmity, and because it 
 affords me greater opportunity of speculating on 
 the characters and occupations of those who fill 
 the streets. The glare and hurry of broad noon 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, i. 
 
 are not adapted to idle pursuits like mine ; a 
 glimpse of passing faces caught by the light of a 
 street lamp, or a shop-window, is often better 
 for my purpose than their full revelation in the 
 daylight ; and, if I must add the truth, night is 
 kinder in this respect than day, which too often 
 destroys an air-built castle at the moment of its 
 completion, without the least ceremony or 
 remorse. 
 
 That constant pacing to and fro, that never- 
 ending restlessness, that incessant tread of feet 
 wearing the rough stones smooth and glossy — is 
 it not a wonder how the dwellers in narrow ways 
 can bear to hear it ? Think of a sick man, in 
 such a place as St. Martin's Court, listening to 
 the footsteps, and, in the midst of pain and 
 weariness, obliged, despite himself (as though it 
 were a task he must perform) to detect the 
 
 249 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 child's step from the man's, the slipshod beggar 
 from the booted exquisite, the lounging from the 
 busy, the dull heel of the sauntering outcast 
 from the quick tread of an expectant pleasure- 
 seeker — think of the hum and noise being 
 always present to his senses, and of the stream 
 of life that will not stop, pouring on, on, on, 
 through all his restless dreams, as if he were 
 condemned to lie, dead but conscious, in a 
 noisy churchyard, and had no hope of rest for 
 centuries to come ! 
 
 Then, the crowds for ever passing and repass- 
 ing on the bridges (on those which are free of 
 toll at least), where many stop on fine evenings 
 looking listlessly down upon the water, with some 
 vague idea that by-and-by it runs between green 
 banks which grow wider and wider until at last 
 it joins the broad vast sea — where some halt to 
 rest from heavy loads, and think, as they look 
 over the parapet, that to smoke and lounge away 
 one's life, and lie sleeping in the sun upon a hot 
 tarpaulin, in a dull, slow, sluggish barge, must 
 be happiness unalloyed — and where some, and 
 a very different class, pause with heavier loads 
 than they, remembering to have heard or read 
 in some old time that drowning was not a hard 
 death, but of all means of suicide the easiest and 
 best. 
 
 Covent-Garden Market at sunrise too, in the 
 spring or summer, when the fragrance of sweet 
 flowers is in the air, overpowering even the un- 
 wholesome steams of last night's debauchery, 
 and driving the dusky thrush, whose cage has 
 hung outside a garret window all night long, 
 half mad with joy ! Poor bird ! the only neigh- 
 bouring thing at all akin to the other little cap- 
 tives, some of whom, shrinking from the hot 
 hands of drunken purchasers, lie drooping on 
 the path already, while others, soddened by 
 close contact, await the time when they shall 
 be watered and freshened up to please more 
 sober company, and make old clerks who pass 
 them on their road to business wonder what has 
 filled their breasts with visions of the country. 
 
 But my present purpose is not to expatiate 
 upon my walks. The story I am about to re- 
 late arose out of one of these rambles ; and thus 
 I have been led to speak of them by way of 
 preface. 
 
 One night I had roamed into the City, and 
 was walking slowly on in my usual way, musing 
 upon a great many things, when I was arrested 
 by an inquiry the purport of which did not reach 
 me, but which seemed to be addressed to my- 
 self, and was preferred in a soft sweet voice that 
 struck me very pleasantly. I turned hastily 
 round, and found at my elbow a pretty little 
 
 girl, who begged to be directed to a certain 
 street at a considerable distance, and indeed in 
 quite another quarter of the town. 
 
 "It is a very long way from here," said I, 
 "my child." 
 
 " I know that, sir," she replied timidly. " I 
 am afraid it is a very long way ; for I came from 
 there to-night." 
 
 ''Alone?" said I, in some surprise, 
 
 " Oh yes, I don't mind that, but I am a little 
 frightened now, for I have lost my road." 
 
 " And what made you ask it of me ? Suppose 
 I should tell you wrong." 
 
 " I am sure you will not do that," said the 
 little creature, "you are such a very old gentle- 
 man, and walk so slow yourself." 
 
 I cannot describe how much I was impressed 
 by this appeal, and the energy with which it was 
 made, which brought a tear into the child's clear 
 eye, and made her slight figure tremble as she 
 looked up into my face. 
 
 " Come," said I, " I'll take you there." 
 
 She put her hand in mine, as confidingly as if 
 she had known me from her cradle, and we 
 trudged away together : the little creature ac- 
 commodating her pace to mine, and rather 
 seeming to lead and take care of me than I to 
 be protecting her. I observed that every now 
 and then she stole a curious look at my face, as 
 if to make quite sure that I was not deceiving 
 her, and that these glances (very sharp and keen 
 they were too) seemed to increase her confidence 
 at every repetition. 
 
 For my part, my curiosity and interest were, 
 at least, equal to the child's ; for child she cer- 
 tainly was, although I thought it probable, from 
 what I could make out, that her very small and 
 delicate frame imparted a peculiar youthfulness 
 to her appearance. Though more scantily 
 attired than she might have been, she was 
 dressed with perfect neatness, and betrayed no 
 marks of poverty or neglect. 
 
 " Who has sent you so far by yourself? " said I. 
 
 " Somebody who is very kind to me, sir." 
 
 "And what have you been doing?" 
 
 "That I must not tell," said the child. 
 
 There was something in the manner of this 
 reply which caused me to look at the little crea- 
 ture with an involuntary expression of surprise ; 
 for I wondered what kind of errand it might be 
 that occasioned her to be prepared for question- 
 ing. Her quick eye seemed to read my thoughts. 
 As it met mine, she added that there was no 
 harm in what she had been doing, but it was a 
 great secret — a secret which she did not even 
 know herself. 
 
 This was said with no appearance of cunning 
 
LITTLj 
 
 AND HER GRANDFATHER. 
 
 or deceit, but with an unsuspicious frankness 
 that bore the impress of truth. She walked on, 
 as before : growing more familiiiv witli me as we 
 proceeded, and talking cheerfully by the way, 
 but she said no more about her home, beyond 
 remarking that we were going quite a J\e\v road, 
 and asking if it were a short one. 
 
 While we were thus engaged, 1 revolved in 
 my mind a hundred different explanations of the 
 riddle, and rejected thera'cvery one. 1 really felt 
 ashamed to take advantage of the ingenuousness 
 or grateful feeling of the child, for tlie purpose 
 of gratifying my curiosity. I love these little 
 people; and it is not a slight thing \vl\ea they, 
 who are so fresh from God, love u.^. As I had 
 felt pleased, at first, by her confidciKx-. 1 deter- 
 mined to deserve it, and to do credit to the nature 
 Avhich had prompted her to repose it in me. 
 
 There was no reason, however. \\\\\ T should 
 refrain from seeing the person who had incon- 
 siderately sent her to so great a distance by 
 night and alone ; and, as it was not improbable 
 that if she found herself neai- home she might 
 take farewell of me and deprive me of the oppor- 
 tunity, I avoided the most frequented ways and 
 took the most intricate. Thus it was not until 
 we arrived in the street itself" that she knew 
 where we were. Clapping her Jiands w ith plea- 
 sure, and running on before nie for a short dis- 
 tance, my little acquaintance stopped at a door, 
 and remaining on the step til! \ came up, 
 knocked at it when I joined her. 
 
 A part of this door was of glass, unprotected 
 by any shutter ; which I did not observe at first, 
 for all was very dark and silent within, and I was 
 anxious (as indeed the child was also! for an 
 answer to our summons. When she had knocked 
 twice or thrice, there was a noise as if some per- 
 son were moving inside, and at length a faint 
 light appeared through the glass, which, as it 
 approached very slowly — the bearer having to 
 make his way through a great man}- scattered 
 articles — enabled me to see, both wliat kind of 
 person it was who advanced, and nhat kind of 
 place it was through which he came. 
 
 He was a little old man witli long grey hair, 
 whose face and figure, as he held tlie light above 
 his head and looked before him as he a pproached, 
 I could plainly see. Though much altered by 
 age, I fancied I could recognise in liis spare and 
 slender form something of thai, delicate mould 
 which I had noticed in the child. Their bright 
 blue eyes were certainly alike, but Iiis face was 
 so deeply furrowed, and so very full of care, that 
 here all resemblance ceased. 
 
 The place through which he made his way at 
 leisure was one of those receptacles for old and 
 
 curious things which seem to crouch in odd 
 corners of this town, and to hide their musty 
 treasures from the public eye in jealousy and 
 distrust. There were suits of mail, standing 
 like ghosts in armour, here and there ; fantastic 
 carvings brought from monkish cloisters ; rusty 
 weapons of various kinds ; distorted figures in 
 china, and wood, and iron, and ivory ; tapestry 
 and strange furniture that might have been 
 designed in dreams. The haggard aspect of 
 the little old man was wonderfully suited to the 
 place ; he might have groped among old churches, 
 and tombs, and deserted houses, and gathered 
 all the spoils with his own hands. There was 
 nothing in the whole collection but was in keep^ 
 ing with himself; nothing that looked older or 
 more worn than he. 
 
 As he turned the key in the lock, he surveyed 
 me with some astonishment, which was not 
 diminished when he looked from me to my 
 companion. The door being opened, the child 
 addressed him as her grandfather, and told him 
 the little story of our companionship. 
 
 " Why, bless thee, child," said the old man, 
 patting her on the head, " how couldst thou 
 miss thy way ? What if I had lost thee, Nell ?" 
 
 " I would have found my way back to you, 
 grandfather," said the child boldly ; " never 
 fear." 
 
 The old man kissed her ; then turned to me 
 and begged me to walk in. I did so. The door 
 was closed and locked. Preceding me with the 
 light, he led me through the place I had already 
 seen from without, into a small sitting-room 
 behind, in which was another door opening into 
 a kind of closet, where I saw a little bed that a 
 fairy might have slept in : it looked so very 
 small and was so prettily arranged. The child 
 took a candle and tripped into this little room, 
 leaving the old man and me together. 
 
 " You must be tired, sir," said he as he placed 
 a chair near the fire. " How can I thank you?" 
 
 "By taking more care of your grandchild 
 another time, my. good friend," I replied. 
 
 "More care!" said the old man in a shrill 
 voice, " more care of Nelly 1 Why, who ever 
 loved a child as I love Nell?" 
 
 He said this with such evident surprise, that I 
 was perplexed what answer to make ; the more 
 so, because, coupled with something feeble and 
 wandering in his manner, there were, in his face, 
 marks of deep and anxious thought, which con- 
 vinced me that he could not be, as I had been 
 at first inclined to suppose, in a state of dotage 
 or imbecility. 
 
 " I don't think you consider " I began. 
 
 " I don't consi^der I" cried the old man, inter- 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 rupting me, " I don't consider her ! Ah, how 
 little you know of the truth ! Little Nelly, Httle 
 Nelly!" 
 
 It would be impossible for any man — I care 
 not what his form of speech might be — to ex- 
 press more affection than the dealer in curiosities 
 did, in these four words. I waited for him to 
 speak again, but he rested his chin upon his 
 hand, and shaking his head twice or thrice, fixed 
 his eyes upon the fire. 
 
 While we were sitting thus, in silence, the 
 door of the closet opened, and the child re- 
 turned : her light brown hair hanging loose about 
 her neck, and her face flushed with the haste she 
 had made to rejoin us. She busied herself, 
 immediately, in preparing supper. While she 
 was thus engaged I remarked that the old man 
 took an opportunity of observing me more 
 closely than he had done yet. I was surprised 
 to see that, all this time, everything was done by 
 the child, and that there appeared to be no 
 other persons but ourselves in the house. I 
 took advantage of a moment when she was 
 absent to venture a hint on this point, to which 
 the old man replied that there were few grown 
 persons as trustworthy or as careful as she. 
 
 " It always grieves me," I observed, roused 
 by what I took to be his selfishness : " it always 
 grieves me to contemplate the initiation of chil- 
 dren into the ways of life, when they are scarcely 
 more than infants. It checks their confidence 
 and simplicity — two of the best qualities that 
 Heaven gives them — and demands that they 
 share our sorrows before they are capable of 
 entering into our enjoyments." 
 
 " It will never check hers," said the old man, 
 looking steadily at me, " the springs are too deep. 
 Besides, the children of the poor know but few 
 pleasures. Even the cheap delights of child- 
 hood must be bought and paid for." 
 
 " But — forgive me for saying this — you are 
 surely not so very poor," said I. 
 
 " She is not my child, sir," returned the old 
 man. " Her mother was, and she was poor. I 
 save nothing — not a penny — though I live as 
 you see, but " — he laid his hand upon my arm 
 and leant forward to whisper — " she shall be 
 rich one of these days, and a fine lady. Don't 
 you think ill of me, because I use her help. She 
 gives it cheerfully as you see, and it would break 
 her heart if she knew that I suffered anybody 
 else to do for me what her litde hands could 
 undertake. I don't consider ! " he cried with 
 sudden querulousness. " Why, God knows that 
 this one child is the thought and object of my 
 life, and yet he never prospers me — no, never ! " 
 
 At this juncture, the subject of our conversa- 
 
 tion again returned, and the old man, motioning 
 to me to approach the table, broke off, and said 
 no more. 
 
 We had scarcely begun our repast when there 
 was a knock at the door by which I had entered ; 
 and Nell : bursting into a hearty laugh, which I 
 was rejoiced to hear, for it was childlike and full 
 of hilarity : said it was no doubt dear old Kit 
 come back at last. 
 
 " FooUsh Nell ! " said the old man, fondling 
 with her hair. " She always laughs at poor Kit." 
 
 The child laughed again more heartily than 
 before, and I could not help smiling from pure 
 sympathy. The little old man took up a candle 
 and went to open the door. When he came 
 back, Kit was at his heels. 
 
 Kit was a shock-headed, shambling, awkward 
 lad, with an uncommonly wide mouth, very red 
 cheeks, a turned-up nose, and certainly the most 
 comical expression of face I ever saw. He 
 stopped short at the door on seeing a stranger, 
 twirled in his hand a perfectly round old hat 
 without any vestige of a brim, and, resting him- 
 self now on one leg, and now on the other, and 
 changing them constantly, stood in the doorway, 
 looking into the parlour with the most extra- 
 ordinary leer I ever beheld. I entertained a 
 grateful feeling towards the boy from that 
 minute, for I felt that he was the comedy of 
 the child's life. 
 
 " A long way, wasn't it. Kit ? " said the little 
 old man. 
 
 "Why, then, it was a goodish stretch, master," 
 returned Kit. 
 
 " Did you find the house easily ? " 
 
 " Why, then, not over and above easy, master," 
 said Kit. 
 
 " Of course you have come back hungry ? " 
 
 " Why, then, I do consider myself rather so, 
 master," was the answer. 
 
 The lad had a remarkable manner of standing 
 sideways as he spoke, and thrusting his head 
 forward over his shoulder, as if he could not get 
 at his voice without that accompanying action. 
 I think he would have amused one anywhere, 
 but the child's exquisite enjoyment of his oddity, 
 and the relief it was to find that there was some- 
 thing she associated with merriment, in a place 
 that appeared so unsuited to her, were quite 
 irresistible. It was a great point, too, that Kit 
 himself was flattered by the sensation he created, 
 and after several efforts to preserve his gravity, 
 burst into a loud roar, and so stood with his 
 mouth wide open and his eyes nearly shut, 
 laughing violently. 
 
 The old man had again relapsed into his 
 former abstraction, and took no notice of what 
 
KIT. 
 
 passed ; but I remarked that when her laugh 
 was over, the child's bright eyes were dimmed 
 with tears, called forth by the fulness of heart 
 with which she welcomed her uncouth favourite 
 after the little anxiety of the night. As for Kit 
 himself (whose laugh had been all the time one 
 of that sort which very little would change into 
 a cry) he carried a large slice of bread and meat, 
 and a mug of beer, into a corner, and applied 
 himself to disposing of them with great voracity. 
 
 " Ah 1 " said the old man, turning to me with 
 a sigh as if I had spoken to him but that 
 moment, " you don't know what you say, when 
 you tell me that I don't consider her." 
 
 " You must not attach too great weight to a 
 remark founded on first appearances, my friend," 
 said I. 
 
 " No," returned the old man thoughtfully, 
 " no. Come hither, Nell." 
 
 The little girl hastened from her seat, and put 
 her arm about his neck. 
 
 " Do I love thee, Nell ? " said he. " Say- 
 do I love thee, Nell, or no?" 
 
 The child only answered by her caresses, and 
 laid her head upon his breast. 
 
 " Why dost thou sob ? " said the grandfather, 
 pressing her closer to him and glancing towards 
 me. " Is it because thou know'st I love thee, 
 and dost not like that I should seem to doubt it 
 by my question ? Well, well — then let us say I 
 love thee dearly." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed you do," replied the child 
 with great earnestness ; " Kit knows you do." 
 
 Kit, who in dispatching his bread and meat 
 had been swallowing two-thirds of his knife at 
 every mouthful with the coolness of a juggler, 
 stopped short in his operations on being thus 
 appealed to, and bawled, " Nobody isn't such a 
 fool as to say he doosn't," after which he in- 
 capacitated himself for further conversation by 
 taking a most prodigious sandwich at one 
 bite. 
 
 " She is poor now," said the old man, patting 
 the child's cheek, " but I say again, the time is 
 coming when she shall be rich. It has been a 
 long time coming, but it must come at last \ a 
 very long time, but it surely must come. It has 
 come to other men who do nothing but waste 
 and riot. When will it come to me ? " 
 
 " I am very happy as I am, grandfather," said 
 the child. 
 
 " Tush, tush ! " returned the old man, " thou 
 dost not know— how shouldst thou?" Then 
 he muttered again between his teeth, "The 
 time must come, I am very sure it must. It 
 will be all the better for coming late;" and 
 then he sighed and fell into his former musing 
 
 state, and still holding the child between his 
 knees, appeared to be insensible to everything 
 around him. By this time it wanted but a few 
 minutes of midnight, and I rose to go : which 
 recalled him to himself. 
 
 " One moment, sir," he said. " Now, Kit — 
 near midnight, boy, and you still here ! Get 
 home, get home, and be true to your time in 
 the morning, for there's work to do. Good 
 night ! There, bid him good night, Nell, and 
 let him be gone ! " 
 
 " Good night. Kit," said the child, her eyes 
 lighting up with merriment and kindness. 
 
 " Good night, Miss Nell," returned the boy. 
 
 " And thank this gentleman," interposed the 
 old man, " but for whose care I might have lost 
 my little girl to-night." 
 
 " No, no, master," said Kit, " that won't do, 
 that won't." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " cried the old man. 
 
 " /'d have found her, master," said Kit, " I'd 
 have found her ! I'd bet that I'd find her if she 
 was above-ground. I would, as quick as any- 
 body, master ! Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 Once more opening his mouth and shutting 
 his eyes, and laughing like a Stentor, Kit gradu- 
 ally backed to the door, and roared himself 
 out. 
 
 Free of the room, the boy was not slow in 
 taking his departure. When he had gone, and 
 the child was occupied in clearing the table, the 
 old man said : 
 
 " I haven't seemed to thank you, sir, enough 
 for what you have done to-night, but I do thank 
 you, humbly and heartily ; and so does she ; 
 and her thanks are better worth than mine. I 
 should be sorry that you went away and thought 
 I was unmindful of your goodness, or careless of 
 her — I am not indeed." 
 
 I was sure of that, I said, from what I had 
 seen. " But," I added, " may I ask you a 
 question ? " 
 
 " Ay, sir," replied the old man ; " what is it ? " 
 
 "This delicate child," said I, "with so much- 
 beauty and intelligence — has she nobody to care 
 for her but you ? Has she no other companion 
 or adviser ? " 
 
 " No," he returned, looking anxiously in my 
 face, " no, and she wants no other." 
 
 " But are you not fearful," said I, " that you 
 may misunderstand a charge so tender ? I am 
 sure you mean well, but are you quite certain 
 that you know how to execute such a trust as 
 this? I am an old man, like you, and I am 
 actuated by an old man's concern in all that is 
 young and promising. Do you not think that 
 what I have seen of you and this little creature 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SffOT. 
 
 to-night, must have an interest not wholly free 
 from pain?" 
 
 " Sir," rejoined the old man after a moment's 
 silence, " I have no right to feel hurt at what 
 you say. It is true that in many respects I am 
 the child, and she the grown person — that you 
 have seen already. But, waking or sleeping, by 
 night or day, in sickness or health, she is the 
 one object of my care ; and if you knew of how 
 much care, you would look on me with different 
 eyes, you would indeed. Ah ! it's a weary life 
 for an old man — a weary, weary life — but there 
 is a great end to gain, and that I keep before 
 me." 
 
 Seeing that he was in a state of excitement 
 and impatience, I turned to put on an outer 
 coat which I had thrown off on entering the 
 room : purposing to say no more. I was sur- 
 prised to see the child standing patiently by, 
 with a cloak upon her arm, and in her hand a 
 hat and stick, 
 
 " Those are not mine, my dear," said I. 
 
 " No," returned the child quietly, " they are 
 grandfather's." 
 
 " But he is not going out to-night." 
 
 " Oh yes, he is ! " said the child with a 
 smile. 
 
 "And what becomes of you, my pretty one ?" 
 
 " Me ! I stay here, of course. I always do." 
 
 I looked in astonishment towards the old 
 tnan ; but he was, or feigned to be, busied in 
 the arrangement of his dress. From him, I 
 looked back to the slight gentle figure of the 
 -child. Alone ! In that gloomy place all the 
 long dreary night ! 
 
 She evinced no consciousness of my surprise, 
 but cheerfully helped the old man with his 
 cloak, and, when he was ready, took a candle 
 to light us out. Finding that we did not follow 
 as she expected, she looked back with a smile 
 and waited for us. The old man showed by 
 his face that he plainly understood the cause of 
 my hesitation, but he merely signed to me with 
 an inclination of the head to pass out of the 
 room before him, and remained silent. I had 
 no resource but to comply. 
 
 When we reached the door, the child, setting 
 down the candle, turned to say good night, and 
 raised her face to kiss me. Then, she ran to 
 the old man, who folded her in his arms and 
 bade God bless her. 
 
 " Sleep soundly, Nell," he said in a low voice, 
 " and angels guard thy bed ! Do not forget thy 
 prayers, my sweet." 
 
 " No, indeed," answered the child fervently, 
 " they make me feel so happy ! " 
 
 " That's well ; I know they do ; they should," 
 
 said theokl uiau. ''Bless thee a hundred times ! 
 Early in tlu- morning I shall be home." 
 
 " You'll iioi ring twice," returned the child. 
 "The bell ^^;lkes me even in the middle of a 
 dream.'" 
 
 With this, the}' .->eparated. The child opened 
 the door mow guarded by a shutter, which I 
 had heard the boy put up before he left the 
 house), and witji another farewell, whose clear 
 and tender note I have recalled a thousand 
 times, heW it uutil we had passed out. The 
 old man paused a moment while it was gently 
 closed and fastened on the inside, and, satisfied 
 that this >\as done, walked on at a slow pace. 
 At the street corner he stopped. Regarding me 
 with a troubled countenance, he said that our 
 ways were widely different, and that he must 
 take his leave. I would have spoken, but sum- 
 moning up more alacrity than might have been 
 expected in one of his appearance, he hurried 
 away. 1 could see that, twice or thrice, he 
 looked back as if to ascertain if I were still 
 watching hun. oi perhaps to assure himself that 
 I was not following at a distance. The obscurity 
 of the night favoured his disappearance, and his 
 figure was soon beyond my sight. 
 
 I remained standing on the spot where he 
 had left me : unwilling to depart, and yet un- 
 knowing why 1 should loiter there. I looked 
 wistfully into the street we had lately quitted, 
 and, after x time, directed my steps that way. I 
 passed and repassed the house, and stopped, 
 and listened ut the door; all was dark, and 
 silent as tlie grave. 
 
 Yet I lingered about, and could not tear my- 
 self away : thinking of all possible harm that 
 might happen to the child — of fires, and rob- 
 beries, and even murder — and feeling as if 
 some evil must ensue if I turned my back upon 
 the place. The closing of a door or window in 
 the street brought me before the curiosity- 
 dealer's once more. I crossed the road, and 
 looked up at the house, to assure myself that 
 the noise had not come from there. No, it was 
 black, cold, and lifeless as before. 
 
 There A\ere few passengers astir; the street 
 was sad and dismal, and pretty well my own. 
 A few stragglers from the theatres hurried by, 
 and, now and then, I turned aside to avoid 
 some noisy drunkard as he reeled homewards ; 
 but these interruptions were not frequent, and 
 soon cea.sed. The clocks struck one. Still I 
 paced up and down, promising myself that every 
 time should be the last, and breaking faith with 
 myself on some new plea, as often as I did so. * 
 
 The more I thought of what the old man had 
 said, and of his looks and bearing, the less I 
 
THE SOLITARY CHILD. 
 
 7 
 
 could account ifor what I had seen and heard. I 
 had a strong misgiving that his nightly absence 
 was for no good purpose. I had only come to 
 know the fact through the innocence of the 
 child ; and, though the old man was by at the 
 time and saw my undisguised surprise, he had 
 preserved a strange mystery on the subject, and 
 offered no word of explanation. These reflec- 
 tions naturally recalled again, more strongly 
 than before, his haggard face, his wandering 
 manner, his restless anxious looks. His affec- 
 tion for the child might not be inconsistent with 
 villainy of the worst kind ; even that very affec- 
 tion was, in itself, an extraordinary contradic- 
 tion, or how could he leave her thus ? Disposed 
 as I was to think badly of him, I never doubted 
 that his love for her was real. I could not 
 admit the thought, remembering what had 
 passed between us, and the tone of voice in 
 which he had called her by her name. 
 
 " Stay here, of course," the child had said in 
 answer to my question ; " I always do ! " What 
 could take him from home by night, and every 
 night? I called up all the strange tales I had 
 ever heard, of dark and secret deeds committed 
 in great towns and escaping detection for a long 
 series of years. Wild as many of these stories 
 were, I could not find one adapted to this 
 mystery, which only became the more impene- 
 trable, in proportion as I sought to solve it. 
 
 Occupied with such thoughts as these, and a 
 crowd of others all tending to the same point, I 
 continued to pace the street for two long hours. 
 At length, the rain began to descend heavily ; 
 and then, overpowered by fatigue, though no 
 less interested than I had been at first, I en- 
 gaged the nearest coach, and so got home. A 
 cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, the lamp 
 burnt brightly, my clock received me with its 
 old familiar welcome; everything was quiet, 
 warm, and cheering, and in happy contrast to 
 the gloom and darkness I had quitted. 
 
 I sat down in my easy-chair, and falling back 
 upon its ample cushions, pictured to myself the 
 child in her bed : alone, unwatched, uncared 
 for (save by angels), yet sleeping peacefully. So 
 very young, so spiritual, so slight and fairy-like 
 a creature passing the long dull nights in such 
 an uncongenial place — I could not dismiss it 
 from my thoughts. 
 
 We are so much in the habit of allowing im- 
 pressions to be made upon us by external ob- 
 jects, which should be produced by reflection 
 alone, but which, without such visible aids, 
 often escape us, that I am not sure I should 
 have been so thoroughly possessed by this one 
 subject, but for the heaps of fantastic things I 
 
 had seen huddled together in the curiosity- 
 dealer's warehouse. These, crowding on my 
 mind, in connection with the child, and gather- 
 ing round her, as it were, brought her condition 
 palpably before me. I had her image, without 
 any effort of imagination, surrounded and beset 
 by everything that was foreign to its nature, and 
 farthest removed from the sympathies of her sex 
 and age. If these helps to my fancy had all 
 been wanting, and I had been forced to imagine 
 her in a common chamber, with nothing unusual 
 or uncouth in its appearance, it is very probable 
 that I should have been less impressed with her 
 strange and solitary state. As it was, she 
 seemed to exist in a kind of allegory ; and, 
 having these shapes about her, claimed my 
 interest so strongly, that (as I have already re- 
 marked) I could not dismiss her from my recol- 
 lection, do what I would. • 
 
 "It would be a curious speculation," said I 
 after some restless turns across and across the 
 room, " to imagine her, in her future life, hold- 
 ing her solitary way among a crowd of wild 
 grotesque companions : the only pure, fresh, 
 youthful object in the throng. It would be 
 curious to find " 
 
 I checked myself here, for the theme was 
 carrying me along with it at a great pace, and I 
 already saw before me a region on which I was 
 little disposed to enter. I agreed with myself 
 that this was idle musing, and resolved to go to 
 bed, and court forgetfulness. 
 
 But all that night, waking or in my sleep, the 
 same thoughts recurred, and the same images 
 retained possession of my brain. I had, ever 
 before me, the old dark murky rooms — the gaunt 
 suits of mail with their ghostly silent air — the 
 faces all awry, grinning from wood and stone — 
 the dust, and rust, and worm that lives in wood 
 — and alone in the midst of all this lumber and 
 decay and ugly age, the beautiful child in her 
 gentle slumber, smiling through her light and 
 sunny dreams. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 FTER combating, for nearly a week, 
 the feeling which impelled me to 
 revisit the place I had quitted under 
 the circumstances already detailed, 
 I yielded to it at length ; and deter- 
 mining that this time I would present 
 myself by the light of day, bent my 
 steps thither early in the afternoon. 
 • I walked past the house, and took several 
 turns in the street, with that kind of hesitation 
 
8 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 which is natural to a man who is conscious that 
 the visit he is about to pay is unexpected, and 
 may not be very acceptable. However, as the 
 door of the shop was shut, and it did not appear 
 hkely that I should be recognised by those 
 within, if I continued merely to pass up and 
 down before it, I soon conquered this irresolu- 
 tion, and found myself in the curiosity-dealer's 
 warehouse. 
 
 The old man and another person were to- 
 gether in the back part, and there seemed to 
 have been high words between them, for their 
 voices, which were raised to a very loud pitch, 
 suddenly stopped on my entering, and the old 
 man, advancing hastily towards me, said in a tre- 
 mulous tone that he was very glad I had come. 
 
 "You interrupted us at a critical moment," 
 he said, pointing to the man whom I had found 
 in company •with him ; "this fellow will murder 
 me one of these days. He would have done so, 
 long ago, if he had dared." 
 
 " Bah ! You would swear away my life if you 
 could," returned the other, after bestowing a 
 stare and a frown on me ; *' we all know that ! " 
 
 " I almost think I could," cried the old man, 
 turning feebly upon him. " If oaths, or prayers, 
 or words could rid me of you, they should. I 
 would be quit of you, and would be relieved if 
 you were dead." 
 
 " 1 know it," returned the other. " I said so, 
 didn't I? But neither oaths, nor prayers, nor 
 words will kill me, and therefore I live, and 
 mean to live." 
 
 " And his mother died!" cried the old man 
 passionately, clasping his hands and looking 
 upward ; " and this is Heaven's justice !" 
 
 The other stood lounging with his foot upon 
 a chair, and regarded him with a contemptuous 
 sneer. He was a young man of one-and-twenty, 
 or thereabouts ; well made, and certainly hand- 
 some, though the expression of his face was far 
 from prepossessing, having, in common with his 
 manner and even his dress, a dissipated, insolent 
 air which repelled one. 
 
 "Justice or no justice," said the young fellow, 
 " here I am, and here I shall stop till such time 
 as I think fit to go, unless you send for assistance 
 to put me out — which you won't do, I know. I 
 tell you again that I want to see my sister." 
 
 " Your sister ! " said the old man bitterly. 
 
 " Ah ! You can't change the relationship," 
 returned the other. " If you could, you'd have 
 done it long ago. I want to see my sister, that 
 you keep cooped up here, poisoning her mind 
 with your sly secrets, and pretending an affection 
 for her that you may work her to death, and add 
 a few scraped shillings every week to the money 
 
 you can hardly count. 1 want to see her ; and 
 I will." 
 
 " Here's a moralist to talk of poisoned minds I 
 Here's a generous spirit to scorn scraped-up 
 shiUings!" cried the old man, turning from him 
 to me. "A profligate, sir, who has forfeited 
 every claim not only upon those who have the 
 misfortune to be of his blood, but upon society, 
 which knows nothing of him but his misdeeds. 
 A liar, too," he added in a lower voice as he 
 drew closer to me, " who knows how dear she is 
 to me, and seeks to wound me even there, be- 
 cause there is a stranger by." 
 
 "Strangers are nothing to me, grandfather," 
 said the young fellow, catching at the words,. 
 " nor I to them, I hope. The best they can do 
 is to keep an eye to their business, and leave me 
 to mine. There's a friend of mine waiting out- 
 side, and as it seems that I may have to wait 
 some time, I'll call him in, with your leave." 
 
 Saying this, he stepped to the door, and look- 
 ing down the street, beckoned several times ta 
 some unseen person, who, to judge from the air 
 of impatience with which these signals were 
 accompanied, required a great quantity of per- 
 suasion to induce him to advance. At length 
 there sauntered up, on the opposite side of the 
 way — with a bad pretence of passing by accident 
 — a figure conspicuous for its dirty smartness, 
 which after a great many frowns and jerks of the 
 head, in resistance of the invitation, ultimately 
 crossed the road and was brought into the shop. 
 
 " There ! It's Dick Swiveller," said the young 
 fellow, pushing him in. "Sit down, Swiveller." 
 
 "But is the old min agreeable?" said Mr.. 
 Swiveller in an under-tone. 
 
 " Sit down," repeated his companion. 
 
 Mr. Swiveller complied, and looking about 
 him with a propitiatory smile, observed that last 
 week was a fine week for the ducks, and this 
 week was a fine week for the dust ; he also 
 observed that while standing by the post at the 
 street corner, he had observed a pig with a straw 
 in his mouth issuing out of the tobacco shop, 
 from which appearance he argued that another 
 fine week for the ducks was approaching, and 
 that rain would certainly ensue. He further- 
 more took occasion to apologise for any negli- 
 gence that might be perceptible in his dress, on 
 the ground that last night he had had " the sun 
 very strong in his eyes;" by which_| expression 
 he was understood to convey to his hearers, in 
 the most delicate manner possible, the informa- 
 tion that he had been extremely drunk. 
 
 " But what," said Mr. Swiveller with a sigh, 
 " what is the odds so long as the fire of soul is 
 kindled at the taper of conwiviality, and the 
 
MR. RICHARD SWIVELLER. 
 
 wing of friendship never moults a feather ? What 
 is the odds so long as the spirit is expanded by 
 means of rosy wine, and the present moment is 
 the least happiest of our existence?" 
 
 " You needn't act the chairman here," said his 
 friend, half aside. 
 
 " Fred !" cried Mr. Swiveller, tapping his 
 nose, " a word to the wise is sufficient for them 
 — we may be good and happy without riches, 
 Fred. Say not another syllable. I know my 
 ■cue ; smart is the word. Only one little whisper; 
 Fred — is the old min friendly?" 
 
 " Never you mind," replied his friend. 
 
 " Right again, quite right," said Mr. Swiveller ; 
 " caution is the word, and caution is the act." 
 With that, he winked, as if in preservation of 
 some deep secret, and folding his arms and 
 leaning back in his chair, looked up at the 
 ceiling with profound gravity. 
 
 It was perhaps not very unreasonable to 
 suspect, from what had already passed, that Mr. 
 Swiveller was not quite recovered from the effects 
 of the powerful sun-light to .which he had made 
 allusion ; but if no such suspicion had been 
 awakened by his speech, his wiry hair, dull eyes, 
 and sallow face would still have been strong 
 witnesses against him. His attire was not, as he 
 had himself hinted, remarkable for the nicest 
 arrangement, but was in a state of disorder 
 which strongly induced the idea that he had 
 gone to bed in it. It consisted of a brown body- 
 coat with a great many brass buttons up the 
 front and only one behind, a bright check 
 neckerchief, a plaid w-aistcoat, soiled white 
 trousers, and a very limp hat, worn with the 
 wrong side foremost, to hide a hole in the brim. 
 The breast of his coat was ornamented with an 
 outside pocket, from which there peeped forth 
 the cleanest end of a very large and very ill- 
 favoured handkerchief; his dirty wristbands 
 were pulled down as far as possible, and osten- 
 tatiously folded back over his cuffs ; he displayed 
 no gloves, and carried a yellow cane having on 
 the top a bone hand, with the semblance of a 
 ring on its little finger and a black ball in its 
 grasp. With all these personal advantages (to 
 which may be added a strong savour of tobacco 
 smoke, and a prevailing greasiness of appear- 
 ance) Mr. Swiveller leant back in his chair with 
 his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and occasionally 
 pitching his voice to the needful key, obliged 
 the company with a few bars of an intensely 
 dismal air, and then, in the middle of a note, 
 relapsed into his former silence. 
 
 The old man sat himself down in a chair, and, 
 with folded hands, looked sometimes at his 
 grandson and sometimes at his strange com- 
 
 panion, as if he were utterly powerless, and had 
 no resource but to leave them to do as they 
 pleased. The young man reclined against a 
 table at no great distance from his friend, in 
 apparent indifference to everything that had 
 passed ; and I — who felt the difficulty of any 
 interference, notwithstanding that the old man 
 had appealed to me, both by words and looks — 
 made the best feint I could of being occupied 
 in examining some of the goods that were dis- 
 posed for sale, and paying very little attention 
 to the persons before me. 
 
 The silence was not of long duration, for Mr. 
 Swiveller, after favouring us with several melo- 
 dious assurances that his heart was in the High- 
 lands, and that he wanted but his Arab steed as 
 a preliminary to the achievement of great feats 
 of valour and loyalty, removed his eyes from the 
 ceiling and subsided into prose again. 
 
 " Fred," said Mr. Swiveller, stopping short as 
 if the idea had suddenly occurred to him, and 
 speaking in the same audible whisper as before, 
 " is the old min friendly ? " 
 
 "What does it matter?" returned his friend 
 peevishly. 
 
 " No, but is he?" said Dick. 
 
 " Yes, of course. What do I care whether he 
 is or not?" 
 
 Emboldened as it seemed by this reply to 
 enter into a more general conversation, Mr. 
 Swiveller plainly laid himself out to captivate 
 our attention. 
 
 He began by remarking that soda water, 
 though a good thing in the abstract, was apt to 
 lie cold upon the stomach unless qualified with 
 ginger, or a small infusion of brandy, which 
 latter article he held to be preferable in all cases, 
 saving for the one consideration of expense. 
 Nobody venturing to dispute these positions, he 
 proceeded to observe that the human hair was a 
 great retainer of tobacco smoke, and that the 
 young gentlemen of Westminster and Eton, after 
 eating vast quantities of apples to conceal any 
 scent of cigars from their anxious friends, were 
 usually detected in consequence of their heads 
 possessing this remarkable property ; whence he 
 concluded that if the Royal Society would turn 
 their attention to the circumstance, and endea- 
 vour to find in the resources of science a means 
 of preventing such untoward revelations, they 
 might indeed be looked upon as benefactors to 
 mankind. These opinions being equally incon- 
 trovertible withlhose he had already pronounced, 
 he went on to inform us that Jamaica rum, 
 though unquestionably an agreeable spirit of 
 great richness and flavour, had the drawback of 
 remaining constantly present to the taste next 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 
 
 day; and nobody being venturous enough to 
 argue this point either, he increased in con- 
 fidence and became yet more companionable 
 and communicative. 
 
 '' It's a devil of a thing, gentlemen," said Mr. 
 Swiveller, " when relations fall out and disagree. 
 If the wing of friendship should never moult a 
 feather, the wing of relationship should never be 
 clipped, but be always expanded and serene. 
 Why should a grandson and grandfather peg 
 away at each other with mutual wiolence when 
 all might be bliss and concord ? Why not jine 
 hands and forgit it ?" 
 
 " Hold your tongue," said his friend. 
 
 " Sir," replied Mr. Swiveller, " don't you inter- 
 rupt the chair. Gentlemen, how does the case 
 stand upon the present occasion ? Here is a jolly 
 old grandfather — I say it with the utmost respect 
 ■ — and here is a wild young grandson. The jolly 
 old grandfather says to the wild young grandson, 
 * I have brought you up and educated you, 
 Fred ; I have put you in the way of getting on 
 in life ; you have bolted a little out of the course, 
 as young fellows often do ; and you shall never 
 have another chance, nor the ghost of half a 
 one.' The wild young grandson makes answer 
 to this and says, ' You're as rich as rich can be ; 
 you have been at no uncommon expense on my 
 account, you're saving up piles of money for my 
 little sister that lives with you in a secret, 
 stealthy, hugger-muggering kind of way, and 
 with no manner of enjoyment — why can't you 
 stand a trifle for your grown-up relation ?' The 
 jolly old grandfather unto this retorts, not only 
 that he declines to fork out with that cheerful 
 readiness which is always so agreeable and 
 pleasant in a gentleman of his time of life, but 
 that he will blow up, and call names, and make 
 reflections whenever they meet. Then the plain 
 question is, ain't it a pity that this state of things 
 should continue, and how much better would it 
 be for the old gentleman to hand over a reason- 
 able amount of tin, and make it all right and 
 comfortable?" 
 
 Having delivered this oration with a great 
 many waves and flourishes of the hand, Mr. 
 Swiveller abruptly thrust the head of his cane 
 into his mouth, as if to prevent himself from 
 impairing the effect of his speech by adding one 
 other word. 
 
 " Why do you hunt and persecute me, God 
 help me ? " said the old man, turning to his 
 grandson. " Why do you bring your profligate 
 companions here ? How often am I to tell you 
 that my life is one of care and self-denial, and 
 that I am poor ? " 
 
 " How often am I to tell you," returned the 
 
 other, looking coldly at him, " that I know 
 better ? " 
 
 " You have chosen your own path," said the 
 old man. " Follow it. Leave Nell and I to 
 toil and work." 
 
 " Nell will be a woman soon," returned the 
 other, " and, bred in your faith, she'll forget her 
 brother unless he shows himself sometimes." 
 
 " Take care," said the old man with sparkling 
 eyes, " that she does not forget you when you 
 would have her memory keenest. Take care 
 that the day don't come when you walk barefoot 
 in the streets, and she rides by in a gay carriage 
 of her own." 
 
 " You mean when she has your money ? " 
 retorted the other. •' How like a poor man he 
 talks ! " 
 
 "And yet," said the old man, dropping his 
 voice and speaking like one who thinks aloud, 
 " how poor we are, and what a life it is ! The 
 cause is a young child's, guiltless of all harm or 
 wrong, but nothing goes well with it ! Hope 
 and patience, hope and patience ! " 
 
 These words were uttered in too low a tone 
 to reach the ears of the young men. Mr. Swivel- 
 ler appeared to think that they implied some 
 mental struggle consequent upon the powerful 
 eifect of his address, for he poked his friend 
 with his cane and whispered his conviction that 
 he had administered " a clincher," and that he 
 expected a commission on the profits. Discover- 
 ing his mistake after awhile, he appeared to grow 
 rather sleepy and discontented, and had more 
 than once suggested the propriety of an imme- 
 diate departure, when the door opened, and the 
 child herself appeared. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 j^HE child was closely followed by an 
 elderly man of remarkably hard fea-. 
 tures and forbidding aspect, and so 
 low in stature as to be quite a dwarf, 
 though his head and face were large 
 enough for the body of a giant. His black 
 eyes were restless, sly, and cunning; his 
 mouth and chin bristly with the stubble of 
 a coarse hard beard ; and his complexion was 
 one of that kind which never looks clean or 
 wholesome. But what added most to the gro- 
 tesque expression of his face was a ghastly smile, 
 which, appearing to be the mere result of habit 
 and to have no connection with any mirthful or 
 complacent feeling, constantly revealed the few 
 discoloured fangs that were yet scattered in his 
 
ME. QUI LP. 
 
 mouth, and gave him the aspect of a panting 
 dog. His dress consisted of a large high-crowned 
 hat, a worn dark suit, a pair of capacious shoes, 
 and a dirty white neckerchief sufficiently limp 
 and crumpled to disclose the greater portion of 
 his wiry throat. Such hair as he had was of a 
 grizzled black, cut short and straight upon his 
 temples, and hanging in a frouzy fringe about 
 his ears. His hands, which were of a rough 
 coarse grain, were very dirty; his finger-nails 
 were crooked, long, and yellow. 
 
 There was ample time to note these particu- 
 lars, for besides that they were sufficiently obvious 
 without very close observation, some, moments 
 elapsed before any one broke silence. The child 
 advanced timidly towards her brother, and put 
 her hand in his ; the dwarf (if we may call him 
 so) glanced keenly at all present ; and the 
 curiosity-dealer, who plainly had not expected 
 his uncouth visitor, seemed disconcerted and 
 embarrassed. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the dwarf, who with his hand 
 stretched out above his eyes had been surveying 
 the young man attentively, " that should be your 
 grandson, neighbour ! " 
 
 "Say rather that he should not be," replied 
 the old man. "But he is." 
 
 " And that?" said the dwarf, pointing to Dick 
 Swiveller. 
 
 "Some friend of his, as welcqme here as he," 
 said the old man. 
 
 " And that ? " inquired the dwarf, wheeling 
 round and pointing straight at me. 
 
 " A gentleman who was so good as to bring 
 Nell home the other night when she lost her 
 way, coming from your house." 
 
 The little man turned to the child as if to 
 chide her or express his wonder, but, as she was 
 talking to the young man, held his peace, and 
 bent his head to listen. 
 
 "Well, Nelly," said the young fellow aloud. 
 *•' Do they teach you to hate me, eh ? ". 
 
 " No, no. For shame ! Oh no ! " cried the 
 child. 
 
 " To love me, perhaps ? " pursued her brother 
 with a sneer, 
 
 " To do neither," she returned. " They never 
 speak to me about you. Indeed, they never do." 
 
 " I dare be bound for that," he said, darting a 
 bitter look at the grandfather. " I dare be bound 
 for that, Nell. Oh ! I believe you there ! " 
 
 " But I love you dearly,' Fred," said the child. 
 
 " No doubt ! " 
 
 " I do indeed, and always will," the child 
 repeated with great emotion, " but oh ! if you 
 would leave off vexing him and making him 
 unhappy, then I could love you more." 
 
 " I see ! " said the young man as he stooped 
 carelessly over the child, and, having kissed her, 
 pushed her from him. " There — get you away 
 now you have said your lesson. You needn't 
 whimper. We part good friends enough, if that's 
 the matter." 
 
 He remained silent, following her with his 
 eyes, until she had gamed her little room and 
 closed the door j and then, turning to the dwarf, 
 said abruptly: 
 
 " Harkee, Mr. " 
 
 " Meaning me ?" returned the dwarf. " Quilp 
 is my name. You might remember. It's not a 
 long one — Daniel Quilp," 
 
 " Harkee, Mr. Quilp, then," pursued the other. 
 " You have some influence with my grandfather 
 there." 
 
 "Some," said Mr. Quilp emphatically. 
 
 "And are in a few of his mysteries and 
 secrets," 
 
 " A few," replied Quilp with equal dryness, 
 
 " Then let me tell him once for all, through 
 you, that I will come into and go out of this 
 place as often as I like, so long as he keeps 
 Nell here ; and that, if he wants to be quit of 
 me, he must first be quit of her. What have I 
 done to be made a bugbear of, and to be shunned 
 and dreaded as if I brought the plague ? He'll 
 tell you that I have no natural affection; and 
 that I care no more for Nell, for her own sake, 
 than I do for him. Let him say so. I care for the 
 whim, then, of coming to and fro and reminding 
 her of my existence. I will see her when I please. 
 That's my point. I came here to-day to maintain 
 it, and I'll come here again fifty times with the 
 same object, and always with the same success. 
 I said I would stop till I had gained it. I have 
 done so, and now my visit's ended. Come, 
 Dick." 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Mr. Swiveller, as his com- 
 panion turned towards the door. " Sir ! " 
 
 " Sir, I am your humble servant," said Mr. 
 Quilp, to whom the monosyllable was addressed. 
 
 " Before I leave the gay and festive scene, and 
 halls of dazzling light, sir," said Mr, Swiveller, 
 " I will, with your permission, attempt a slight 
 remark. I came here, sir, this day, under the 
 impression that the old min was friendly." 
 
 "Proceed, sir," said Daniel Quilp; for the 
 orator had made a sudden stop. 
 
 " Inspired by this idea and the sentiments it 
 awakened, sir, and feeUng as a mutual friend 
 that badgering, baiting, and bullying was not 
 the sort of thing calculated to expand the souls 
 and promote the social harmony of the contend- 
 ing parties, I took upon myself to suggest a 
 course which is the course to be adopted on the 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 present occasion. Will you allow me to whisper 
 half a syllable, sir ? " 
 
 Without waiting for the permission he sought, 
 Mr. Swiveller stepped up to the dwarf, and, lean- 
 ing on his shoulder and stooping down to get at 
 his ear, said in a voice which was perfectly audible 
 to all present : 
 
 "The watchword to the old min is — fork." 
 
 " Is what ? " demanded Quilp. 
 
 " Is fork, sir, fork," replied Mr. Swiveller, slap- 
 ping his pocket. " You are awake, sir ? " 
 
 The dwarf nodded. Mr. Swiveller drew back 
 and nodded likewise, then drew a little further 
 back and nodded again, and so on. By these 
 means he in time reached the door, where he 
 gave a great cough to attract the dwarfs atten- 
 tion, and gain an opportunity of expressing, in 
 dumb-show, the closest confidence and most in- 
 violable secrecy. Having performed the serious 
 pantomime that was necessary for the due con- 
 veyance of these ideas, he cast himself upon his 
 friend's track, and vanished. 
 
 " Humph ! " said the dwarf with a sour look 
 and a shrug of his shoulders, " so much for dear 
 relations. Thank God, I acknowledge none ! 
 Nor need you either," he added, turning to the 
 old man, " if you were not as weak as a reed, 
 and nearly as senseless." 
 
 " What would you have me do ? " he retorted 
 in a kind of helpless desperation. " It is easy 
 to talk and sneer. What would you have me do ?" 
 
 " What would /do if I was in your case ? " 
 said the dwarf. 
 
 " Something violent, no doubt." 
 
 " You're right there," returned the little man, 
 highly gratified by the compliment, for such he 
 evidently considered it ; and grinning like a devil 
 as he rubbed his dirty hands together. " Ask 
 Mrs. Quilp, pretty Mrs. Quilp, obedient, timid, 
 loving Mrs. Quilp. But that reminds me — I 
 have left her all alone, and she will be anxious 
 and know not a moment's peace till I return. I 
 know she's always in that condition when I'm 
 away, though she doesn't dare to say so, unless I 
 lead her on and tell her she may speak freely, 
 and I won't be angry with her. Oh ! well-trained 
 Mrs. Quilp!" 
 
 The creature appeared quite horrible, with his 
 monstrous head and little body, as he rubbed 
 his hands slowly round, and round, and round 
 again — with something fantastic even in his 
 manner of performing this slight action — and, 
 dropping his shaggy brows and cocking his chin 
 in the air, glanced upward with a stealthy look 
 of exultation that an imp might have copied 
 and appropriated to himself. 
 
 " Here," he said, putting his hand into his 
 
 breast and sidling up to the old man as he 
 spoke ; " I brought it myself for fear of acci- 
 dents, as, being in gold, it was something large 
 and heavy for Nell to carry in her bag. She 
 need be accustomed to such loads betimes, 
 though, neighbour, for she will carry weight 
 when you are dead." 
 
 " Heaven send she may ! I hope so," said 
 the old man with something like a groan. 
 
 '' Hope so ! " echoed the dwarf, approaching 
 close to his ear. " Neighbour, I would I knew 
 in what good investment all these supplies are 
 sunk. But you are a deep man, and keep your 
 secret close." 
 
 "My secret!" said the other with. a haggard 
 look. " Yes, you're right — I — I — keep it close 
 — very close." 
 
 He said no more, but, taking the money, 
 turned away with a slow uncertain step, and 
 pressed his hand upon his head like a weary 
 and dejected man. The dwarf watched him 
 sharply, while he passed into the little sitting- 
 room and locked it in an iron safe above the 
 chimney-piece ; and, after musing for a short 
 space, prepared to take his leave, observing that 
 unless he made good haste, Mrs. Quilp would 
 certainly be in fits on his return. 
 
 " And so, neighbour," he added, " I'll turn 
 my face homewards, leaving my love for Nelly, 
 and hoping she may never lose her way again, 
 though her doing so has procured me an honour 
 I didn't expect." With that, he bowed and leered 
 at me, and with a keen glance around which 
 seemed to comprehend every object within his 
 range of vision, however small or trivial, went 
 his way. 
 
 I had several times essayed to go myself, but 
 the old man had always opposed it and entreated 
 me to remain. As he renewed his entreaties on 
 our being left alone, and adverted with many 
 thanks to the former occasion of our being 
 together, I willingly yielded to his persuasions, 
 and sat down, pretending to examine some 
 curious miniatures and a few old medals which 
 he placed before me. It needed no great press- 
 ing to induce me to stay, for if my curiosity had 
 been excited on the occasion of my first visit, it 
 certainly was not diminished now. 
 
 Nell joined us before long, and bringing some 
 needlework to the table, sat by the old man's 
 side. It was pleasant to observe the fresh 
 flowers in the room, the pet bird with a green 
 bough shading his little cage, the breath of fresh- 
 ness and youth which seemed to rustle through 
 the old dull house and hover round the child. 
 It was curious, but not so pleasant, to turn from 
 the beauty and grace of the girl, to the stooping 
 
THE OLD MAN A MYSTEE^Y. 
 
 figure, careworn face, and jaded aspect of the 
 old man. As he grew weaker and more feeble, 
 what would become of this lonely httle creature; 
 poor protector as he was, say that he died — what 
 would her fate be then ? 
 
 The old man almost answered my thoughts, 
 as he laid his hand on hers, and spoke aloud. 
 
 " I'll be of better cheer, Nell," he said ; 
 "there must be good fortune in store for thee 
 — I do not ask it for myself, but thee. Such 
 miseries must fall on thy innocent head without 
 it, that I cannot believe but that, being tempted, 
 it will come at last ! " 
 
 She looked cheerfully into his face, but made 
 no answer. 
 
 " When I think," said he, " of the many years 
 — many in thy short life — that thou hast lived 
 alone with me ; of thy monotonous existence, 
 knowing no companions of thy own age, nor any 
 childish pleasures ; of the solitude in which thou 
 hast grown to be what thou art, and in which 
 thou hast lived apart from nearly all thy kind 
 but one old man : I sometimes fear I have dealt 
 hardly by thee, Nell." 
 
 " Grandfather !" cried the child in unfeigned 
 ■surprise. 
 
 " Not in intention — no, no," said he. " I have 
 €ver looked forward to the time that should 
 •enable thee to mi.x: among the gayest and pret- 
 tiest, and take thy station with the best. But I 
 still look forward, Nell, I still look forward, and 
 if I should be forced to leave thee, meanwhile, 
 how have I fitted thee for struggles with the 
 world ? The poor bird yonder is as well qualified 
 to encounter it, and be turned adrift upon its 
 mercies. Hark ! I hear Kit outside. Go to 
 him, Nell, go to him." 
 
 She rose, and hurrying away, stopped, turned 
 back, and put her arms about the old man's 
 neck, then left him and hurried away again — but 
 faster this time to hide her falling tears. 
 
 " A word in your ear, sir," said the old man 
 in a hurried whisper. " I have been rendered 
 uneasy by what you said the other night, and 
 can only plead that I have done all for the best 
 — that it is too late to retract, if I could (though 
 I cannot) — and that I hope to triumph yet. All 
 is for her sake. I have borne great poverty 
 myself, and would spare her the sufferings that 
 poverty carries with it. I would spare her the 
 miseries that brought her mother, my own deal- 
 child, to an early grave. I would leave her — 
 not with resources which could be easily spent 
 or squandered away, but with what would place 
 her beyond the reach of want for ever. You 
 mark me, sir ? She shall have no pittance, but 
 a fortune. Hush ! I can say no more than 
 The Old Curiosity Shop. 2. 
 
 that, now or at any other time, and she is here 
 again ! " 
 
 The eagerness with which all this was poured 
 into my ear, the trembling of the hand with which 
 he clasped my arm, the strained and starting 
 eyes he fixed upon me, the wild vehemence and 
 agitation of his manner, filled me with amaze- 
 ment. All that I had heard and seen, and a 
 great part of what he had said himself, led me 
 to suppose that he was a wealthy man. I could 
 form no comprehension of his character, unless 
 he were one of those miserable wretches who, 
 having made gain the sole end and object of 
 their hves, and having succeeded in amassing 
 great riches, are constantly tortured by the dread 
 of poverty, and beset by fears of loss and ruin. 
 Many things he had said, which I had been at a 
 loss to understand, were quite reconcilable with 
 the idea thus presented to me, and at length I 
 concluded that beyond all doubt he was one of 
 this unhappy race. 
 
 The opinion was not the result of hasty con- 
 sideration, for which, indeed, there was no op- 
 portunity at that time, as the child came back 
 directly, and soon occupied herself in prepara- 
 tions for giving Kit a writing lesson, of which ic 
 seemed he had a couple every week, and one 
 regularly on that evening, to the great mirth and 
 enjoyment both of himself and his instructress. 
 To relate how it was a long time before his 
 modesty could be so far prevailed upon as to 
 admit of his sitting down in the parlour, in the 
 presence of an unknown gentleman — how, when 
 he did sit down, he tucked up his sleeves and 
 squared his elbows and put his face close to the 
 copy-book and squinted horribly at the lines — 
 how, from the very first moment of having the pen 
 in his hand, he began to wallow in blots, and to 
 daub himself with ink up to the very roots of his 
 hair — how, if he did by accident form a letter 
 properly, he immediately smeared it out again with 
 his arm in his preparations to make another — 
 how, at every fresh mistake, there was a fresh burst 
 of merriment from the child, and a louder and 
 not less hearty laugh from poor Kit himself — and 
 how there was all the way through, notwithstand- 
 ing, a gentle wish on her part to teach, and an 
 anxious desire on his to learn — to relate all these 
 particulars would no doubt occupy more space 
 and time than they deserve. It will be sufticient 
 to say that the lesson was given — that evening 
 passed and night came on — that the old man 
 again grew restless and impatient — that he quitted 
 the house secretly at the same hour as before — 
 and that the child was once more left alone 
 within its gloomy walls. 
 
 And now that I have carried this history so 
 
 2c;o 
 
14 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 far in my own character, and introduced these 
 personages to the reader, I shall, for the con- 
 venience of the narrative, detach myself from 
 its further course, and leave those who have 
 prominent and necessary parts in it to speak 
 and act for themselves. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 'R. AND MRS. QUILP resided on 
 Tower Hill ; and in her bower on 
 Tower Hill Mrs. Quilp was left to 
 pine the absence of her lord, when 
 he quitted her on the business which 
 he has been already seen to transact. 
 Mr. Quilp could scarcely be said to be 
 of any particular trade or calling, though 
 his pursuits were diversified and his occupations 
 numerous. He collected the rents of whole 
 colonies of filthy streets and alleys by the water- 
 side, advanced money to the seamen and petty 
 officers of merchant vessels, had a share in the 
 ventures of divers mates of East Indiamen, 
 smoked his smuggled cigars under the very nose 
 of the Custom House, and made appointments 
 on 'Change with men in glazed hats and round 
 jackets pretty well every day. On the Surrey 
 side of the river was a small, rat-infested, dreary 
 yard called " Quilp's Wharf," in which were a 
 little wooden counting-house burrowing all awry 
 in the dust, as if it had fallen from the clouds 
 and ploughed into the ground ; a few fragments 
 of rusty anchors ; several large iron rings ; some 
 piles of rotten wood ; and two or three heaps of 
 old sheet copper, crumpled, cracked, and bat- 
 tered. On Quilp's Wharf, Daniel Quilp was a 
 ship-breaker, yet to judge from these appear- 
 ances he must either have been a ship-breaker 
 on a very small scale, or broken his ships up 
 very small indeed. Neither did the place pre- 
 sent any extraordinary aspect of life or activity, 
 as its only human occupant was an amphibious 
 boy in a canvas suit, whose sole change of occu- 
 pation was from sitting on the head of a pile and 
 throwing stones into the mud when the tide was 
 out, to standing with his hands in his pockets 
 gazing listlessly on the motion and on the bustle 
 of the river at high water. 
 
 The dwarf's lodging on Tower Hill com- 
 prised, besides the needful accommodation for 
 himself and Mrs. Quilp, a small sleeping-closet 
 for that lady's mother, who resided with the 
 couple, and waged perpetual war with Daniel ; 
 of whom, notwithstanding, she stood in no slight 
 dread. Indeed, the ugly creature contrived by 
 
 some means or other — whether by his ugliness 
 or his ferocity or his natural cunning is no great 
 matter — to impress with a wholesome fear of 
 his anger most of those with whom he was brought 
 into daily contact and communication. Over 
 nobody had he such complete ascendancy as 
 Mrs. Quilp herself — a pretty little, mild-spoken, 
 blue-eyed woman, who, having allied herself in 
 wedlock to the dwarf in one of those strange 
 infatuations of which examples are by no means 
 scarce, performed a sound practical penance for 
 her folly every day of her life. 
 
 It has been said that Mrs. Quilp was pining 
 in her bower. In her bower she was, but not 
 alone, for be'sides the old lady, her mother, of 
 whom mention has recently been made, there 
 were present some half-dozen ladies of the 
 neighbourhood who had happened by a strange 
 accident (and also by a little understanding 
 among themselves) to drop in one after another, 
 just about tea-time. This being a season favour- 
 able to conversation, and the room being a cool, 
 shady, lazy kind of place, with some plants at 
 the open window shutting out the dust, and 
 interposing pleasantly enough between the tea- 
 table within and the old Tower without, it is no 
 wonder that the ladies felt an inclination to talk 
 and linger, especially when there are taken into 
 account the additional inducements of fresh 
 butter, new bread, shrimps, and water-cresses. 
 
 Now, the ladies being together under these 
 circumstances, it was extremely natural that the 
 discourse should turn upon the propensity of 
 mankind to tyrannise over the weaker sex, and 
 the duty that devolved upon the weaker sex to 
 resist that tyranny and assert their rights and 
 dignity. It was natural for four reasons : firstly, 
 because Mrs. Quilp, being a young woman and 
 notoriously under the dominion of her hijsband, 
 ought to be excited to rebel ; secondly, because 
 Mrs. Quilp's parent was known to be laudably 
 shrewish in her disposition, and inclined to resist 
 male authority; thirdly, because each visitor 
 wished to show for herself how superior she was 
 in this respect to the generality of her sex ; and 
 fourthly, because the company, being accustomed 
 to scandalise each other in pairs, were deprived 
 of their usual subject of conversation now that 
 they were all assembled in close friendship, and 
 had consequently no better employment than to 
 attack the common enemy. 
 
 Moved by these considerations, a stout lady 
 Oldened the proceedings by inquiring, with an 
 air of great concern and sympathy, how Mr. 
 Quilp was ; whereunto Mr. Quilp's wife's mother 
 re])lied sharply, " Oh ! he was well enougli — 
 nothin? much was ever the matter with him — 
 
THE PRAISES OF MR. QUILP. 
 
 15 
 
 and ill weeds were sure to thrive." All the 
 ladies then sighed in concert, shook their heads 
 gravely, and looked at Mrs. Quilp as at a martyr. 
 " Ah !" said the spokeswoman, " I wish you'd 
 give her a little of your advice, Mrs. Jiniwin " 
 — Mrs. Quilp had been a Miss Jiniwin it should 
 be observed — " nobody knows better than you, 
 ma'am, what us women owe to ourselves." 
 
 " Owe indeed, ma'am !" replied Mrs. Jiniwin. 
 " When my poor husband, her dear father, was 
 alive, if he had ever ventur'd a cross word to 
 
 me, I'd have " The good old lady did not 
 
 finish the sentence, but she twisted off the head 
 of a shrimp with a vindictiveness which seemed 
 to imply that the action was in some degree a 
 substitute for words. In this light it was clearly 
 understood by the other party, who immediately 
 replied with great approbation, " You quite enter 
 into my feelings, ma'am, and it's jist what I'd do 
 myself." 
 
 " But you have no call to do it," said Mrs. 
 Jiniwin. " Luckily for you, you have no more 
 occasion to do it than I had." 
 
 " No woman need have, if she was true to 
 herself," rejoined the stout lady. 
 
 " Do you hear that, Betsy ?" said Mrs. Jiniwin 
 in a warning voice. " How often have I said 
 the very same words to you, and almost gone 
 down on my knees when I spoke 'em !" 
 
 Poor Mrs. Quilp, who had looked in a state 
 of helplessness from one face of condolence to 
 another, coloured, smiled, and shook her head 
 doubtfully. This was the signal for a general 
 clamour, which, beginning in a low murmur, 
 gradually swelled into a great noise, in which 
 everybody spoke at once, and all said that she, 
 being a young woman, had no right to set up 
 her opinions against the experiences of those 
 who knew so much better ; that it was very 
 wrong of her not to take the advice of people 
 who had nothing at heart but her good ; that it 
 was next door to being downright ungrateful to 
 conduct herself in that manner \ that if she had 
 no respect for herself, she ought to have some 
 for other women, all of whom she compromised 
 by her meekness ; and that if she had no respect 
 for other women, the time would come when 
 other women would have no respect for her; 
 and she would be very sorry for that, they could 
 tell her. Having dealt out these admonitions, 
 the ladies fell to a more powerful assault than 
 they had yet made upon the mixed tea, new 
 bread, fresh butter, shrimps, and water-cresses, 
 and said that their vexation was so great to see 
 her going on like that, that they could hardly 
 bring themselves to eat a single morsel. 
 
 " It's all very fine to talk," said Mrs. Quilp 
 
 with much simplicity, " but I know that, if I was 
 to die to-morrow, Quilp could marry anybody 
 he pleased — now that he could, I know ! " 
 
 There was quite a scream of indignation at 
 this idea. Marry whom he pleased ! They 
 would like to see him dare to think of marrying 
 any of them ; they would like to see the faintest 
 approach to such a thing. One lady (a widow) 
 was quite certain she would stab him if he hinted 
 at it. 
 
 "Very well," said Mrs. Quilp, nodding her 
 head ; " as I said just now, it's very easy to 
 talk, but I say again that I know — that I'm sure 
 — Quilp has such a way with him when he likes, 
 that the best-looking woman here couldn't refuse- 
 him if I was dead, and she was free, and he 
 chose to make love to her. Come ! " 
 
 Everybody bridled up at this remark, as much 
 as to say, " I know you mean me. Let him try 
 — that's all." And yet for some hidden reason 
 they were all angry with the widow, and each 
 lady whispered in her neighbour's ear that it was 
 very plain the said widow thought herself the 
 person referred to, and what a puss she was ! 
 
 " Mother knows," said Mrs. Quilp, " that what 
 I say is quite correct, for she often said so before 
 we were married. Didn't you say so, mother ?" 
 
 This inquiry involved the respected lady in 
 rather a delicate position, for she certainly had 
 been an active party in making her daughter 
 Mrs. Quilp, and, besides, it was not supporting 
 the family credit to encourage the idea that she 
 had married a man whom nobody else would 
 have. On the other hand, to exaggerate the 
 captivating qualities of her son-in-law would be 
 to weaken the cause of revolt, in which all her 
 energies were deeply engaged. Beset by these 
 opposing considerations, Mrs. Jiniwin admitted 
 the powers of insinuation, but denied the right 
 to govern, and with a timely compliment to the 
 stout lady brought back the discussion to the 
 point from which it had strayed. 
 
 " Oh ! It's a sensible and proper thing indeed, 
 what Mrs. George has said ! " exclaimed the old 
 lady. " If women are only true to themselves ! 
 — But Betsy isn't, and more's the shame and 
 pity." 
 
 " Before I'd let a man order me about as Quilp 
 orders her," said Mrs. George ; " before I'd con- 
 sent to stand in awe of a man as she does of him, 
 I'd — I'd kill myself, and write a letter first to 
 say he did it ! " 
 
 This remark being loudly commended and 
 approved of, another lady (from the Minories) 
 put in her word : 
 
 " Mr. Quilp may be a very nice man," said 
 this lady, " and I suppose there's no doubt he 
 
i6 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 is, because Mrs. Quilp says he is, and Mrs. Jini- 
 win says he is, and they ought to know, or no- 
 body does. But still he is not quite a — what 
 one calls a handsome man, nor quite a young 
 man neither, which might be a little excuse for 
 him if anything could be ; whereas his wife is 
 young, and is good-looking, and is a woman — 
 which is the great thing after all." 
 
 This last clause, being delivered with extra- 
 ordinary pathos, elicited a corresponding mur- 
 mur from the hearers, stimulated by which the 
 lady went on to remark that if such a husband 
 
 was cross and unreasonable with such a wife, 
 then 
 
 " If he is ! " interposed the mother, putting 
 down her teacup and brushing the crumbs out 
 of her lap, preparatory to making a solemn 
 declaration. " If he is ! He is the greatest 
 tyrant that ever lived, she daren't call her soul 
 her own, he makes her tremble with a word and 
 even with a look, he frightens her to death, and 
 she hasn't the spirit to give him a word back, 
 no, not a single word," 
 
 Notwithstanding that the fact had been no- 
 
 "WHEN HE DID SIT DOWN, HE TUCKED UP HIS SLEEVES AND SQUARED HIS ELBOWS AND PUT HIS FACE 
 
 CLOSE TO THE COPY-BOOK." 
 
 torious beforehand to all the tea-drinkers, and 
 had been discussed and expatiated on at every 
 tea-drinking in the neighbourhood for the last 
 twelve months, this official communication was 
 no sooner made than they all began to talk at 
 once, and to vie with each other in vehemence 
 and volubility, Mrs, George remarked that 
 people would talk, that people had often said 
 this to her before, that Mrs, Simmons then and 
 there present had told her so twenty times, that 
 she had always said, " No, Henrietta Simmons, 
 unless I see it with my own eyes and hear it 
 
 with my own ears, I never will believe it." Mrs. 
 Simmons corroborated this testimony, and added 
 strong evidence of her own. The lady from the 
 Minories recounted a successful course of treat- 
 ment under which she had placed her own hus- 
 band, who, from manifesting one month after 
 marriage unequivocal symptoms of the tiger, had 
 by this means become subdued into a perfect 
 lamb. Another lady recounted her own personal 
 struggle and final triumph, in tlie course whereof 
 she had found it necessary to call in her mother 
 and two aunts, and to weep incessantly night and 
 
MR. QUI LP ASSISTS AT THE TEA-TABLE. 
 
 «7 
 
 day for six weeks. A third, who in the general 
 confusion could secure no other listener, fastened 
 herself upon a young woman still unmarried who 
 happened to be amongst them, and conjured her, 
 as she valued her own peace of mind and happi- 
 ness, to profit by this solemn occasion, to take 
 exauiple from the weakness of Mrs. Quilp, and 
 from that time forth to direct her whole thoughts 
 to taming and subduing the rebeUious spirit of 
 man. The noise was at its height, and half the 
 company had elevated their voices into a perfect 
 shriek in order to drown the voices of the other 
 half, when Mrs. Jiniwin was seen to change 
 colour and shake her forefinger stealthily, as if 
 exhorting them to silence. Then, and not until 
 then, Daniel Quilp himself, the cause and occa- 
 sion of all this clamour, was observed to be in 
 the room, looking on and listening with profound 
 attention. 
 
 " Go on, ladies, go on," said Daniel. " Mrs. 
 Quilp, pray ask the ladies to stop to supper, and 
 have a couple of lobsters and something light 
 and palatable." 
 
 " I — I — didn't ask them to tea, Quilp," stam- 
 mered his wife. "It's quite an accident." 
 
 " So much the better, Mrs. Quilp; these acci- 
 dental parties are always the pleasantest," said 
 the dwarf, rubbing his hands so hard that he 
 seemed to be engaged in manufacturing, of the 
 dirt with which they were incrusted, little charges 
 for pop-guns. " What 1 Not going, ladies ?. 
 You are not going, surely ? " 
 
 His fair enemies tossed their heads slightly as 
 they sought their respective bonnets and shawls, 
 but left all verbal contention to Mrs. Jiniwin, 
 who, finding herself in the position of champion, 
 made a faint struggle to sustain the character. 
 
 "And why not stop to supper, Quilp," said 
 the old lady, " if my daughter had a mind ? " 
 
 " To be sure," rejoined Daniel. " Why not? " 
 
 " There's nothing dishonest or wrong in a 
 supper, I hope ? " said Mrs. Jiniwin. 
 
 " Surely not," returned the dwarf. " Why 
 should there be ? Nor anything unwholesome 
 either, unless there's lobster-salad or prawns, 
 which I'm told are not good for digestion." 
 
 " And you wouldn't like your wife to be 
 attacked with that, or anything else that would 
 make her uneasy, would you?" said Mrs. Jiniwin. 
 
 " Not for a score of worlds," replied the dwarf 
 with a grin. " Not even to have a score of 
 mothers-in-law at the same time — and what a 
 blessing that would be ! " 
 
 " My daughter's your wife, Mr. Quilp, cer- 
 tainly," said the old lady with a giggle, meant 
 for satirical, and to imply that he needed to be 
 reminded of the fact ; " your wedded wife." 
 
 *• So she is certainly. So she is," observed 
 the dwarf. 
 
 "And she has a right to do as she likes, I 
 hope, Quilp," said the old lady, trembling, partly 
 with anger and partly with a secret fear of her 
 impish son-in-law. 
 
 " Hope she has ! " he replied. " Oh ! Don't 
 you know she has ? Don't you know she has, 
 Mrs. Jiniwin ? " 
 
 " I know she ought to have, Quilp, and would 
 have if she was of my way of thinking." 
 
 " Why an't you of your mother's way of think- 
 ing, my dear?" said the dwarf, turning round 
 and addressing his wife. " Why don't you always 
 imitate your mother, my dear? She's the orna- 
 ment of her sex — your father said so every day 
 of his life, I am sure he did." 
 
 " Her father was a blessed creetur, Quilp, and 
 worth twenty thousand of some people," said Mrs. 
 Jiniwin ; " twenty hundred million thousand." 
 
 " I should like to have known him," remarked 
 the dwarf. " I dare say he was a blessed crea- 
 ture then ; but I'm sure he is now. It was a 
 happy release. I believe he had suffered a long 
 time?" 
 
 The old lady gave a gasp, but nothing came 
 of it; Quilp resumed, with the same malice in 
 his eye and the same sarcastic politeness on his 
 tongue. 
 
 " You look ill, Mrs. Jiniwin ; I know you 
 have been exciting yourself too much — talking 
 perhaps, for it is your weakness. Go to bed. 
 Do go to bed." 
 
 " I shall go when I please, Quilp, and not 
 before." 
 
 " But please to go now. Do please to go now," 
 said the dwarf. 
 
 The old woman looked angrily at him, but 
 retreated as he advanced, and falling back before 
 him, suffered him to shut the door upon her and 
 bolt her out among the guests, who were by this 
 time crowding down-stairs. Being left alone 
 with his wife, who sat trembling in a corner with 
 her eyes fixed upon the ground, the little man 
 planted himself before her, at some distance, and 
 folding his arms, looked steadily at her for a 
 long time without speaking. 
 
 " Oh, you nice creature ! " were the words 
 with which he broke silence ; smacking his lips 
 as if this were no figure of speech, and she 
 were actually a sweetmeat. " Oh, you precious 
 darling ! Oh, you de-licious charmer ! " 
 
 Mrs. Quilp sobbed; and, knowing the nature 
 of her pleasant lord, appeared quite as much 
 alarmed by these compliments as she would 
 have been by the most extreme demonstrations 
 of violence. 
 
i8 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 . " She's such," said the dwarf with a ghastly 
 grin, — " such a jewel, such a diamond, such a 
 pearl, such a ruby, such a golden casket set 
 with gems of all sorts ! She's such a treasure ! 
 I'm so fond of her ! " 
 
 The poor little woman shivered from head to 
 foot ; and raising her eyes to his face with an 
 imploring look, suffered them to droop again, 
 and sobbed once more. 
 
 " The best of her is," said the dwarf, advanc- 
 ing with a sort of skip, which, what with the 
 crookedness of his legs, the ugliness of his face, 
 and the mockery of his manner, was perfectly 
 goblin-like ; — " the best of her is that she's so 
 meek, and she's so mild, and she never has a 
 will of her own, and she has such an insinuating 
 mother ! " 
 
 Uttering these latter words with a gloating 
 maliciousness, within a hundred degrees of which 
 no o-ne but himself could possibly approach, Mr. 
 Quilp planted his two hands on his knees, and 
 straddling his legs out very wide apart, stooped 
 slowly down, and down, and down, until, by 
 screwing his head very much on one side, he 
 came between his wife's eyes and the floor, 
 
 " Mrs. Quilp ! " 
 
 " Yes, Quilp." 
 
 "Am I nice to look at? Should I be the 
 handsomest creature in the world if I had but 
 whiskers ? Am I quite a lady's man as it is ? 
 Am I, Mrs. Quilp ? " 
 
 Mrs. Quilp dutifully replied, " Yes, Quilp ; " 
 and, fascinated by his gaze, remained looking 
 timidly at him, while he treated her with a suc- 
 cession of such horrible grimaces, as none but 
 himself and nightmares had the power of assum- 
 ing. During the whole of this performance, 
 which was somewhat of the longest, he pre- 
 served a dead silence, except when, by an un- 
 expected skip or leap, he made his wife start 
 back\vard with an irrepressible shriek. Then he 
 chuckled. 
 
 " Mrs. Quilp," he said at last. 
 
 " Yes, Quilp," she meekly replied. 
 
 Instead of pursuing the theme he had in his 
 mind, Quilp rose, folded his arms again, and 
 looked at her more sternly than before, while 
 she averted her eyes and kept them on the 
 ground. 
 
 "Mrs. Quilp." 
 
 "Yes, Quilp." 
 
 " If ever you listen to these beldames again, 
 I'll bite you." 
 
 With this laconic threat, which he accompanied 
 with a snarl that gave him the appearance of 
 being particularly in earnest, Mr. Quilp bade 
 her clear the tea-board away, and bring the rum. 
 
 The spirit being set before him in a huge case- 
 bottle, which had originally come out of some 
 ship's locker, he ordered cold water and the box 
 oC cigars ; and these being supplied, he settled 
 himself in an arm-chair with his large head and 
 face squeezed up against the back, and his little 
 legs planted on the table. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Quilp," he said ; " I feel in a 
 smoking humour, and shall probably blaze away 
 all night. But sit where you are, if you please, 
 in case I want you." 
 
 His wife returned no other reply than the 
 customary " Yes, Quilp," and the small lord of 
 the creation took his first cigar and mixed his 
 first glass of grog. The sun went down and the 
 stars peeped out, the Tower turned from its own 
 proper colours to grey, and from grey to black, 
 the room became perfectly dark and the end of 
 the cigar a deep fiery red, but still Mr. Quilp 
 went on smoking and drinking in the same 
 position, and staring listlessly out of window 
 with the dog-like smile always on his face, save 
 when Mrs. Quilp made some involuntary move- 
 ment of restlessness or fatigue ; and then it ex- 
 panded into a grin of delight. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 jHETHER Mr. Quilp took any sleep 
 by snatches of a few winks at a time, 
 or whether he sat with his eyes wide 
 open all night long, certain it is that 
 he kept his cigar alight, and kindled 
 every fresh one from the ashes of 
 that which was nearly consumed, without 
 requiring the assistance of a candle. Nor 
 did the striking of the clocks, hour after hour, 
 appear to inspire him with any sense of drowsi- 
 ness, or any natural desire to go to rest ; but 
 rather to increase his wakefulness, which he 
 showed, at every such indication of the progress 
 of the night, by a suppressed cackling in his 
 throat, and a motion of his shoulders, like one 
 who laughs heartily, but at the same time slily 
 and by stealth. 
 
 At length the day broke, and poor Mrs. Quilp, 
 shivering with the cold of early morning and 
 harassed by fatigue and want of sleep, was dis- 
 covered sitting patiently on her chair, raising her 
 eyes at intervals in mute appeal to the compassion 
 and clemency of her lord, and gently reminding 
 him by an occasional cough that she was still 
 unpardoned, and that her penance had been of 
 long duration. But her dwarfish spouse still 
 smoked his cigar and drank his rum without 
 
MR. QUILF TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 19 
 
 heeding her ; and it was not until the sun had 
 some time risen, and the activity and noise of 
 city day were rife in the street, that he deigned 
 to recognise her presence by any word or 
 sign. He might not have done so even then, 
 but for certain impatient tappings at the 
 door, which seemed to denote that some pretty 
 hard knuckles were actively engaged upon the 
 other side. 
 
 " Why, dear me ! " he said, looking round 
 with a malicious grin, " it's day ! Open the 
 door, sweet Mrs. Quilp ! " 
 
 His obedient wife withdrew the bolt, and her 
 lady mother entered. 
 
 Now, Mrs. Jiniwin bounced into the room 
 with great impetuosity ; for, supposing her son- 
 in-law to be still abed, she had come to relieve 
 her feelings by pronouncing a strong opinion 
 upon his general conduct and character. Seeing 
 that he w^as up and dressed, and that the room 
 appeared to have been occupied ever since she 
 quitted it on the previous evening, she stopped 
 short in some embarrassment. 
 
 Nothing escaped the hawk's eye of the ugly 
 little man, who, perfectly understanding what 
 passed in the old lady's mind, turned uglier still 
 in the fulness of his satisfaction, and bade her 
 good morning with a leer of triumph. 
 
 "Why, Betsy," said the old woman, "you 
 haven't been a — you don't mean to say you've 
 been a " 
 
 " Sitting up all night?" said Quilp, supplying 
 the conclusion of the sentence. " Yes, she 
 has!" 
 
 "All night!" cried Mrs. Jiniwin. 
 
 " Ay, all night. Is the dear old lady deaf?" 
 said Quilp with a smile of which a frown was 
 part, " Who says man and wife are bad com- 
 pany ? Ha, ha ! The time has flown." 
 
 "You're a brute !" exclaimed Mrs. Jiniwin. 
 
 " Come, come," said Quilp, wilfully misunder- 
 standing her, of course, " you mustn't call her 
 names. She's married now, you know. And 
 though she did beguile the time and keep me 
 from my bed, you must not be so tenderly care- 
 ful of me as to be out of humour with her. 
 Bless you for a dear old lady ! Here's your 
 health!" 
 
 " I am mtich obliged to you," returned the old 
 woman, testifying by a certain restlessness in 
 her hands a vehement desire to shake her 
 matronly fist at her son-in-law. " Oh ! I'm very 
 much obliged to you !" 
 
 "Grateful soul!" cried the dwarf. "Mrs. 
 Quilp." 
 
 " Yes, Quilp," said the timid sufferer. 
 
 " Help your mother to get breakfast, Mrs. 
 
 Quilp. I am going to the wharf this morning — 
 the earlier the better, so be quick." 
 
 Mrs. Jiniwin made a faint demonstration of 
 rebellion by sitting down in a chair near the 
 door, and folding her arms as if in a resolute 
 determination to do nothing. But a few whis- 
 pered words from her daughter, and a kind 
 inquiry from her son-in-law whether she felt 
 faint, with a hint that there was abundance of 
 cold water in the next apartment, routed these 
 symptoms effectually, and she applied herself to 
 the prescribed preparations with sullen diligence. 
 
 While they were in progress, Mr. Quilp with- 
 drew to the adjoining room, and turning back 
 his coat collar, proceeded to smear his coun- 
 tenance with a damp towel of very unwhole- 
 some appearance, which made his complexion 
 rather more cloudy than it had been before. 
 But, while he was thus engaged, his caution and 
 inquisitiveness did not forsake him. With a 
 face as sharp and cunning as ever, he often 
 stopped, even in this short process, and stood 
 listening for any conversation in the next room, 
 of which he might be the theme. 
 
 " Ah !" he said after a short effort of attention, 
 " it was not the towel over my ears ; I thought 
 it wasn't. I'm a little hunchy villain and a 
 monster, am I, Mrs. Jiniwin? Oh !" 
 
 The pleasure of this discovery called up the 
 old dog-like smile in full force. When he had 
 quite done with it, he shook himself in a very 
 dog-like manner, and rejoined the ladies. 
 
 Mr. Quilp now walked up to the front of a 
 looking-glass, and was standing there, putting 
 on his neckerchief, when Mrs. Jiniwin, happen- 
 ing to be behind him, could not resist the in- 
 clination she felt to shake her fist at her tyrant 
 son-in-law. It was the gesture of an instant, but 
 as she did so, and accompanied the action with 
 a menacing look, she met his eye in the glass, 
 catching her in the very act. The same glance 
 at the mirror conveyed to her the reflection of a 
 horribly grotesque and distorted face with the 
 tongue lolhng out; and the next instant the 
 dwarf, turning about, with a perfectly bland and 
 placid look, inquired in a tone of great affection, 
 
 " How are yoii now, my dear old darling ? " 
 
 Slight and ridiculous as the incident was, it 
 made him appear such a little fiend, and withal 
 such a keen and knowing one, that the old 
 woman felt too much afraid of him to utter a 
 single word, and suffered herself to be led with 
 extraordinary politeness to the breakfast-table. 
 Here, he by no means diminished the impres- 
 sion he had just produced, for he ate hard eggs, 
 shell and all, devoured gigantic prawns with the 
 heads and tails on, chewed tobacco and water- 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 cresses at the same time and with extraordinary 
 greediness, drank boiling tea without winking, 
 bit his fork and spoon till they bent again, and 
 in short performed so many horrifying and un- 
 common acts that the women were nearly 
 frightened out of their wits, and began to doubt 
 if he were really a human creature. At last, 
 having gone through these proceedings and many 
 others which were equally a part of his system, 
 Mr. Quilp left them, reduced to a very obedient 
 and humbled state, and betook himself to the 
 river-side, where he took boat for the wharf on 
 which he had bestowed his name. 
 
 It was flood tide when Daniel Quilp sat him- 
 self down in the wherry to cross to the opposite 
 shore. A fleet of barges were coming lazily on, 
 some sideways, some head first, some stern first ; 
 all in a wrong-headed, dogged, obstinate way, 
 bumping up against the larger craft, running 
 under the bows of steamboats, getting into every 
 kind of nook and corner where they had no 
 business, and being crunched on all sides like 
 so many walnut shells ; while each, with its pair 
 of long sweeps struggling and splashing in the 
 water, looked like some lumbering fish in pain. 
 In some of the vessels at anchor all hands were 
 busily engaged in coiling ropes, spreading out 
 sails to dry, taking in or discharging their cargoes; 
 in others, no life was visible but tvro or three 
 tarry boys, and perhaps a barking dog running 
 to and fro upon the deck, or scrambling up to 
 look over the side and bark the louder for the 
 view. Coming slowly on through the forest of 
 masts was a great steam-ship, beating the water 
 in short impatient strokes with her heavy paddles, 
 as though she wanted room to breathe, and 
 advancing in her huge bulk like a sea monster 
 among the minnows of the Thames. On either 
 hand were long black tiers of colUers ; between 
 them vessels slowly working out of harbour with 
 sails glistening in the sun, and creaking noise on 
 board, re-echoed from a hundred quarters. The 
 water and all upon it was in active motion, 
 dancing and buoyant and bubbling up ; while 
 the old grey Tower and piles of building on the 
 shore, with many a church spire shooting up 
 between, looked coldly on, and seemed to dis- 
 dain their chafing, restless neighbour. 
 
 Daniel Quilp, who was not much affected by 
 a bright morning, save in so far as it spared him 
 the trouble of carrying an umbrella, caused him- 
 self to be put ashore hard by the wharf, and 
 proceeded thither through a narrow lane which, 
 partaking of the amphibious character of its 
 frequenters, had as much water as mud in its 
 composition, and a very liberal supply of both. 
 Arrived at his destination, the first object that 
 
 presented itself to his view was a pair of very 
 imperfectly shod feet elevated in the air with the 
 soles upwards, which remarkable appearance 
 was referable to the boy, who, being of an 
 eccentric spirit and having a natural taste for 
 tumbling, was now standing on his head, and 
 contemplating the aspect of the river under these 
 uncommon circumstances. He was speedily 
 brought on his heels by the sound of his master's 
 voice, and as soon as his head was in its right 
 position, Mr. Quilp, to speak expressively in the 
 absence of a better verb, " punched it ' for him, 
 
 " Come, you let me alone," said the bo}^ 
 parrying Quilp's hr.nd with both his elbows 
 alternately. " You'll get something you won't 
 like if you don't, and so I tell you." 
 
 " You dog," snarled Quilp, " I'll beat you with 
 an iron rod, I'll scratch you with a rusty nail, 
 I'll pinch your eyes, if you talk to me — I will ! " 
 
 With these threats he clenched his hand again, 
 and dexterously diving in between the elbows 
 and catching the boy's head as it dodged from 
 side to side, gave it three or four good hard 
 knocks. Having now carried his point and 
 insisted on it, he left off. 
 
 " You won't do it again," said the boy, nodding 
 his head and drawing back, with the elbows 
 ready in case of the worst ; " now ! " 
 
 "Stand still, you dog!" said Quilp. _ "I 
 won't do it again, because I have done it as 
 often as I want. Here. Take the key." 
 
 " Why don't you hit one of your size ?" said 
 the boy, approaching very slowly. 
 
 "Where is there one of my size, you dog?'* 
 returned Quilp. " Take the key, or I'll brain 
 you with it." Indeed, he gave him a smart tap 
 with the handle as he spoke. " Now, open the 
 counting-house." 
 
 The boy sulkily complied, muttering at firsts 
 but desisting when he looked round and saw 
 that Quilp was following him with a steady look. 
 And here it may be remarked, that between this 
 boy and the dwarf there existed a strange kind 
 of mutual liking. How born or bred, or how 
 nourished upon blows and threats on one side^ 
 and retorts and defiances on the other, is not to 
 the purpose. Quilp would certainly suffer no- 
 body to contradict him but the boy, and the boy 
 would assuredly not have submitted to be so 
 knocked about by anybody but Quilp, when lie 
 had the power to run away at any time he 
 chose. 
 
 " Now," said Quilp, passing into the wooden 
 counting-house, "you mind the wharf. Stand up- 
 on your head again, and I'll cut on e of your feet ofi." 
 
 The boy made no answer, but, direcdy Quilp 
 had shut himself in, stood on his head before 
 
MR. QUJLF'S BOY. 
 
 the door, then walked on his hands to the back 
 and stood on his head there, and then to the 
 opposite side and repeated the performance. 
 There were, indeed, four sides to the counting- 
 house, but he avoided that one where the window 
 was, deeming it probable that Quilp would be 
 looking out of it. Tliis was prudent, for in 
 point of fact the dwarf, knowing his disposition, 
 was lying in wait at a little distance from the sash, 
 armed with a large piece of wood, which, being 
 rough and jagged, and studded in many parts 
 with broken nails, might possibly have hurt him. 
 It was a dirty little box, this counting-house, 
 
 with nothing in it but an old rickety desk and 
 two stools, a hat-peg, an ancient almanac, an 
 inkstand with no ink and the stump of one pen^ 
 and an eight-day clock which hadn't gone for 
 eighteen years at least, and of which the minute 
 hand had been twisted off for a toothpick. 
 Daniel Quilp pulled his hat over his brows, 
 climbed on to the desk (which had a flat top), 
 and stretching his short length upon it, went to 
 sleep with the ease of an old practitioner ; in- 
 tending, no doubt, to compensate himself for the 
 deprivation of last night's rest by a long and 
 sound nap. 
 
 "DANIEL QUILP SAT HIilSELF DOWN IN THE WHERRY TO CROSS TO THE OPPOSITE SHORE. 
 
 Sound it might have been, but long it was 
 not, for he had not been asleep a quarter of an 
 hour when the boy opened the door and thrust 
 in his head, which was like a bundle of badly- 
 picked oakum. Quilp was a light sleeper, and 
 started up directly. 
 
 " Here's somebody for you," said the boy. 
 
 " Who ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 "Ask !" said Quilp, seizing the trifle of wood 
 before mentioned, and throwing it at him with 
 such dexterity that it was well the boy dis- 
 
 appeared before it reached the spot on which he 
 had stood. " Ask, you dog." 
 
 Not caring to venture within range of such 
 missiles again, the boy discreetly sent, in his 
 stead, the first cause of the interruption, who 
 now presented herself at the door. 
 
 "What, Nelly!" cried Quilp. 
 
 "Yes," said the child, hesitating whether to 
 enter or retreat, for the dwarf just roused, with 
 his dishevelled hair hanging all about him, and 
 a yellow handkerchief over his head, was some- 
 thing fearful to behold ; " it's only me, sir." 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " Come in," said Quilp, without getting off 
 the desk. " Come in. Stay. Just look out 
 into the yard, and see whether there's a boy 
 standing on his head." 
 
 " No, sir," repHed Nell. " He's on his feet." 
 
 "You're sure he is?" said Quilp. "Well! 
 Now come in and shut the door. What's your 
 message, Nelly ?" 
 
 The child handed him a letter. Mr. Quilp, 
 without changing his position otherwise than to 
 turn over a little more on his side and rest his 
 chin on his hand, proceeded to make himself 
 acquainted with its contents. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ITTLE NELL stood timidly by, 
 with her eyes raised to the counte- 
 nance of Mr. Quilp as he read the 
 letter, plainly showing by her looks 
 that while she entertained some fear 
 and distrust of the little man, she 
 was much inclined to laugh at his uncouth 
 appearance and grotesque attitude. And 
 yet there was visible on the part of the child a 
 painful anxiety for his reply, and a consciousness 
 of his power to render it disagreeable or dis- 
 tressing, which was strongly at variance with 
 this impulse, and restrained it more effectually 
 than she could possibly have done by any efforts 
 of her owji. 
 
 That Mr. Quilp was himself peqilexed, and 
 that in no small degree, by the contents of the 
 letter, was sufficiently obvious. Before he had 
 got through the first two or three lines he began 
 to open his eyes very wide and to frown most 
 horribly, the next two or three caused him to 
 scratch his head in an uncommonly vicious 
 manner, and when he came to the conclusion 
 he gave a long dismal whistle indicative of 
 surprise and dismay. After folding and laying 
 it 'down beside him, he bit the nails of all his 
 ten fingers with extreme voracity ; and taking it 
 up sharply, read it again. The second perusal 
 was to all appearance as unsatisfactory as the 
 first, and plunged him into a profound reverie, 
 from which he awakened to another assault upon 
 his nails and a long stare at the child, who with 
 her eyes turned towards the ground awaited his 
 further pleasure. 
 
 " Hallo here ! " he said at length, in a voice, 
 and with a suddenness, which made the child 
 start as though a gun had been fired off at her 
 ear. " N^ly ! " 
 " Yes, sir ! " 
 
 " Do you know what's inside this letter, 
 Nell ? " 
 
 "No, sir!" 
 
 " Are you sure, quite sure, quite certain, upon 
 your soul ? " 
 
 " Quite sure, sir." 
 
 " Do you wish you may die if you do know, 
 hey ? " said the dwarf. 
 
 " Indeed I don't know," returned the child. 
 
 *■' Well ! " muttered Quilp as he marked her 
 earnest look, " I believe you. Humph ! Gone 
 already ! Gone in four-and-twenty hours ! What 
 the devil has he done with it ? That's the m} s- 
 tery ! " 
 
 This reflection set him scratching his head, 
 and biting his nails, once more. While he was 
 thus employed his features gradually relaxed 
 into what was with him a cheerful Snile, but 
 which in any other man would have been a 
 ghastly grin of pain ; and, when the child 
 looked up again, she found that he was re- 
 garding her with extraordinary favour and com- 
 placency. 
 
 " You look very pretty to-day, Nelly, charm- 
 ingly pretty. Are you tired, Nelly ? " 
 
 " No, sir. I'm in a hurry to get back, for he 
 will be anxious while I am away." 
 
 " There's no hurry, little Nell, no hurry at 
 all," said Quilp. " How should you like to be 
 my number two, Nelly ? " 
 
 " To be what, sir ? " 
 
 " My number two, Nelly ; my second ; my 
 Mrs. Quilp," said the dwarf. 
 
 The child looked frightened, but seemed not 
 to understand him, which Mr. Quilp observing, 
 hastened to explain his meaning more dis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 " To be Mrs. Quilp the second, when Mrs. 
 Quilp the first is dead, sweet Nell," said Quilp, 
 wrinkling up his eyes and luring her towards 
 him with his bent forefinger, " to be my wife, 
 my little cherry-cheeked, red-lipped wife. Say 
 that Mrs. Quilp lives five years, or only four, 
 you'll be just the proper age for me. Ha, ha ! 
 Be a good girl, Nelly, a very good girl, and see 
 if one of these days you don't come to be Mrs. 
 Quilp of Tower Hill." 
 
 So far from being sustained and stimulated 
 by this delightful prospect, the child shrunk 
 from him, and trembled. Mr. Quilp, either be- 
 cause frightening anybody afforded him a con- 
 stitutional delight, or because it was pleasant to 
 contemplate the death of Mrs. Quilp number 
 one, and the elevation of Mrs. Quilp number 
 two to her post and title, or because he was 
 determined, for purposes of his own, to be 
 agreeable and good-humoured at that particular 
 
MR. QUILF EXECUTES A BRILLIANT MANCEUVRE. 
 
 23 
 
 time, only laughed and feigned to take no heed 
 of her alarm. 
 
 " You shall come with me to Tower Hill, and 
 see Mrs. Quilp that is, directly," said the dwarf. 
 " She's very fond of you, Nell, though not so 
 fond as I am. You shall come home with me." 
 
 '• I must go back indeed," said the child. 
 " He told me to return directly I had the 
 answer." 
 
 "But you haven't it, Nelly," retorted the 
 dwarf, "and won't have it, and can't have it, 
 until I have been home, so you see that, to do 
 your errand, you must go with me. Reach me 
 yonder hat, my dear, and we'll go directly." 
 With that, Mr. Quilp suffered himself to roll 
 gradually off the desk until his short legs 
 touched the ground, when he got upon them 
 and led the way from the counting-house to 
 the wharf outside, where the first objects that 
 presented themselves were the boy who had 
 stood on his head, and another young gentle- 
 man of about his own stature, rolling in the mud 
 together, locked in a tight embrace, and cuffing 
 ■each other with mutual heartiness. 
 
 " It's Kit ! " cried Nelly, clasping her hands, 
 " poor Kit who came with me ! Oh, pray stop 
 them, Mr. Quilp ! " 
 
 " I'll stop 'em," cried Quilp, diving into the 
 little counting-house and returning with a thick 
 stick, " I'll stop 'em ! Now, my boys, fight 
 away. I'll fight you both. I'll take both of 
 you, both together, both together ! " 
 
 With which defiances the dwarf flourished his 
 cudgel, and dancing round the combatants, and 
 treading upon them and skipping over them, in 
 a kind of frenzy, laid about him, now on one 
 and now on the other, in a most desperate 
 manner, always aiming at their heads, and deal- 
 ing such blows as none but the veriest little 
 savage would have inflicted. This being warmer 
 work than they had calculated upon, speedily 
 cooled the courage of the belligerents, who 
 scrambled to their feet and called for quarter. 
 
 " I'll beat you to a pulp, you dogs," said 
 Quilp, vainly endeavouring to get near either of 
 them for a parting blow. " I'll bruise you till 
 you're copper-coloured. I'll break your faces 
 till you haven't a profile between you, I will." 
 
 " Come, you drop that stick, or it'll be worse 
 for you," said his boy, dodging round him and 
 watching an ojiportunity to rush in ; " you drop 
 that stick." 
 
 " Come a little nearer, and I'll drop it on 
 your skull, you dog," said Quilp with gleaming 
 eyes ; " a little nearer — nearer yet." 
 
 But the boy declined the invitation until his 
 master was apparently a little off his guard, 
 
 when he darted in, and, seizing' the weapon, 
 tried to wrest it from his grasp. Quilp, who 
 was as strong as a lion, easily kept his hold until 
 the boy was tugging at it with his utmost power, 
 when, he suddenly let it go and sent him reeling 
 backwards, so that he fell violently upon his 
 head. The success of this manoeuvre tickled 
 Mr. Quilp beyond description, and he laughed 
 and stamped upon the ground as at a most 
 irresistible jest. 
 
 " Never mind," said the boy, nodding his 
 head and rubbing it at the same time ; " you 
 see if ever I offer to strike anybody again be- 
 cause they say you're a uglier dwarf than can be 
 seen anywheres for a penny, that's all." 
 
 " Do you mean to say I'm not, you dog? " re- 
 turned Quilp. 
 
 " No ! " retorted the boy. 
 
 " Then what do you fight on my wharf for, 
 you villain ? " said Quilp. 
 
 " Because he said so," replied the boy, point- 
 ing to Kit, " not because you ain't." 
 
 " Then why did he say," bawled Kit, " that 
 Miss Nelly was ugly, and that she and my 
 master was obliged to do whatever his master 
 liked ? Why did he say that ? " 
 
 " He said what he did because he's a fool, 
 and you said what you did because you're very 
 wise and clever — almost too clever to live, un- 
 less you're very careful of yourself. Kit," said 
 Quilp with great suavity in his manner, but still 
 more of quiet malice about his eyes and mouth. 
 " Here's sixpence for you, Kit. Always speak 
 the truth. At all times. Kit, speak the truth. 
 Lock the counting-house, you dog, and bring 
 me the key." 
 
 The other boy, to whom this order was ad- 
 dressed, did as he was told, and was rewarded 
 for his partisanship in behalf of his master by a 
 dexterous rap on the nose with the key, which 
 brought the water into his eyes. Then, Mr. 
 Quilp departed, with the child and Kit, in a 
 boat, and the boy revenged himself by dancing 
 on his head at intervals on the extreme verge of 
 the wharf, during the whole time they crossed 
 the river. 
 
 There was only Mrs. Quilp at home, and she, 
 little expecting the return of her lord, was just 
 composing herself for a refreshing slumber when 
 the sound of his footsteps roused her. She had 
 barely time to seem to be occupied in some 
 needlework, when he entered, accompanied by 
 the child ; having left Kit down-stairs. 
 
 " Here's Nelly Trent, dear Mrs. Quilp," said 
 her husband. " A glass of wine, my dear, and 
 a biscuit, for she has had a long walk. She'll 
 sit with you, my soul, while I write a letter." 
 
24 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 Mrs. Quilp looked tremblingly in her spouse's 
 face to know what this unusual courtesy might 
 portend, and, obedient to the summons she saw 
 in his gesture, followed him into the next room. 
 
 " Mind What I say to you," whispered Quilp, 
 " See if you can get out of her anything about 
 
 her grandfather, or what they do, or how they 
 live, or what he tells her. I've my reasons for 
 knowing, if I can. You women talk more freely 
 to one another than you do to us, and you have 
 a soft, mild way with you that'll v.in upon her. 
 Do you hear ? " 
 
 "I'll beat you to a pulp, you dogs." 
 
 " Yes, Quilp." 
 
 " Go, then. What's the matter now ? " 
 
 " Dear Quilp," faltered his wife, " I love the 
 child — if you could do without making me de- 
 ceive her " 
 
 The dwarf, muttering a terrible oath, looked 
 
 round as if for some weapon with which to in- 
 flict condign punishment upon his disobedient 
 wife. The submissive little woman hurriedly 
 entreated him not to be angry, and promised 
 to do as he bade her. 
 
 " Do you hear me ? " whispered Quilp, nip- 
 
 V 
 
LITTLE NELL CONFIDES IN MRS. QUI LP. 
 
 25 
 
 ping and pinching her arm. " Worm yourself 
 into her secrets ; I know you can. I'm listen- 
 ing, recollect. If you're not sharp enough I'll 
 creak the door, and woe betide you if I have to 
 creak it much. Go ! " 
 
 Mrs. Quilp departed according to order. Her 
 amiable husband, ensconcing himself behind 
 the partly-opened door, and applying his ear 
 close to it, began to hsten with a face of great 
 craftiness and attention. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Quilp was thinking, however, in 
 what manner to begin, or what kind of inquiries 
 she could make ; it was not until the door, 
 creaking in a very urgent manner, warned her 
 to proceed without further consideration, that 
 the sound of her voice was heard. 
 
 " How very often you have come backwards 
 and forwards lately to Mr. Quilp, my dear ! " 
 
 " I have said so to grandfather a hundred 
 times," returned Nell innocently. 
 
 " And what has he said to that ? " 
 
 " Only sighed, and dropped his head, and 
 seemed so sad and wretched that if you could 
 have seen him I ant sure you must have cried ; 
 you could not have helped it more than I, I 
 know. How that door creaks ! " 
 
 " It often does," returned Mrs. Quilp with an 
 uneasy glance towards it. "But your grand- 
 father — he used not to be so wretched? " 
 • '•' Oh no ! " said the child eagerly, " so differ- 
 ent ! We were once so happy, and he so cheer- 
 ful and contented ! You cannot think what a 
 sad change has fallen on us since." 
 
 " I am very, very sorry to hear you speak like 
 this, my dear ! " said Mrs. Quilp. And she 
 spoke the truth. 
 
 *' Thank you," returned the child, kissing her 
 cheek ; " you are always kind to me, and it is a 
 pleasure to talk to you. I can speak to no one 
 else about him, but poor Kit. I am very happy 
 still. I ought to feel happier perhaps than I do, 
 but you cannot think how it grieves me some- 
 times to see him alter so." 
 
 '• He'll alter again, Nelly," said Mrs. Quilp, 
 " and be what he was before." 
 
 *• Oh, if God would only let that come 
 about ! " said the child with streaming eyes ; 
 " but it is a long time now, since he first began 
 to I thought I saw that door moving ! " 
 
 " It's the wind," said Mrs. Quilp faindy. 
 " Began to ? " 
 
 " To be so thoughtful and dejected, and to 
 forget our old way of spending the time in the 
 long evenings," said the child. " I used to read 
 to him by the fireside, and he sat listening, and 
 when I stopped and we' began to talk, he told 
 me about my mother, and how she once looked 
 
 and spoke just like me when she was a little 
 child. Then he used to take me on his knee, 
 and try to make me understand that she was not 
 lying in her grave, but had flown to a beautiful 
 country beyond the sky, where nothing died or 
 ever grew old. We were very happy once ! " 
 
 " Nelly, Nelly ! " said the poor woman, " I 
 can't bear to see one as young as you so sorrow- 
 ful. Pray don't cry." 
 
 " I do so very seldom," said Nell, " but I 
 have kept this to myself a long time, and I am 
 not quite well, I think, for the tears come into 
 my eyes, and I cannot keep them back. I don't 
 mind telling you my grief, for I know you will 
 not tell it to any one again." 
 
 Mrs. Quilp turned away her head and made 
 no answer. 
 
 " Then," said the child, " we often walked in 
 the fields and among the green trees, and when 
 we came home at night, we liked it better for 
 being tired, and said what a happy place it was. 
 And if it was dark and rather dull, we used to 
 say what did it matter to us ? for it only made 
 us remember our last walk w^ith greater pleasure, 
 and look forward to our next one. But, now, 
 we never have these walks, and though it is the 
 same house, it is darker and much more gloomy 
 than it used to be. Indeed ! " 
 
 She paused here, but, though the door creaked 
 more than once, Mrs. Quilp said nothing. 
 
 "Mind you don't suppose," said the child 
 earnestly, " that grandfather is less kind to me 
 than he was. I think he loves me better every 
 day, and is kinder and more affectionate than 
 he was the day before. You do not know how 
 fond he is of me ! " 
 
 " I'm sure he loves you dearly," said Mrs. 
 Quilp. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed he does ! " cried Nell, " as 
 dearly as I love him. But I have not told you 
 the greatest change of all, and this you must 
 never breathe again to any one. He has no 
 sleep or rest, but that which he takes by day in 
 his easy-chair ; for, every night and nearly all 
 night long, he is away from home." 
 
 " Nelly ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " said the child, laying her finger on 
 her lip and looking round. " When he comes 
 home in the morning, which is generally just 
 before day, I let him in. Last night he was 
 very late, and it was quite light. I saw that his 
 face was deadly pale, that his eyes were blood- 
 shot, and that his legs trembled as he walked. 
 When I had gone to bed again, I heard him 
 groan. I got up and ran back to him, and 
 heard him say, before he knew that I was there, 
 that he could not bear his life much longer, and 
 
26 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 if it was not for the child, would wish to die. 
 AVhat shall I do ? Oh ! what shall I do ? " 
 
 The fountains of her heart were opened ; the 
 child, overpowered by the weight of her sorrows 
 and anxieties, by the first confidence she had 
 ever shown, and the sympathy with which her 
 little tale had been received, hid her face in the 
 arms of her helpless friend, and burst into a pas- 
 sion of tears. 
 
 In a few moments Mr. Quilp returned, and 
 expressed the utmost surprise to find her in this 
 condition, which he did very naturally and with 
 admirable effect ; for that kind of acting had 
 been rendered familiar to him by long practice, 
 and he was qufte at home in it. 
 
 " She's tired, you see, Mrs. Quilp," said the 
 dwarf, squinting in a hideous manner to imply 
 that his wife was to follow his lead. " It's a 
 long way from her home to the wharf, and then 
 she was alarmed to see a couple of young 
 scoundrels fighting, and was timorous on the 
 water besides. All this together has been too 
 much for her. Poor Nell ! " 
 
 Mr. Quilp unintentionally adopted the very 
 best means he could have devised for the reco- 
 very of his young visitor, by patting her on the 
 head. Such an application from any other hand 
 might not have produced a remarkable effect, 
 but the child shrunk so quickly from his touch, 
 and felt such an instinctive desire to get out of 
 his reach, that she rose directly and declared 
 herself ready to return. 
 
 " But you'd better wait, and dine with Mrs. 
 Quilp and me," said the dwarf. 
 
 " I have been away too long, sir, already," 
 returned Nell, drying her eyes. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Quilp, " if you will go, you 
 will, Nelly. Here's the note. It's only to say 
 that I shall see him to-morrow, or maybe next 
 day, and that I couldn't do that little business 
 for him this morning. Good-bye, Nelly. Here, 
 you sir, take care of her, d'ye hear ? " 
 
 Kit, who appeared at the summons, deigned 
 to make no reply to so needless an injunction, 
 and after staring at Quilp in a threatening man- 
 ner, as if he doubted whether he might not have 
 been the cause of Nelly shedding tears, and felt 
 more than half disposed to revenge the fact upon 
 him on the mere suspicion, turned about and 
 followed his young mistress, who had by this 
 time taken her leave of Mrs. Quilp and departed. 
 
 " You're a keen questioner, an't you, Mrs. 
 Quilp ? " said the dwarf, turning upon her as 
 soon as they were left alone. 
 
 " What more could I do ? " returned his wife 
 mildly. 
 
 " What more could you do ? " sneered Quilp. 
 
 "Couldn't you have done something less ? 
 Couldn't you have done what you had to do, 
 without appearing in your favourite part of the 
 crocodile, you minx ? " 
 
 "I am very sorry for the child, Quilp," said 
 his wife. " Surely I've done enough. I've led 
 her on to tell her secret when she supposed we 
 were alone ; and you were by, God forgive me ! " 
 
 " You led her on ! You did a great deal 
 truly ! " said Quilp. '' What did I tell you 
 about making me creak the door ? It's lucky 
 for you that, from what she let fall, I've got the 
 clue I want, for if I hadn't, I'd have visited the 
 failure upon you." 
 
 Mrs. Quilp, being fully persuaded of this, 
 made no reply. Her husband added with some 
 exultation : 
 
 " But you may thank your fortunate stars — 
 the same stars that made you Mrs. Quilp — you 
 may thank them that I'm upon the old gentle- 
 man's track, and have got a new light. So let 
 me hear no more about this matter, now, or at 
 any other time, and don't get anything too nice 
 for dinner, for I shan't be home to it." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Quilp put his hat on and took 
 himself off, and Mrs. Quilp, who was afflicted 
 beyond measure by the recollection of the part 
 she had just acted, shut herself up in her cham- 
 ber, and smothering her head in the bedclothes, 
 bemoaned her fault more bitterly than many less 
 tender-hearted persons would have mourned a 
 much greater offence ; for, in the majority of 
 cases, conscience is an elastic and vtry flexible 
 article, which will bear a deal of stretching, and 
 adapt itself to a great variety of circumstances. 
 Some people, by prudent management and leav- 
 ing it off piece by piece, like a flannel waistcoat 
 in warm weather, even contrive, in time, to dis- 
 pense with it altogether \ but there be others 
 who can assume the garment and throw it off" at 
 pleasure ; and this, being the greatest and most 
 convenient improvement, is the one most in 
 vogue. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 iRED," said Mr. Swiveller, "remem- 
 ber the once popular melody of 
 ' Begone dull care ; ' fan the sinking 
 flame of hilarity with the wing of 
 friendship ; and pass the rosy wine !" 
 Mr. Richard Swiveller's apart- 
 were in the neighbourhood of 
 Drury Lane, and, in addition to this con- 
 veniency of situation, had the advantage of being 
 over a tobacconist's shop, so that he was enabled 
 
 " " ments 
 
MR. SWIVELLER IN HIS OWN APARTMENTS, 
 
 to procure a refreshing sneeze at any time by 
 merely stepping out on the staircase, and was 
 saved the trouble and expense of maintaining a 
 snuff-box. It was in these apartments that Mr. 
 Swiveller made use of the expressions above 
 recorded, for the consolation and encouragement 
 of his desponding friend ; and it may not be un- 
 interesting or improper to remark, that evep 
 these brief observations partook in a double 
 sense of the figurative and poetical character of 
 Mr. Swiveller's mind, as the rosy wine was in 
 fact represented by one glass of cold gin-and- 
 water, which was replenished, as occasion re- 
 quired; from a bottle and jug upon the table, and 
 was passed from one to another, in a scarcity 
 of tumblers which, as Mr. Swiveller's was a 
 bachelor's establishment, may be acknowledged 
 without a blush. By a like pleasant fiction his 
 single chamber was always mentioned in the 
 plural number. In its disengaged times, the 
 tobacconist had announced it in his window as 
 "apartments" for a single gentleman, and Mr. 
 Swiveller, following up the hint, never failed to 
 speak of it as his rooms, his lodgings, or his cham- 
 bers : conveying to his hearers a notion of indefi- 
 nite space, and leaving their imaginations to wan- 
 der through long suites of lofty halls at pleasure. 
 
 In this flight of fancy, Mr. Swiveller was 
 assisted by a deceptive piece of furniture, in 
 reality a bedstead, but in semblance a bookcase, 
 which occupied a prominent situation in his 
 chamber, and seemed to defy suspicion and 
 challenge inquiry. There is no doubt that, by 
 day, Mr. Swiveller firmly believed this secret 
 convenience to be a bookcase and nothing 
 more ; that he closed his eyes to the bed, reso- 
 lutely denied the existence of the blankets, and 
 spurned the bolster from his thoughts. No word 
 of its real use, no hint of its nightly service, no 
 allusion to its peculiar properties, had ever 
 passed bftween him and his most intimate 
 friends. Implicit faith in the deception was the 
 first article of his creed. To be the friend of 
 Swiveller you must reject all circumstantial evi- 
 dence, all reason, observation, and experience, 
 and repose a blind belief in the bookcase. It 
 was his pet weakness, and he cherished it. 
 
 " Fred ! " said Mr. Swiveller, finding that his 
 former adjuration had been productive of no 
 effect. " Pass the rosy ! " 
 
 Young Trent, with an impatient gesture, 
 pushed the glass towards him, and fell again 
 into the moody attitude from which he had been 
 unwillingly roused. 
 
 " I'll give you, Fred," said his friend, stirring 
 the mixture, " a httle sentiment appropriate to 
 the occasion. Here's may the " 
 
 " Pshaw ! " interposed the other. " You 
 worry me to death with your chattering. You 
 can be merry under any circumstances." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Trent," returned Dick, " there is a 
 proverb which talks about being merry and wise. 
 There are some people who can be merry and 
 can't be wise, and some who can be wise (or 
 think they can) and can't be merry. I'm one of 
 the first sort. If the proverb's a good 'un, I 
 suppose it's better to keep to half of it than 
 none ; at all events, I'd rather be merry and 
 not wise, than like you — neither one nor 
 t'other." 
 
 '•' Bah ! " muttered his friend peevishly. 
 
 " With all my heart," said Mr. Swiveller. " In 
 the polite circles I believe this sort of thing isn't 
 usually said to a gentleman in his own apart- 
 ments, but never mind that. Make yourself at 
 home." Adding to this retort an observation to 
 the effect that his friend appeared to be rather 
 " cranky " in point of temper, Richard Swiveller 
 finished the rosy and applied himself to the com- 
 position of another glassful, in which, after tasting 
 it with great relish, he proposed a toast to an 
 imaginary company. 
 
 " Gentlemen, I'll give you, if you please, Suc- 
 cess to the ancient family of the Swivellers, and 
 good luck to Mr. Pachard in particular — Mr. 
 Richard, gentlemen," said Dick with great em- 
 phasis, "who spends all his money on his friends, 
 and is Bah ! 'd for his pains. Hear, hear ! " 
 
 " Dick ! " said the other, returning to his seat 
 after having paced the room twice or thrice, 
 "will you talk seriously for two minutes, if I 
 show you a way to make your fortune with very 
 litde trouble ? " 
 
 " You've shown me so many," returned Dick ; 
 "and nothing has come of any of 'em but empty 
 pockets " 
 
 " You'll tell a different story of this one, before 
 a very long time is over," said his companion, 
 drawing his chair to the table. " You saw my 
 sister Nell ?" 
 
 " What about her ? " returned Dick. 
 
 " She has a pretty face, has she not ? " 
 
 " Why, certainly," replied Dick, " I must say 
 for her that there's not any very strong family 
 likeness between her and you." 
 
 " Has she a pretty face ?" repeated his friend 
 impatiently. 
 
 " Yes," said Dick, " she has a pretty face, a 
 very pretty face. What of that ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you," returned his friend. " It's very 
 plain that the old man and I will remain at 
 daggers-drawn to the end of cur lives, and that 
 I have nothing to expect from him. You see 
 that, I suppose ? " 
 
28 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " A bat might see that with the sun shhiing," 
 said Dick. 
 
 " It's equally plain that the money which the 
 old flint — rot him — first taught me to expect 
 that I should share with her at his death, will 
 all be hers, is it not ? " 
 
 " I should say it was," replied Dick ; " unless 
 the way in which I put the case to him made an 
 impression. It may have done so. It was power- 
 ful, Fred. 'Here is a jolly old grandfather' — 
 that was strong, I thought — very friendly and 
 natural. Did it strike you in that way ? " 
 
 " It didn't strike /lim," returned the other, "so 
 we needn't discuss it. Now look here. Nell is 
 nearly fourteen." 
 
 "Fine girl of her age, but small," observed 
 Richard Swiveller parenthetically. 
 
 " If I am to go on, be quiet for one minute," 
 returned Trent, fretting at the very slight interest 
 the other appeared to take in the conversation. 
 " Now I'm coming to the point." 
 
 " That's right," said Dick. 
 
 " The girl has strong affections, and brought 
 up as she has been, may, at her age, be easily 
 influenced and persuaded. If I take her in 
 hand, I will be bound by a very Httle coaxing 
 and threatening to bend her to my will. Not to 
 beat about the bush (for the advantages of the 
 scheme would take a week to tell), what's to 
 prevent you marrying her ? " 
 
 Richard Swiveller, who had been looking over 
 the rim of the tumbler while his companion ad- 
 dressed the foregoing remarks to him with great 
 energy and earnestness of manner, no sooner 
 heard these words than he evinced the utmost 
 consternation, and with difficulty ejaculated the 
 monosyllable : 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 " I say, what's to prevent," repeated the other, 
 with a steadiness of manner, of the effect of 
 which upon his companion he w^as well assured 
 by long experience, "what's to prevent your 
 marrying her ? " 
 
 " And she ' nearly fourteen ! ' " cried Dick, 
 
 " I don't mean marrying her now," returned 
 the brother angrily; " say in two years' time, in 
 three, in four. Does the old man look like a 
 long-liver?" 
 
 " He don't look like it," said Dick, shaking 
 his head, "but these old people — there's no 
 trusting 'em, Fred. There's an aunt of mine 
 down in Dorsetshire that was going to die when 
 I was eight years old, and hasn't kept her word 
 yet. They're so aggravating, so unprincipled, so 
 spiteful — unless there's apoplexy in the family, 
 Fred, you can't calculate upon 'em, and even 
 then they deceive you just as often as not." 
 
 " Look at the worst side of the question, then," 
 said Trent as steadily as before, and keeping his 
 eyes upon his friend. " Suppose he lives." 
 
 "To be sure," said Dick. " There's the rub." 
 
 " I say," resumed his friend, "suppose he lives, 
 and I persuaded, or, if the word sounds more 
 feasible, forced, Nell to a secret marriage with 
 you. What do you think would come of that?" 
 
 " A family, and an annual income of nothing 
 to keep 'em on," said Richard Swiveller after 
 some reflection. 
 
 " I tell you," returned the other with an in- 
 creased earnestness, which, whether it were real 
 or assumed, had the same effect on his com- 
 panion, " that he lives for her, that his whole 
 energies and thoughts are bound up in her, that 
 he would no more disinherit her for an act of dis- 
 obedience than he would take me into his favour 
 again for any act of obedience or virtue that I 
 could possibly be guilty of. He could not do it. 
 You or any other man with eyes in his head 
 may see that, if he chooses." 
 
 "It seems improbable certainly," said Dick, 
 musing. 
 
 " It seems improbable because it is impro- 
 bable," his friend returned. " If you would 
 furnish him with an additional inducement to 
 forgive you, let there be an irreconcilable breach, 
 a most deadly quarrel, between you and me — let 
 there be a pretence of such a thing, I mean, of 
 course. — and he'll do so fast enough. As to 
 Nell, constant dropping will wear away a stone; 
 you know you may trust to me as far as she is 
 concerned. So, whether he lives or dies, what 
 does it come to? That you become the sole 
 inheritor of the wealth of this rich old hunks ; 
 that you and I spend it together ; and that you 
 get, into the bargain, a beautiful young wife." 
 
 " I suppose there's no doubt about his being 
 rich," said Dick. ,, , 
 
 " Doubt ! Did you hear what he let fall the 
 other day when we were there ? Doubt ! What 
 will you doubt next, Dick ? " 
 
 It would be tedious to pursue the conversa- 
 tion through all its artful windings, or to de- 
 velop the gradual approaches by which the heart 
 of Richard Swiveller was gained. It is sufficient 
 to know that vanity, interest, poverty, and every 
 spendthrift consideration urged him to look upon 
 the proposal with favour, and that where all other 
 inducements were wanting, the habitual careless- 
 ness of his disposition stepped in and still weighed 
 down the scale on the same side. To these im- 
 pulses must be added the complete ascendancy 
 which his friend had long been accustomed to 
 exercise over him — an ascendancy exerted in 
 the beginning sorely at the expense of the un- 
 
A TIMELY REMINDER. 
 
 29 
 
 fortunate Dick's purse and prospects, but still 
 maintained without the slightest relaxation, not- 
 withstanding that Dick suffered for all his friend's 
 vices, and was, in nine cases out of ten, looked 
 upon as his designing tempter, when he was 
 indeed nothing but his thoughtless, light-headed 
 tool. 
 
 The motives on the other side were something 
 deeper than any which Richard Swiveller enter- 
 tained or understood, but these being left to 
 their own development, require no present eluci- 
 dation. The negotiation was concluded very 
 pleasantly, and Mr. Swiveller was in the act of 
 stating in flowery terms that he had no insur- 
 mountable objection to marrying anybody plen- 
 tifully endowed with money or movables, who 
 could be induced to take him, when he was 
 interrupted in his observations by a knock at 
 the door, and the consequent necessity of crying 
 " Come in." 
 
 The door was opened, but nothing came in 
 except a soapy arm and a strong gush of tobacco. 
 The gush of tobacco came from the shop down- 
 stairs, and the soapy arm proceeded from the 
 body of a servant-girl, who, being then and there 
 engaged in cleaning the stairs, had just drawn it 
 out of a warm pail to take in a letter, which 
 letter she now held in her hand ; proclaiming 
 aloud, with that quick perception of surnames 
 peculiar to her class, that it was for Mister 
 Snivelling. 
 
 Dick looked rather pale and foolish when he 
 glanced at the direction, and still more so when 
 he came to look at the inside ; observing that 
 this was one of the inconveniences of being a 
 lady's man, and that it was very easy to talk as 
 they had been talking, but he had quite for- 
 gotten her. 
 
 " Her. Who ? " demanded Trent. 
 
 " Sophy Wackles," said Dick. 
 
 "Who's she?" 
 
 " She's all my fancy painted her, sir, that's 
 what she is," said Mr. Swiveller, taking a long 
 pull at " the rosy," and looking gravely at his 
 friend. " She is lovely, she's divine. You know 
 her." 
 
 " I remember," said his companion carelessly. 
 " What of her ? " 
 
 "Why, sir," returned Dick, " between ' Miss 
 Sophia Wackles and the humble individual who 
 has now the honour to address you, warm and 
 tender sentiments have been engendered — sen- 
 timents of the most honourable and inspiring 
 kind. The Goddess Diana, sir, that calls aloud 
 for the chase, is not more particular in her be- 
 haviour than Sophia Wackles; lean tell you that." 
 
 " Am I to believe there's anything real in 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 3. 
 
 what you say ? " demanded his friend. " You 
 don't mean to say that any love-making has been 
 going on ? " 
 
 "Love-making, yes. Promising, no," said 
 Dick. "There can be no action for breach, 
 that's one comfort. I've never committed myself 
 in writing, Fred." 
 
 " And what's in the letter pray ? " 
 
 "A reminder, Fred, for to-night — a small 
 party of twenty — making two hundred light fan- 
 tastic toes in all, supposing every lady and gen- 
 tleman to have the proper complement. I must 
 go, if it's only to begin breaking off the affair — 
 I'll do it, don't you be afraid. I should like to 
 know whether she left this herself. If she did, 
 unconscious of any bar to her happiness, it's 
 affecting, Fred." 
 
 To solve this question, Mr. Swiveller sum- 
 moned the handmaid, and ascertained that Miss 
 Sophy Wackles had indeed left the letter with 
 her own hands; that she had come accompa- 
 nied, for decorum's sake no doubt, by a younger 
 Miss Wackles ; and that, on learning that Mr. 
 Swiveller was at home and being requested to 
 walk up-stairs, she was extremely shocked, and 
 professed that she would rather die. Mr. Swivel- 
 ler heard this account with a degree of admira- 
 tion not altogether consistent with the project 
 in which he had just concurred, but his friend 
 attached very little importance to his behaviour 
 in this respect, probably because he knew that 
 he had influence sufficient to control Richard 
 Swivellcr's proceedings in this or any other 
 matter, whenever he deemed it necessary, for 
 the advancement of his own purposes, to exert it. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 US I NESS disposed of, Mr. Swiveller 
 was inwardly reminded of its being 
 nigh dinner-time, and to the intent 
 !^=s^A that his health might not be endan- 
 ^^^ gered by long abstinence, dispatched 
 y a message to the nearest eating-house, 
 requiring an immediate supply of boiled 
 beef and greens for two. With this de- 
 mand, however, the eating-house (having expe- 
 rience of its customer) declined to comply, 
 churlishly sending back for answer that if Mr. 
 Swiveller stood in need of beef, perhaps he 
 would be so obliging as to come there and eat 
 it, bringing with him, as grace before meat, the 
 amount of a certain small account which had 
 been long outstanding. Not at all intimidated 
 by this rebuff, but rather sharpened in wits and 
 
 251 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 appetite, Mr. Swiveller forwarded the same mes- 
 sage to another and more distant eating-house, 
 adding to it, by way of rider, that the gentleman 
 was induced to send so far, not only by the great 
 fame and popularity its beef had acquired, but in 
 consequence of the extreme toughness of the beef 
 retailed at the obdurate cook's shop, which ren- 
 dered it quite unfit not merely for gentlemanly 
 food, but for any human consumption. The 
 good effect of this politic course was demon- 
 strated by the speedy arrival of a small pewter 
 pyramid, curiously constructed of platters and 
 covers, whereof the boiled -beef plates formed 
 the base, and a foaming quart pot the apex; 
 the structure being resolved into its component 
 parts, afforded all things requisite and necessary 
 for a hearty meal, to which Mr. Swiveller and 
 his friend applied themselves with great keen- 
 ness and enjoyment. 
 
 " May the present moment," said Dick, stick- 
 ing his fork into a large carbuncular potato, 
 " be the worst of our lives ! I like this plan of 
 sending 'em with the peel on ; there's a charm 
 in drawing a potato from its native element (if I 
 may so express it) to which the rich and power- 
 ful are strangers. Ah ! ' Man wants but little 
 here below, nor wants that little long ! ' How 
 true that is ! — after dinner." 
 
 " I hope the eating-house keeper will want 
 but little, and that he may not want that little 
 long," returned his companion ; " but I suspect 
 you've no means of paying for this !" 
 
 " I shall be passing presently, and I'll call," 
 said Dick, winking his eye significantly. " The 
 waiter's quite helpless. The goods are gone, 
 Fred, and there's an end of it." 
 
 In point of fact, it would seem that the waiter 
 felt this wholesome truth, for when he returned 
 for the empty plates and dishes, and was in- 
 formed by Mr, Swiveller, with dignified careless- 
 ness, that he would call and settle when he 
 should be passing presently, he displayed some 
 perturbation of spirit, and muttered a few re- 
 marks about " payment on delivery," and " no 
 trust," and other unpleasant subjects, but was 
 fain to content himself with inquiring at what 
 hour it was likely the gentleman would call, in 
 order that being personally responsible for the 
 beef, greens, and sundries, he might take care to 
 be in the way at the time. Mr. Swiveller, after 
 mentally calculating his engagements to a nicety, 
 replied that he should look in at from two 
 minutes before six to seven minutes past ; and 
 the man disappearing with this feeble consola- 
 tion, Richard Swiveller took a greasy memo- 
 randum book from his pocket and made an 
 entry therein. 
 
 " Is that a reminder, in case you should forget 
 to call? " said Trent with a sneer. 
 
 " Not exactly, Fred," replied the imperturbable 
 Richard, continuing to write with a business-like 
 air. " I enter in this little book the names of 
 the streets that I can't go down while the shops 
 are open. This dinner to-day closes Long Acre. 
 I bought a pair of boots in Great Queen Street- 
 last week, and made that no thoroughfare too. 
 There's only one avenue to the Strand left open 
 now, and I shall have to stop up that to-night 
 with a pair of gloves. The roads are closing so- 
 fast in every direction, that in about a month's 
 time, unless my aunt sends me a remittance, I 
 shall have to go three or four miles out of town 
 to get over the way." 
 
 " There's no fear of her failing in the end ? "" 
 said Trent. 
 
 " Why, I hope not," returned Mr. Swiveller, 
 " but the average number of letters it takes to- 
 soften her is six, and this time we have got as 
 far as eight without any effect at all. I'll write 
 another to-morrow morning. I mean to blot it 
 a good deal, and shake some water over it out 
 of the pepper-caster, to make it look penitent. 
 ' I'm in such a state of mind that I hardly know 
 what I write' — blot — 'if you could see me at 
 this minute shedding tears for my past miscon- 
 duct ' — pepper-caster — ' my hand trembles when 
 I think ' — blot again — if that don't produce the 
 effect, it's all over." 
 
 By this time Mr. Swiveller had finished his. 
 entry, and he now replaced his pencil in its little- 
 sheath and closed the book, in a perfectly grave 
 and serious frame of mind. His friend dis- 
 covered that it was time for him to fulfil some 
 other engagement, and Richard Swiveller was 
 accordingly left alone, in company with the rosy 
 wine and his own meditations touching Miss 
 Sophy Wackles. 
 
 " It's rather sudden," said Dick, shaking his 
 head with a look of infinite wisdom, and run- 
 ning on (as he was accustomed to do) with 
 scraps of verse as if they were only prose in a 
 hurry; "when the heart of a man is depressed 
 with fears, the mist is dispelled when Miss 
 Wackles appears : she's a very nice girl. She's 
 like the red red rose that's newly sprung in June 
 — there's no denying that — she's also like a 
 melody that's sweetly played in tune. It's really 
 very sudden. Not that there's any need, on 
 account of Fred's little sister, to turn cool 
 directly, but it's better not to go too far. If I 
 begin to cool at all, I must begin at once, I see 
 that. There's the chance of an action for 
 breach, that's one reason. There's the chance 
 of Sophy's getting another husband, that's 
 
DIPLOMACY OF THE WACKLES FAMILY. 
 
 31 
 
 another. There's the chance of- 
 
 No, 
 
 there's no chance of that, but it's as well to be 
 on the safe side. 
 
 This undeveloped consideration was the pos- 
 sibility, which Richard Swiveller sought to con- 
 ceal even from himself, of his not being proof 
 against the charms of Miss Wackles, and in 
 some unguarded moment, by linking his fortunes 
 to hers for ever, of putting it out of his own 
 power to further the notable scheme to which 
 he had so readily become a party. For all 
 these reasons, he decided to pick a quarrel with 
 Miss Wackles without delay, and casting about 
 for a pretext, determined in favour of groundless 
 jealousy. Having made up his mind on this 
 important point, he circulated the glass (from 
 his right hand to his left, and back again) pretty 
 freely, to enable him to act his part with greater 
 discretion, and then, after making some slight 
 improvements in his toilet, bent his steps towards 
 the spot hallowed by the fair object of his medi- 
 tations. 
 
 This spot was at Chelsea, for there Miss 
 Sophia Wackles resided with her widowed 
 mother and two sisters, in conjunction with 
 whom she maintained a very small day-school 
 for young ladies of proportionate dimensions ; a 
 circumstance which was made known to the 
 neighbourhood by an oval board over the front 
 first-floor window, whereon appeared, in circum- 
 ambient flourishes, the words " Ladies' Semi- 
 nary \ " and which was further published and 
 proclaimed at intervals between the hours of 
 half-past nine and ten in the morning, by a 
 straggling and solitary young lady of tender 
 years standing on the scraper on the tips of her 
 toes, and making futile attempts to reach the 
 knocker with her spelling-book. The several 
 duties of instruction in this establishment were 
 thus discharged. English grammar, composi- 
 tion, geography, and the use of the dumb-bells, 
 by Miss Melissa Wackles ; writing, arithmetic, 
 dancing, music, and general fascination, by Miss 
 Sophy Wackles ; the art of needlework, mark- 
 ing, and s-amplery, by Miss Jane Wackles ; cor- 
 poral punishment, fasting, and other tortures 
 and terrors, by Mrs. Wackles, Miss Melissa 
 Wackles was t'he eldest daughter, Miss Sophy 
 the next, and Miss Jane the youngest. Miss 
 Melissa might have seen five-and-thirty summers 
 or thereabouts, and verged on the autumnal ; 
 Miss Sophy was a fresh, good-humoured, buxom 
 girl of twenty ; and Miss Jane numbered scarcely 
 sixteen years. Mrs. Wackles was an excellent, 
 but rather venomous old lady of three score. 
 
 To this Ladies' Seminary, then, Richard 
 Swiveller hied, with designs obnoxious to the 
 
 peace of the fair Sophia, who, arrayed in virgin 
 white, embeUished by no ornament but one 
 blushing rose, received him on his arrival, in 
 the midst of very elegant, not to say brilliant 
 preparations ; such as the embellishment of the 
 room with the little flower-pots which always 
 stood on the window-sill outside, save in windy 
 weather, when they blew into the area; the 
 choice attire of the day-scholars, who were 
 allowed to grace the festival ; the unwonted 
 curls of Miss Jane Wackles, who had kept her 
 head during the whole of the preceding day 
 screwed up tight in a yellow play-bill; and the 
 solemn gentility and stately bearing of the old 
 lady and her eldest daughter, which struck Mr.. 
 Swiveller as being uncommon, but made no 
 further impression upon him. 
 
 • The truth is — and, as there is no accounting 
 for tastes, even a taste so strange as this may be 
 recorded without being looked upon as a wilful 
 and malicious invention — the truth is, that 
 neither Mrs. Wackles nor her eldest daughter 
 had at any time greatly favoured the pretensions 
 of Mr. Swiveller : they being accustomed to 
 make slight mention of him as "a gay young 
 man," and to sigh and shake their heads omi- 
 nously whenever his name was mentioned. Mr. 
 Swiveller's conduct in respect, to Miss Sophy 
 having been of that vague and dilatory kind 
 which is usually looked upon as betokening no 
 fixed matrimonial intentions, the young lady her- 
 self began in course of time to deem it highly 
 desirable that it should be brought to an issue 
 one way or other. Hence, she had at last con- 
 sented to play off, against Richard Swiveller, a 
 stricken market gardener known to be ready 
 with his offer on the smallest encouragement, 
 and hence — as this occasion had been specially 
 assigned for the purpose — that great anxiety on 
 her part for Richard Swiveller's presence which 
 had occasioned her to leave the note he has 
 been seen to receive. " If he has any expecta- 
 tions at all, or any means of keeping a wife 
 well," said Mrs. Wackles to her eldest daughter, 
 " he'll state 'em to us now or never." — " If he 
 really cares about me," thought Miss Sophy, 
 " he must tell me so to-night." 
 
 But all these sayings and doings and think- 
 ings being unknown to Mr. Swiveller, affected 
 him not in the least ; he was debating in his 
 mind how he could best turn jealous, and wish- 
 ing that Sophy were, for that occasion only, far 
 less pretty than she was, or that she were her 
 own sister, which would have served his turn 
 as well, when the company came, and among 
 them the market gardener, whose name was 
 Cheggs, But Mr. Cheggs came not alone or un- 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 supported, for he prudently brought along with 
 liim his sister, Miss Cheggs, who, making straight 
 to Miss Sophy, and taking her by both hands, 
 and kissing her on both cheeks, hoped in an 
 audible whisper that they had not come too early. 
 
 "Too early ? No !" replied Miss Sophy. 
 
 '•' Oh, my dear ! " rejoined Miss Cheggs in the 
 same whisper as before, " I've been so tormented, 
 so worried, that it's a mercy we were not here 
 at four o'clock in the afternoon. Alick has 
 been in such a state of impatience to come ! 
 You'd hardly believe that he was dressed before 
 dinner-time, and has been looking at the clock 
 and teasing me ever since. It's all your fault, 
 you naughty thing." 
 
 Hereupon Miss Sophy blushed, and Mr. 
 Cheggs (who was bashful before ladies) blushed 
 too, and Miss Sophy's mother and sisters, to 
 prevent Mr. Cheggs from blushing more, 
 lavished civilities and attentions upon him, and 
 left Richard Swiveller to take care of himself. 
 Here was the very thing he wanted ; here was 
 good cause, reason, and foundation for pretend- 
 ing to be angry ; but having this cause, reason, 
 and foundation which he had come expressly to 
 seek, not expecting to find, Richard Swiveller 
 was angry in sound earnest, and wondered what 
 the devil Cheggs meant by his impudence. 
 
 However, Mr. Swiveller had Miss Sophy's 
 hand for the first quadrille (coimtry dances, 
 being low, were utterly proscribed), and so 
 gained an advantage over his rival, who sat de- 
 spondingly in a corner, and contemplated the 
 glorious figure of the young lady as she moved 
 through the mazy dance. Nor was this the only 
 start Mr. Swiveller had of the market gardener ; 
 for, determining to show the family what quality 
 of man they trifled with, and influenced perhaps 
 by his late libations, he performed such feats of 
 agility and such spins and twirls as filled the 
 company with astonishment, and in particular 
 caused a very long gentleman, who was dancing 
 with a very short scholar, to stand quite trans- 
 fixed by wonder and admiration. Even Mrs. 
 Wackles forgot for the moment to snub three 
 small young ladies who were inclined to be 
 happy, and could not repress a rising thought 
 that to have such a dancer as that in the family 
 would be a pride indeed. 
 
 At this momentous crisis, Miss Cheggs proved 
 herself a vigorous and useful ally ; for, not con- 
 fining herself to expressing by scornful smiles a 
 contempt for Mr. Swiveller's accomplishments, 
 she took every opportunity of whispering into 
 Miss Sophy's ear expressions of condolence and 
 sympathy on her being worried by such a ridi- 
 culous creature, declaring that she was frightened 
 
 to death lest Alick should fall upon him, and 
 beat him, in the fulness of his wrath, and en- 
 treating Miss Sophy to observe how the eyes of 
 the said Alick gleamed with love and fury ; 
 passions, it may be observed, which, being too 
 much for his eyes, rushed into his nose also, 
 and suffused it with a crimson glow. 
 
 "You must dance with Miss Cheggs," said 
 Miss Sophy to Dick Swiveller, after she had 
 herself danced twice with Mr. Cheggs, and made 
 great show of encouraging his advances. " She's 
 such a nice girl — and her brother's quite de- 
 lightful." 
 
 "Quite delightful is he?" muttered Dick. 
 " Quite delighted too, I should say, from the 
 manner in which he's looking this way." 
 
 Here Miss Jane (previously instructed for the 
 purpose) interposed her many curls, and whis- 
 pered her sister to observe how jealous Mr. 
 Cheggs was. 
 
 " Jealous ! Like his impudence ! " said Richard 
 Swiveller. 
 
 " His impudence, Mr. Swiveller ! " said Miss 
 Jane, tossing her head. " Take care he don't 
 hear you, sir, or you may be sorry for it." 
 
 " Oh, pray, Jane " said Miss Sophy. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " replied her sister. " Why 
 shouldn't Mr. Cheggs be jealous if he likes ? I 
 like that, certainly. Mr. Cheggs has as good a 
 right to be jealous as anybody else has, and per- 
 haps he may have a better right soon, if he 
 hasn't already. You know best about that, 
 Sophy ! " 
 
 Though this was a concerted plot between 
 Miss Sophy and her sister, originating in humane 
 intentions, and having for its object the inducing 
 Mr. Swiveller to declare himself in time, it failed 
 in its effect ; for Miss Jane, being one of those 
 young ladies who are prematurely shrill and 
 shrewish, gave such undue importance to her 
 part, that Mr. Swiveller retired in dudgeon, re- 
 signing his mistress to Mr. Cheggs, and convey- 
 ing a defiance into his looks which that gentle- 
 man indignantly returned. 
 
 " Did you speak to me, sir ? " said Mr. Cheggs, 
 following him into a corner. — " Have the kind- 
 ness to smile, sir, in order that we may not be 
 suspected. — Did you speak to me, sir ? " 
 
 Mr. Swiveller looked with a supercilious smile 
 at Mr. Cheggs's toes, then raised his eyes from 
 them to his ankle, from that to his shin, from 
 that to his knee, and so on very gradually, keep- 
 ing up his right leg, until he reached his waist- 
 coat, when he raised his eyes from button to 
 button until he reached his chin, and travelling 
 straight up the middle of his nose, came at last 
 to his eyes, when he said abruptly : 
 
MR. S WIVELLER RETIRES FROM COMPETITION. 
 
 U 
 
 " No, sir, 1 didn't." 
 
 " Hem ! '" said Mr. Cheggs, glancing over his 
 shoulder ; " have the goodness to smile again, 
 sir. Perhaps you wished to speak to me, sir." 
 
 " No, sir, I didn't do that, either." 
 
 " Perhaps you may have nothing to say to me 
 now, sir," said Mr. Cheggs fiercely. 
 
 At these words, Richard Swiveller withdrew 
 his eyes from Mr. Cheggs's face, and travelling 
 down the middle of his nose, and down his 
 waistcoat, and down his right leg, reached his 
 toes again, and carefully surveyed them ; this 
 done, he crossed over, and coming up the other 
 leg, and thence approaching by the waistcoat as 
 before, said, when he had got to his eyes, " No, 
 sir, I haven't." 
 
 "Oh indeed, sir!"' said Mr. Cheggs. "I'm 
 glad to hear it. You know where I'm to be 
 found, I suppose, sir, in case you should have 
 anything to say to me?" 
 
 " I can easily inquire, sir, when I want to 
 know." 
 
 • " There's nothing more we need say, I believe, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Nothing more, sir." With that they closed 
 the tremendous dialogue by frowning mutually. 
 Mr. Cheggs hastened to tender his hand to Miss 
 Sophy, and Mr. Swiveller sat himself down in a 
 corner in a very moody state. 
 
 Hard by this corner, Mrs. Wackles and Miss 
 Wackles were seated, looking on at the dance ; 
 and unto Mrs. and Miss Wackles, Miss Cheggs 
 occasionally darted when her partner was occu- 
 pied with his share of the figure, and made some 
 remark or other which was gall and wormwood 
 to Richard Swiveller's soul. Looking into the 
 eyes of Mrs. and Miss Wackles for encourage- 
 ment, and sitting very upright and uncomfortable 
 on a couple of hard stools, were two of the day- 
 scholars ; and when Miss Wackles smiled, and 
 Mrs. Wackles smiled, the two little girls on the 
 stools sought to curry favour by smiling likewise, 
 in gracious acknowledgment of which attention 
 the old lady frowned them down instantly, and 
 said that if they dared to be guilty of such an 
 impertinence again, they should be sent under 
 convoy to their respective homes. This threat 
 caused one of the young ladies, she being of a 
 weak and trembling temperament, to shed tears, 
 and for this offence they were both filed off 
 immediately, with a dreadful promptitude that 
 struck terror into the souls of all the pupils. 
 
 " I've got such news for you," said Miss 
 Cheggs, approaching once more. " Alick has 
 been saying such things to Sophy. Upon my 
 word, you know, it's quite serious and in earnest, 
 that's clear." 
 
 " What's he been saying, my dear ?" demanded 
 Mrs. Wackles. 
 
 " All manner of things," replied Miss Cheggs ; 
 " you can't think how out he has been speaking ! " 
 
 Richard Swiveller considered it advisable to 
 hear no more, but taking advantage of a pause 
 in the dancing, and the approach of Mr. Cheggs 
 to pay his court to the old lady, swaggered with 
 an extremely careful assumption of extreme care- 
 lessness towards the door, passing on the way 
 Miss Jane Wackles, who in all the glory of her 
 curls was holding a flirtation (as good practice 
 when no better was to be had) with a feeble old 
 gentleman who lodged in the parlour. Near 
 the door sat Miss Sophy, still fluttered and con- 
 fused by the attentions of Mr. Cheggs, and by 
 her side Richard Swiveller lingered for a moment 
 to exchange a few parting words. 
 
 " My boat is on the shore, and my bark is 
 on the sea, but before I pass this door I will 
 say farewell to thee," murmured Dick, looking 
 gloomily upon her. 
 
 "Are you going?" said Miss Sophy, whose 
 heart sunk within her at the result of her strata- 
 gem, but who affected a light indifference not- 
 withstanding. 
 
 " Am I going !" echoed Dick bitterly. " Yes, 
 lam. What then?" 
 
 " Nothing, except that it's very early," said 
 Miss Sophy ; " but you are your own master, of 
 course." 
 
 " I would that I had been my own mistress 
 too," said Dick, " before I had ever entertained 
 a thought of you. Miss Wackles, I believed 
 you true, and I was blessed in so believing, but 
 now I mourn that e'er I knew a girl so fair, yet 
 so deceiving." 
 
 Miss Sophy bit her lip, and affected to look 
 with great interest after Mr. Cheggs, who was 
 quafiing lemonade in the distance. 
 
 " I came here," said Dick, rather oblivious of 
 the purpose with which he had really come, 
 " with my bosom expanded, my heart dilated, 
 and my sentiments of a corresponding descrip- 
 tion. I go away with feelings that may be con- 
 ceived, but cannot be described : feeling within 
 myself the desolating truth that my best affections 
 have experienced, this night, a stifler !" 
 
 " I am sure I don't know what you mean, 
 Mr. Swiveller," said Miss Sophy with downcast 
 eyes. " I'm very sorry if " 
 
 " Sorry, ma'am ! " said Dick ; " sorry in the 
 possession of a Cheggs ! But I wish you a very 
 good night : concluding with this slight remark, 
 that there is a young lady growing up at this 
 present moment for me, who has not only great 
 personal attractions, but great wealth, and who 
 
34 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 has requested her next of kin to propose for my 
 hand, which, having a regard for some members 
 of her family, I have consented to promise. It's 
 a gratifying circumstance which you'll be glad to 
 hear, that a young and lovely girl is growing into 
 a woman expressly on my account, and is now 
 saving up for me. I thought I'd mention it. I 
 have now merely to apologise for trespassing so 
 long upon your attention. Good night ! " 
 
 " There's one good thing springs out of all 
 this," said Richard Swiveller to himself when 
 he had reached home, and was hanging over the 
 candle with the extinguisher in his hand, " which 
 is, that I now go heart and soul, neck and heels, 
 with Fred in all his scheme about little Nelly, 
 and right glad he'll be to find me so strong upon 
 it. He shall know all about that to-morrow, 
 and in the meantime, as it's rather late, I'll try 
 and get a wink or two of the balmy." 
 
 " The balmy " came almost as soon as it was 
 courted. In a very ii::"^ minutes Mr. Swiveller 
 •was fast asleep, dreaming that he had married 
 Nelly Trent and come into the property, and 
 that his first act of power was to lay waste the 
 market garden of Mr. Cheggs, and turn it into a 
 brick-field. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HE child, in her confidence with Mrs. 
 Quilp, had but feebly described the 
 sadness and sorrow of her thoughts, 
 or the heaviness of the cloud which 
 overhung her home, and cast dark 
 shadows on its hearth. Besides that it 
 was very difficult to impart to any person 
 ^W not intimately acquainted with the life she 
 led, an adequate sense of its gloom and loneli- 
 ness, a constant fear of in some way committing 
 or injuring the old man to whom she was so 
 tenderly attached, had restrained her, even in 
 the midst of her heart's overflowing, and made 
 her timid of allusion to the main cause of her 
 anxiety and distress. 
 
 For, it was not the monotonous days un- 
 ehequered by variety and uncheered by pleasant 
 companionship, it was not the dark dreary even- 
 ings or the long solitary nights, it was not the 
 absence of every slight and easy pleasure for 
 which young hearts beat high, or the knowing 
 nothing of childhood but its weakness and its 
 easily-wounded spirit, that had wrung such tears 
 from Nell. To see the old man struck down 
 beneath the pressure of some hidden grief, to 
 mark his wavering and unsettled state, to be 
 agitated at times with a dreadful fear that his 
 
 mind was wandering, and to trace in his words 
 and looks the dawning of despondent madness ; 
 to watch and wait and listen for confirmation of 
 these things day after day, and to feel and know 
 that, come what might, they were alone in the 
 world, with no one to help or advise or care 
 about them — these were causes of depression 
 and anxiety that might have sat heavily on an 
 older breast with many influences at work to 
 cheer and gladden it, but how heavily on the 
 mind of a young child to whom they were ever 
 present, and who was constantly surrounded by 
 all that could keep such thoughts in restless 
 action ! 
 
 And yet, to the old man's vision, Nell was 
 still the same. When he could, for a moment, 
 disengage his mind from the phantom that 
 haunted and brooded on it always, there was his 
 young companion with the same smile for him, 
 the same earnest words, the same merry laugh, 
 the same love and care that, sinking deep into 
 his soul, seemed to have been present to him 
 through his whole life. And so he went on, 
 content to read the book of her heart from the 
 page first presented to him, little dreaming of 
 the story that lay hidden in its other leaves, and 
 murmuring within himself that at least the child 
 was happy. 
 
 She had been once. She had gone singing 
 through the dim rooms, and moving with gay 
 and lightsome step among their dusty treasures, 
 making them older by her young life, and sterner 
 and more grim by her gay and cheerful presence. 
 But, now, the chambers were cold and gloomy, 
 and when she left her own little room to while 
 away the tedious hours, and sat in one of them, 
 she was still and motionless as their inanimate 
 occupants, and had no heart to startle the echoes 
 — hoarse from their long silence — with her voice. 
 
 In one of these rooms was a window looking 
 into the street, where the child sat, many and 
 many a long evening, and often far into the 
 night, alone and thoughtful. None are so 
 anxious as those who watch and wait : at these 
 times, mournful fancies came flocking on her 
 mind in crowds. 
 
 She would take her station here, at dusk, and 
 watch tlie people as they passed up and down 
 the street, or appeared at the windows of the 
 opposite houses ; wondering whether those rooms 
 were as lonesome as that in which she sat, and 
 whether those people felt it company to see her 
 sitting there, as she did only to see them look 
 out and draw in their heads again. There was 
 a crooked stack of chimneys on one of the roofs, 
 in which, by often looking at them, she had 
 fancied ugly faces that were frowning over at 
 
AGAIN 2'HE SOLITARY CHILD. 
 
 35 
 
 her and trying to peer into the room ; and she 
 felt glad when it grew too dark to make them 
 out, though she was sorry, too, when the man 
 came to light the lamps in the street — for it made 
 it late, and very dull inside. Then, she would 
 draw in her head to look round the room, and 
 see that everything was in its place and hadn't 
 moved ; and looking out into the street again, 
 would perhaps see a man passing with a coffin 
 on his back, and two or three others silently 
 following him to a house where somebody lay 
 dead ; which made her shudder and think of 
 such things until they suggested afresh the old 
 man's altered face and manner, and a new train 
 of fears and speculations. If he were to die — 
 if sudden illness had happened to him, and he 
 were never to come home again alive — if, one 
 night, he should come home, and kiss and bless 
 her as usual, and after she had gone to bed and 
 had fallen asleep, and was perhaps dreaming 
 pleasantly, and smiling in her sleep, he should 
 kill himself, and his blood come creeping, creep- 
 ing, on the ground to her own bedroom door ! 
 These thoughts were too terrible to dwell upon, 
 and again she would have recourse to the street, 
 now trodden by fewer feet, and darker and more 
 silent than before. The shops were closing fast, 
 and lights began to shine from the upper win- 
 dows, as the neighbours went to bed. By de- 
 grees, these dwindled away and disappeared, or 
 were replaced, here and there, by a feeble rush- 
 candle which was to burn all night. Still, there 
 was one late shop at no great distance which 
 sent forth a ruddy glare upon the pavement even 
 yet, and looked bright and companionable. But, 
 in a little time, this closed, the light was ex- 
 tinguished, and all was gloomy and quiet, except 
 when some stray footsteps sounded on the pave- 
 ment, or a neighbour, out later than his wont, 
 knocked lustily at his house-door to rouse the 
 sleeping inmates. 
 
 When the night had worn away thus far (and 
 seldom now until it had) the child would close 
 the window, and steal softly down-stairs, think- 
 ing as she went that if one of those hideous 
 faces below, which often mingled with her dreams, 
 were to meet her by the way, rendering itself 
 visible by some strange light of its own, how 
 terrified she would be. But these fears vanished 
 before a well-trimmed lamp and the familiar 
 aspect of her own room. After praying fervently, 
 and with many bursting tears, for the old man, 
 and the restoration of his peace of mind and the 
 happiness they had once enjoyed, she would lay 
 her head upon the pillow and sob herself to 
 sleep : often starting up again, before the day- 
 light came, to listen for the bell, and respond 
 
 to the imaginary summons which had roused her 
 from her slumber. 
 
 One night, the third after Nelly's interview 
 with Mrs. Quilp, the old man, who had been 
 weak and ill all day, said he should not leave 
 home. The child's eyes sparkled at the intel- 
 ligence, but her joy subsided when they reverted 
 to his worn and sickly face. 
 
 " Two days," he said, " two whole, clear days 
 have passed, and there is no reply. What did 
 he tell thee, Nell?" 
 
 " Exactly what I told you, dear grandfather, 
 indeed." 
 
 " True," said the old man faintly. " Yes. 
 But tell me again, Nell. My head fails me. 
 What was it that he told thee ? Nothing more 
 than that he would see me to-morrow or next 
 day ? That was in the note." 
 
 " Nothing more," said the child. " Shall I go to 
 him again to-morrow, dear grandfather ? Very 
 early? I will be there and back before breakfast.' 
 
 The old man shook his head, and, sighing 
 mournfully, drew her towards him. 
 
 " 'Twould be of no use, my dear, no earthly 
 use. But if he deserts me, Nell, at this moment 
 — if he deserts me now, when I should, with his 
 assistance, be recompensed for all the time and 
 money I have lost, and all the agony of mind I 
 have undergone, which makes me what you see, 
 I am ruined, and — worse, far worse than that — 
 have ruined thee, for whom I ventured all. If 
 we are beggars ! " 
 
 " What if we are ?" said the child boldly. " Let 
 us be beggars and be happy." 
 
 "Beggars — and happy!" said the old man. 
 "Poor child!" 
 
 " Dear grandfather," cried the girl with an 
 energy which shone in her flushed face, trembling 
 voice, and impassioned gesture, •' I am not a 
 child in that, I think ; but even if I am, oh, hear 
 me pray that we may beg, or work in open roads 
 or fields, to earn a scanty living, rather than live 
 as we do now ! " 
 
 " Nelly !" said the old man. 
 
 " Yes, yes, rather than live as we do now," 
 the child repeated, more earnestly than before. 
 " If you are sorrowful, let me know why, and be 
 sorrowful too ; if you waste away and are paler 
 and weaker every day, let me be your nurse, and 
 try to comfort you. If you are poor, let us be 
 poor together ; but let me be with you, do let 
 me be with you ; do not let me see such change, 
 and not know why, or I shall break my heart 
 and die. Dear grandfather, let us leave this sad 
 place to-morrow, and beg our way from door to 
 door." 
 
 The old man covered his face with his hands. 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 and hid it in the pillow of the couch on which 
 he lay. 
 
 " Let us be beggars," said the child, passing 
 an arm round his neck, " I have no fear but 
 we shall have enough ; I am sure we shall. Let 
 us walk through country places, and sleep in 
 fields and under trees, and never think of money 
 again, or anything that can make you sad, but 
 rest at nights, and have the sun and wind upon 
 our faces in the day, and thank God together ! 
 Let us never set foot in dark rooms or melan- 
 choly houses any more, but wander up and down 
 wherever we like to go ; and when you are tired, 
 you shall stop to rest in the pleasantest place that 
 we can find, and I will go and beg for both." 
 
 The child's voice was lost in sobs as she 
 dropped upon the old man's neck ; nor did she 
 v.'eep alone. 
 
 These were not words for other ears, nor was 
 it a scene for other eyes. And yet other ears and 
 eyes were there, and greedily taking in all that 
 passed, and, moreover, they were the ears and 
 eyes of no less a person than Mr. Daniel Quilp, 
 who, having entered unseen when the child first 
 placed herself at the old man's side, refrained — 
 actuated, no doubt, by motives of the purest 
 delicacy — from interrupting the conversation, 
 and stood looking on with his accustomed grin. 
 Standing, however, being a tiresome attitude to 
 a gentleman already fatigued with walking, and 
 the dwarf being one of that kind of persons Avho 
 usually make themselves at home, he soon cast 
 his eyes upon a chair, into which he skipped 
 with uncommon agility, and, perching himself on 
 the back with his feet upon the seat, was thus 
 enabled to look on and listen with greater com- 
 fort to himself, besides gratifying at the same 
 time that taste for doing something fantastic and 
 monkey-like, which on all occasions had strong 
 possession of him. Here, then, he sat, one leg 
 cocked carelessly over the other, his chin resting 
 on the palm of his hand, his head turned a little 
 on one side, and his ugly features twisted into a 
 complacent giimace. And in this position the 
 old man, happening in course of time to look that 
 way, at length chanced to see him : to his un- 
 bounded astonishment. 
 
 The child uttered a suppressed shriek on be- 
 holding this agreeable figure ; in their first sur- 
 prise both she and the old man, not knowing 
 what to say, and half doubting its reality, looked 
 shrinkingly at it. Not at all disconcerted by 
 this reception, Daniel Quilp preserved the same 
 attitude, merely nodding twice or thrice with 
 great condescension. At length the old man 
 pronounced his name, and inquired how he 
 came there. 
 
 "Through the door," said Quilp, pointing 
 over his shoulder with his thumb. " I'm not 
 quite small enough to get through keyholes. I 
 wish I was. I want to have some talk with you 
 particularly, and in private — with nobody pre- 
 sent, neighbour. Good-bye, little Nelly." 
 
 Nell looked at the old man, who nodded to 
 her to retire, and kissed her cheek. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the dwarf, smacking his lips, 
 " what a nice kiss that was — just upon the rosy 
 part ! What a capital kiss ! " 
 
 Nell was none the slower in going away for 
 this remark. Quilp looked after her with an 
 admiring leer, and, when she had closed the 
 door, fell to complimenting the old man upon 
 her charms. 
 
 " Such a fresh, blooming, modest little bud, 
 neighbour," said Quilp, nursing his short leg, 
 and making his eyes twinkle very much : " such 
 a chubby, rosy, cosy, little Nell ! " 
 
 The old man answered by a forced smile, and 
 was plainly struggling with a feeling of the keen- 
 est and most exquisite impatience. It was not 
 lost upon Quilp, who delighted in torturing him, 
 or indeed anybody else, when he could. 
 
 " She's so," said Quilp, speaking very slowly, 
 and feigning to be quite absorbed in the subject, 
 " so small, so compact, so beautifully modelled, 
 so fair, Avith such blue veins, and such a trans- 
 parent skin, and such Uttle feet, and such win- 
 ning ways But bless me, you're nervous ! 
 
 Why, neighbour, what's the matter ? I swear to 
 you," continued the dwarf, dismounting from 
 the chair and sitting down in it, with a careful 
 slowness of gesture very different from the rapid- 
 ity with which he had sprung up unheard, " I 
 swear to you that I had no idea old blood ran 
 so fast or kept so warm. I thought it was slug- 
 gish in its course, and cool, quite cool. I am 
 pretty sure it ought to be. Yours must be out 
 of order, neighbour." 
 
 " I believe it is," groaned the old man, clasp- 
 ing his head with both hands. " There's burning 
 fever here, and something now and then to which 
 I fear to give a name." 
 
 The dwarf said never a word, but watched bis 
 companion as he paced restlessly up and down 
 the room, and presently returned to his seat. 
 Here he remained, with his head bowed upon 
 his breast for some time, and then suddenly 
 raising it, said : 
 
 " Once, and once for all, have you brought 
 me any money?" 
 
 " No ! " returned Quilp. 
 "Then," said the old man, clenching his 
 hands desperately, and looking upward, " the 
 child and I are lost ! " 
 
THE MYSTER V MADE PLAIN. 
 
 37 
 
 " Neighbour," said Quilp, glancing sternly at 
 him, and beating his hand twice or thrice upon 
 the table to attract his wandering attention, "let 
 me be plain with you, and play a fairer game 
 than when you held all the cards, and I saw but 
 the backs and nothing more. You have no 
 secret from me now." 
 
 The old man looked up trembling. 
 
 " You are surprised," said Quilp. " Weil, 
 perhaps that's natural. You have no secret 
 from me now, I say ; no, not one. For now I 
 know that all those sums of money, that all 
 
 those loans, advances, and supplies that you 
 
 have had from me, have found their way to 
 
 Shall I say the word ?" 
 
 " Ay ! " replied the old man, " say it if you 
 will." 
 
 "To the gaming-table," rejoined Quilp, "your 
 nightly haunt. This was the precious scheme 
 to make your fortune, was it ; this was the secret 
 certain source of wealth in which I was to have 
 sunk my money (if I had been the fool you took 
 me for) ; this was your inexhaustible mine of 
 gold, your El Dorado, eh ? " 
 
 "HE SOON CAST HIS EYES UPON A CHAIR, INTO WHICH HE SKIPPED WITH UNCOMMON AGILITY, AND, 
 PERCHING HIMSELF ON THE BACK WITH HIS FEET UPON THE SEAT, WAS THUS ENABLED TO LOOK ON." 
 
 " Yes," cried the old man, turning upon him 
 with gleaming eyes, " it was. It is. It will be 
 till I die." 
 
 "That I should have been blinded," said 
 Quilp, looking contemptuously at him, "by a 
 mere shallow gambler ! " 
 
 " I am no gambler," cried the old man fiercely. 
 " I call Heaven to witness that I never played 
 for gain of mine, or love of play ; that, at every 
 piece I staked, I whispered to myself that 
 orphan's name, and called on Heaven to bless 
 the venture ; — which it never did. Whom did 
 
 it prosper ? Who were those with whoni I 
 played ? Men who lived by plunder, profli- 
 gacy, and riot ; squandering their gold in doing 
 ill, and propagating vice and evil. My winnings 
 would have been from them, my winnings would 
 have been bestowed to the last farthing on a 
 young sinless child whose life they would have 
 sweetened and made happy. What would they 
 have contracted ? The means of corruption, 
 wretchedness, and misery. Who would not 
 have hoped in such a cause — tell me that ? 
 Who would not have hoped as I did ? " 
 
38 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " When did you first begin this mad career ? " 
 asked Quilp, his taunting inclination subdued, 
 for a moment, by the old man's grief and wild- 
 ness. 
 
 " When did I first begin ? " he rejoined, pass- 
 ing his hand across his brow. " When laas it 
 that I first began? When should it be, but 
 when I began to think how little I had saved, 
 how loog a time it took to save at all, how short 
 a time I might have at ray age to live, and how 
 she would be left to the rough mercies of the 
 world, with barely enough to keep her from the 
 sorrows that wait on poverty? Then it was 
 that I began to think about it." 
 
 " After you first came to me to get your pre- 
 cious grandson packed off to sea ? " said Quilp. 
 
 " Shortly after that," replied the old man. " I 
 thought of it a long time, and had it in my sleep 
 for months. Then I began. I found no plea- 
 sure in it, I expected none. What has it ever 
 brought to me but anxious days and sleepless 
 nights ; but loss of health and peace of mind, 
 and gain of feebleness and sorrow ? " 
 
 " You lost what money you had laid by, first, 
 and then came to me. While I thought you 
 were making your fortune (as you said you were), 
 you were m.aking yourself a beggar, eh ? Dear 
 me ! And so it comes to pass that I hold every 
 security you could scrape together, and a bill of 
 sale upon the — upon the stock and property," 
 said Quilp, standing up and looking about him, 
 as if to assure himself that none of it had been 
 taken away. " But did you never win ? " 
 
 "Never!" groaned the old man. "Never 
 won back my loss ! " 
 
 " I thought," sneered the dwarf, " that if a 
 man played long enough he was sure to win at 
 last, or, at the worst, not to come off a loser," 
 
 '" And so he is," cried the old man, suddenly 
 rousing himself from his state of despondency, 
 and lashed into the most violent excitement, 
 " so he is ; I have felt that from the first, I have 
 always known it, I've seen it, I never felt it half 
 so strongly as I feel it now. Quilp, I have 
 dreamed, three nights, of winning the same large 
 sum. I never could dream that dream before, 
 though I have often tried. Do not desert me, 
 now I have this chance. I have no resource 
 but you, give me some help, let me try this one 
 last hope." 
 
 The dwarf shrugged his shoulders and shook 
 his head. 
 
 " See, Quilp, good tender-hearted Quilp," said 
 the old man, drawing some scraps of paper from 
 his pocket with a trembling hand, and clasping 
 the dwarf's arm, " only see here. Look at these 
 figures, the result of long calculation, and painful 
 
 and hard experience. I fmtsf win. I only want 
 a little help once more, a few pounds, but two 
 score pounds, dear Quilp." 
 
 " The last advance was seventy," said the 
 dwarf, " and it went in one night." 
 
 " I know it did," answered the old man, '•' but 
 that was the very worst fortune of all, and the 
 time had not come then. Quilp, consider, con- 
 sider," the old man cried, trembling so much the 
 while, that the papers in his hand fluttered as if 
 they were shaken by the wind, " that orphan 
 child ! If I were alone, I could die with glad- 
 ness — perhaps even anticipate that doom which 
 is dealt out so unequally : coming, as it does, on 
 the proud and happy in their strength, and shun- 
 ning the needy and afflicted, and all who court 
 it in their despair — but what I have done has 
 been for her. Help me for her sake, I implore 
 you — not for mine, for hers ! " 
 
 " I'm sorry I've got an appointment in the 
 City," said Quilp, looking at his watch with per- 
 fect self-possession, " or I should have been very 
 glad to have spent half an hour with you while 
 you composed yourself — very glad." 
 
 "Nay, Quilp, good Quilp," gasped the old 
 man, catching at his skirts — "you and I have 
 talked together, more than once, of her poor 
 mother's story. The fear of her coming to 
 poverty has perhaps been bred in me by that. 
 Do not be hard upon me, but take that into ac- 
 count. You are a great gainer by me. Oh, 
 spare me the money for this one last hope ! " 
 
 " I couldn't do it really," said Quilp with un- 
 usual politeness, " though I tell you what — and 
 this is a circumstance worth bearing in mind, as 
 showing how the sharpest among us may be 
 taken in sometimes — I was so deceived by the 
 penurious way in which you lived, alone with 
 Nelly :-" 
 
 " All done to save money for tempting for- 
 tune, and to make her triumph greater," cried 
 the old man. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand that now," said 
 Quilp : " but I was going to say, I was so de- 
 ceived by that, your miserly way, the reputation 
 you had among those who knew you of being 
 rich, and your repeated assurances that you 
 would make of my advances treble and quadru- 
 ple the interest you paid me, that I'd have ad- 
 vanced you, even now, what you want, on your 
 simple note of hand, if I hadn't unexpectedly 
 become acquainted with your secret way of 
 life." 
 
 ''Who is it," retorted the old man despe- 
 rately, " that, notwithstanding all my caution, 
 told you ? Come. Let me know the name — 
 the person." 
 
KIT AT HOME. 
 
 39 
 
 The crafty dwarf, bethinking himself that his 
 giving up the child would lead to the disclosure 
 of the artifice he had employed, which, as no- 
 thing was to be gained by it, it was well to con- 
 ceal, stopped short in his answer and said, " Now, 
 who do you think?" 
 
 " It was Kit, it must have been the boy ; he 
 played the spy, and you tampered with him?" 
 said the old man. 
 
 " How came you to think of him ?" said the 
 dwarf in a tone of great commiseration. " Yes, 
 it was Kit. Poor Kit ! " 
 
 So saying, he nodded in a friendly manner, 
 and took his leave ; stopping when he had passed 
 the outer door a little distance, and grinning 
 with extraordinary delight. 
 
 " Poor Kit ! " muttered Quilp. " I think it 
 was Kit who said I was an uglier dwarf than 
 could be seen anywhere for a penny, wasn't it ? 
 Ha, ha, ha! Poor Kit!" 
 
 And with that he went his way, still chuckling 
 as he went. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 jANIEL QUILP neither entered nor 
 left the old man's house unobserved. 
 In the shadow of an archway nearly 
 opposite, leading to one of the many 
 passages which diverged from the 
 main street, there lingered one who, 
 having taken up his position when the 
 twilight first came on, still maintained it 
 with undiminished patience, and leaning against 
 the wall with the manner of a person who had 
 a long time to wait, and, being well used to it, 
 was quite resigned, scarcely changed his attitude 
 for the hour together. 
 
 This patient lounger attracted little attention 
 from any of those who passed, and bestowed as 
 little upon them. His eyes were constantly 
 directed towards one object; the window at 
 which the child was accustomed to sit. If he 
 withdrew them for a moment, it was only to 
 glance at a clock in some neighbouring shop, 
 and then to strain his sight once more in the old 
 quarter with increased earnestness and attention. 
 It has been remarked that this personage 
 evinced no weariness in his place of conceal- 
 ment ; nor did he, long as his waiting was. But, 
 as the time went on, he manifested some anxiety 
 and surprise, glancing at the clock more fre- 
 quently and at the window less hopefully than 
 before. At length, the clock was hidden from 
 his sight by some envious shutters, then the 
 church steeples proclaimed eleven at night, then 
 
 the quarter past, and then the conviction seemed 
 to obtrude itself on his mind that it was of no 
 use tarrying there any longer. 
 
 That the conviction was an unwelcome one, 
 and that he was by no means willing to yield to 
 it, was apparent from his reluctance to quit the 
 spot ; from the tardy steps with which he often 
 left it, still looking over his shoulder at the same 
 window ; and from the precipitation with which 
 he as often returned, when a fancied noise or the 
 changing and imperfect light induced him to 
 suppose it had been softly raised. At length, 
 he gave the matter up, as hopeless for that night, 
 and suddenly breaking into a run as though to 
 force himself away, scampered off at his utmost 
 speed, nor once ventured to look behind him, 
 lest he should be tempted back again. 
 
 Without relaxing his pace, or stopping to take 
 breath, this mysterious individual dashed on 
 through a great many alleys and narrow ways, 
 until he at length arrived in a square paved 
 court, when he subsided into a walk, and, mak- 
 ing for a small house from the window of which 
 a light was shining, lifted the latch of the door 
 and passed in. 
 
 " Bless us ! " cried a woman, turning sharply 
 round, "who's that? Oh ! It's you, Kit !" 
 
 " Yes, mother, it's me." 
 
 " Why, how tired you look, my dear ! " 
 
 "Old master ain't gone out to-night," said 
 Kit ; " and so she hasn't been at the window at 
 all." With which words, he sat down by the 
 fire, and looked very mournful and discontented. 
 
 The room in which Kit sat himself down, in 
 this condition, was an extremely poor and homely 
 place, but with that air of comfort about it, never- 
 theless, which — or the spot must be a wretched 
 one indeed — cleanliness and order can always 
 impart in some degree. Late as the Dutch 
 clock showed it to be, the poor woman was still 
 hard at work at an ironing-table ; a young child 
 lay sleeping in a cradle near the fire; and 
 another, a sturdy boy of two or three years old, 
 very wide awake, with a very tight nightcap on 
 his head, and a nightgown very much too small 
 for him on his body, was sitting bolt upright in 
 a clothes-basket, staring over the rim with his 
 great round eyes, and looking as if he had tho- 
 roughly made up his mind never to go to sleep 
 any more ; which, as he had already declined to 
 take his natural rest, and had been brought out 
 of bed in consequence, opened a cheerful pros- 
 pect for his relations and friends. It was rather 
 a queer-looking family : Kit, his mother, and the 
 children being all strongly alike. 
 
 Kit was disposed to be out of temper, as the 
 best of us are too often — but he looked at the 
 
4° 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 youngest child who was sleeping soundly, and 
 from him to his other brother in the clothes- 
 basket, and from him to their mother, who had 
 been at work without complaint since morning, 
 and thought it would be a better and kinder 
 thing to be good-humoured. So he rocked the 
 cradle with his foot ; made a face at the rebel in 
 the clothes-basket, which put him in high good- 
 humour directly; and stoutly determined to be 
 talkative and make himself agreeable. 
 
 "Ah, mother !" said Kit, taking out his clasp- 
 knife, and falling upon a great piece of bread 
 and meat which she had had ready for him, 
 hours before, " what a one you are ! There an't 
 many such as you, /know." 
 
 " I hope there are many a great deal better. 
 Kit," said Mrs. Nubbles ; " and that there are, 
 or ought to be, accordin' to what the parson at 
 chapel says." 
 
 " Much he knows about it," returned Kit 
 contemptuously. " Wait till he's a widder and 
 works like you do, and gets as little, and does 
 as much, and keeps his spirits up the same, and 
 then I'll ask him what's o'clock, and trust him 
 for being right to half a second." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Nubbles, evading the 
 point, " your beer's down there by the fender, 
 Kit." 
 
 " I see," replied her son, taking up the porter 
 pot ; " my love to you, mother. And the par- 
 son's health too if you like. I don't bear him 
 any malice, not I !" 
 
 " Did you tell me, just now, that your master 
 hadn't gone out to-night?" inquired Mrs. 
 Nubbles. 
 
 " Yes," said Kit, "worse luck." 
 
 " You should say better luck, I think," returned 
 his mother, "because Miss Nelly won't have 
 been left alone." 
 
 "Ah!" said Kit, "I forgot that. I said 
 worse luck, because I've been watching ever 
 since eight o'clock, and seen nothing of her." 
 
 " I wonder what she'd say," cried his mother, 
 stopping in her work, and looking round, " if 
 she knew that every night when she — poor 
 thing — is sitting alone at that window, you are 
 watching in the open street for fear any harm 
 should come to her, and that you never leave 
 the place nor come home to your bed, though 
 you're ever so tired, till such time as you think 
 she's safe in hers." 
 
 "Never mind what she'd say," replied Kit 
 with something like a blush on his uncouth face ; 
 "she'll never know nothing, and consequently, 
 she'll never say nothing." 
 
 Mrs. Nubbles ironed away in silence for a 
 minute or two, and coming to the fire-place for 
 
 another iron, glanced stealthily at Kit while she 
 rubbed it on a board and dusted it with a duster, 
 but said nothing until she had returned to her 
 table again : when, holding the iron at an 
 alarmingly short distance from her cheek to test 
 its temperature, and looking round with a smile, 
 she observed : 
 
 " I know what some people would say. Kit — '^ 
 
 " Nonsense," interposed Kit, with a perfect 
 apprehension of what was to follow. 
 
 " No, but they would indeed. Some people 
 would say that you'd fallen in love with her, 1 
 know they would." 
 
 To this Kit only replied by bashfully bidding 
 his mother "get out," and forming sundry 
 strange figures with his legs and arms, accom- 
 panied by sympathetic contortions of his face. 
 Not deriving from these means the relief which 
 he sought, he bit off an immense mouthful from 
 the bread and meat, and took a quick drink of 
 the porter; by which artificial aids he choked 
 himself, and effected a diversion of the subject. 
 
 "Speaking seriously, though. Kit," said his 
 mother, taking up the theme afresh after a time, 
 " for of course I was only in joke just now, it's 
 very good and thoughtful, and like you, to do 
 this, and never let anybody know it, though 
 some day I hope she may come to know it, for 
 I'm sure she would be very grateful to you, and 
 feel it very much. It's a cruel thing to keep the 
 dear child shut up there. I don't wonder that 
 the old gentleman wants to keep it from you." 
 
 " He don't think it's cruel, bless you," said 
 Kit, " and don't mean it to be so, or he wouldn't 
 do it — I do consider, mother, that he wouldn't 
 do it for all the gold and silver in the world. 
 No, no, that he wouldn't. I know him better 
 than that." 
 
 " Then what does he do it for, and why does 
 he keep it so close from you?" said Mrs. 
 Nubbles. 
 
 " That I don't know," returned her son. " If 
 he hadn't tried to keep it so close, though, I 
 should never have found it out, for it was his 
 getting me away at night, and sending me off so 
 much earlier than he used to, that first made me 
 curious to know what was going on. Hark ! 
 what's that?" 
 
 " It's only somebody outside." 
 
 " It's somebody crossing over here," said Kit, 
 standing up to listen, " and coming very fast, 
 too. He can't have gone out after I left, and 
 the house caught fire, mother !" 
 
 The boy stood for a moment, really bereft, by 
 the apprehension he had conjured up, of the 
 power to move. The footsteps drew nearer, the 
 door was opened with a hasty hand, and the 
 
KIT DISCHARGED. 
 
 41 
 
 child herself, pale and breathless, and hastily 
 wrapped in a {^^ disordered garments, hurried 
 into the room. 
 
 "Miss Nelly!' What is the matter?" cried 
 mother and son together. 
 
 " I must not stay a moment," she returned ; 
 " grandfather has been taken very ill. I found 
 him in a fit upon the floor " 
 
 " I'll run for a doctor," said Kit, seizing his 
 brimless hat. " I'll be there directly, I'll " 
 
 " No, no," cried Nell, " there is one there, 
 you're not wanted, you — you — must never come 
 near us any more !" 
 
 " What ! " roared Kit. 
 
 " Never again," said the child. " Don't ask 
 me why, for I don't know. Pray don't ask me 
 why, pray don't be sorry, pray don't be vexed 
 \\ith me ! I have nothing to do with it in- 
 deed!" 
 
 Kit looked at her with his eyes stretched 
 wide ; and opened and shut his mouth a great 
 many times ; but couldn't get out one word. 
 
 " He complains and raves of you," said the 
 child. " I don't know what you have done, but 
 I hope it's nothing very bad. 
 
 "/done?" roared Kit. 
 
 " He cries that you're the cause of all his 
 misery," returned the child with tearful eyes ; 
 ■" he screamed and called for you ; they say you 
 must not come near him, or he will die. You 
 must not return to us any more. I came to 
 tell you. I thought it would be better that I 
 should come than somebody quite strange. Oh, 
 Kit, what have you done? you, in whom I 
 trusted so much, and who were almost the only 
 friend I had?" 
 
 The unfortunate Kit looked at his young 
 mistress harder and harder, and with eyes grow- 
 ing wider and wider, but was perfectly motionless 
 and silent. 
 
 " I have brought his money for the week," 
 said the child, looking to the woman, and laying 
 it on the table — " and — and — a little more, for 
 he was always good and kind to me. I hope he 
 will be sorry, and do well somewhere else, and 
 not take this to heart too much. It grieves 
 me very much to part with him like this, but 
 there is no help. It must be done. Goodnight!" 
 
 With the tears streaming down her face, and 
 her slight figure trembling with the agitation of 
 the scene she had left, the shock she had 
 received, the errand she had just discharged, 
 and a thousand painful and affectionate feelings, 
 the child hastened to the door, and disappeared 
 as rapidly as she had come. 
 
 The poor woman, who had no cause to doubt 
 her son, but every reason for reiving on his 
 
 honesty and truth, was staggered, notwithstand- 
 ing, by his not having advanced one word in his 
 defence. Visions of gallantry, knavery, robbery ; 
 and of the nightly absences from home for which 
 he had accounted so strangely, having been 
 occasioned by some unlawful pursuit ; fiocked 
 into her brain and rendered her afraid to ques- 
 tion him. She rocked herself upon a chair, 
 wringing her hands and weeping bitterly, but 
 Kit made no attempt to comfort her, and re- 
 mained quite bewildered. The baby in the 
 cradle woke up and cried; the boy in the 
 clothes-basket fell over on his back with the 
 basket upon him, and was seen no more ; the 
 mother wept louder yet, and rocked faster : but 
 Kit, insensible to all the din and tumult, re- 
 mained in a state of utter stupefaction. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ^^^t,UIET and solitude were destined to 
 ^'^ hold uninterrupted rule no longer 
 beneath the roof that sheltered the 
 child. Next morning, the old man 
 was in a raging fever accompanied 
 with delirium ; and sinking under 
 the influence of this disorder, he lay for 
 many weeks in imminent peril of his life. 
 There was vs^atching enough now, but it was the 
 watching of strangers who made a greedy trade 
 of it, and who, in the intervals of their attend- 
 ance upon the sick man, huddled together with 
 a ghastly good-fellowship, and ate and drank 
 and made merry ; for disease and death were 
 their ordinary household gods. 
 
 Yet, in all the hurry and crowding of such 
 a time, the child was more alone than she 
 had ever been before ; alone in spirit, alone 
 in her devotion to him who was wasting 
 away upon his burning bed; alone in her 
 unfeigned sorrow and her unpurchased sym- 
 pathy. Day after day, and night after night, 
 found her still by the pillow of the unconscious 
 sufferer, still anticipating his every want, still 
 listening to those repetitions of her name and 
 those anxieties and cares for her, which were 
 ever uppermost among his feverish wanderings. 
 The house was no longer theirs. Even the 
 sick chamber seemed to be retained on the un- 
 certain tenure of Mr. Quilp's favour. The old 
 man's illness had not lasted many days when he 
 took formal possession of the premises, and all 
 upon them, in virtue of certain legal powers to 
 that effect, which few understood and none pre- 
 sumed to call in question. This important step 
 
42 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 secured, with the assistance of a man of law 
 whom he brought with him for the purpose, the 
 dwarf proceeded to estabHsh himself and his 
 coadjutor in the house, as an assertion of his 
 claim against all comers ; and then set about 
 making his quarters comfortable, after his own 
 fashion. 
 
 To this end, Mr. Quilp encamped in the 
 back-parlour, having first put an effectual stop 
 to any further business by shutting up the shop. 
 Having looked out, from among the old furni- 
 ture, the handsomest and most commodious 
 chair he could possibly find (which he reserved 
 for his own use), and an especially hideous and 
 uncomfortable one (which he considerately ap- 
 propriated to the accommodation of his friend), 
 he caused them to be carried into this room, and 
 took up his position in great state. The apart- 
 ment was very far removed from the old man's 
 chamber, but Mr. Quilp deemed it prudent, as 
 a precaution against infection from fever, and a 
 means of wholesome fumigation, not only to 
 smoke himself, without cessation, but to insist 
 upon it that his legal friend did the like. More- 
 over, he sent an express to the wharf for the 
 tumbling boy, who, arriving with all dispatch, 
 was enjoined to sit himself down in another 
 chair just inside the door, continually to smoke 
 a great pipe which the dwarf had provided for 
 the purpose, and to take it from his lips under 
 any pretence whatever, were it only for one 
 minute at a time, if he dared. These arrange- 
 ments completed, Mr. Quilp looked round him 
 with chuckling satisfaction, and remarked that 
 he called that comfort. 
 
 The legal gentleman, whose melodious name 
 was Brass, might have called it comfort also, 
 but for two drawbacks : one was, that he could 
 by no exertion sit easy in his chair, the seat of 
 which was very hard, angular, slippery; and 
 sloping ; the other, that tobacco smoke always 
 caused him great internal discomposure and 
 annoyance. But as he was quite a creature of 
 Mr, Quilp's, and had a thousand reasons for 
 conciliating his good opinion, he tried to smile, 
 and nodded his acquiescence with the best grace 
 he could assume. 
 
 This Brass was an attorney of no very good 
 repute, from Bevis Marks, in the city of London ; 
 he was a tall, meagre man, with a nose like a 
 wen, a protruding forehead, retreating eyes, and 
 hair of a deep red. He wore a long black 
 surtout reaching nearly to his ankles, short 
 black trousers, high shoes, and cotton stock- 
 ings of a bluish grey. He had a cringing man- 
 ner, but a very harsh voice ; and his blandest 
 smiles were so extremely forbidding, that to 
 
 have had his company under the least repulsive 
 circumstances, one would have wished him to 
 be out of temper that he might only scowl. 
 
 Quilp looked at his legal adviser, and seeing 
 that he was winking very much in the anguish 
 of his pipe, that he sometimes shuddered when 
 he happened to inhale its full flavour, and that 
 he constantly fanned the smoke from him, was 
 quite overjoyed and rubbed his hands with glee. 
 
 " Smoke away, you dog," said Quilp, turning 
 to the boy ; " fill your pipe again and smoke it 
 fast, down to the last whiff, or I'll put the seal- 
 ing-waxed end of it in the fire, and rub it red- 
 hot upon your tongue." 
 
 Luckily the boy was case-hardened, and would 
 have smoked a small lime-kiln if anybody had 
 treated him with it. Wherefore, he only mut- 
 tered a brief defiance of his master, and did as. 
 he was ordered. 
 
 " Is it good. Brass, is it nice, is it fragrant, do^ 
 you feel like the Grand Turk ? " said Quilp. 
 
 Mr. Brass thought that, if he did, the Grand 
 Turk's feelings were by no means to be envied, 
 but he said it was famous, and he had no doubt 
 he felt very like that Potentate. 
 
 "This is the way to keep off fever," said 
 Quilp, "this is the way to keep off every ca- 
 lamity of life ! We'll never leave off", all the 
 time we stop here. Smoke away, you dog, or 
 you shall swallow the pipe ! " 
 
 " Shall we stop here long, Mr. Quilp ? " in- 
 quired his legal friend, when the dwarf had 
 given his boy this gentle admonition. 
 
 " We must stop, I suppose, till the old gentle- 
 man up-stairs is dead," returned Quilp. 
 
 " He, he, he ! " laughed Brass. " Oh, very 
 good ! " 
 
 " Smoke away ! " cried Quilp. " Never 
 stop! You can talk as you smoke. Don't 
 lose time." 
 
 " He, he, he ! " cried Brass faintly, as he 
 again applied himself to the odious pipe. 
 " But if he should get better, Mr. Quilp ? " 
 
 "Then we shall stop till he does, and no 
 longer," returned the dwarf 
 
 " How kind it is of you, sir, to wait till then !" 
 said Brass. " Some people, sir, would have sold 
 or removed the goods — oh dear ! the very in- 
 stant the law allowed 'em. Some people, sir, 
 would have been all flintiness and granite. Some 
 people, sir, would have ■" 
 
 " Some people would have spared themselves 
 the jabbering of such a parrot as you," interposed 
 the dwarf. 
 
 " He, he, he ! " cried Brass. " You have 
 such spirits ! " 
 
 The smoking sentinel at the door interposed 
 
MR. QUILF TAKES TO HIS BED. 
 
 43 
 
 in this place, and without taking his pipe from 
 his lips, growled : 
 
 " Here's the gal a-coming down." 
 
 " The what, you dog ? " said Quilp. 
 
 " The gal," returned the boy. " Are you 
 deaf?" 
 
 " Oh ! " said Quilp, drawing in his breath 
 with great relish as if he were taking soup, " you 
 and I will have such a settling presently; there's 
 such a scratching and bruising in store for you, 
 my dear young friend ! Aha ! Nelly ! How is 
 he now, my duck of diamonds ? " 
 
 " He's very bad," replied the weeping child. 
 
 " What a pretty little Nell ! " cried Quilp, 
 
 " Oh, beautiful, sir, beautiful indeed ! " said 
 Brass. " Quite charming ! " 
 
 " Has she come to sit upon Quilp's knee," 
 said the dwarf in what he meant to be a sooth- 
 ing tone, " or is she going to bed in her own 
 little room inside here — which is poor Nelly 
 going to do ? " 
 
 " What a remarkable pleasant way he has 
 with children ! " muttered Brass, as if in confi- 
 dence between himself and the ceiling; "upon 
 my word it's quite a treat to hear him." 
 
 " I'm not going to stay at all," faltered Nell. 
 " I want a few things out of that room, and 
 then I — I — won't come down here any more." 
 
 " And a very nice little room it is ! " said the 
 dwarf, looking into it as the child entered. 
 " Quite a bower ! You're sure you're not going 
 to use it ; you're sure you're not coming back, 
 Nelly ? " 
 
 " No," replied the child, hurrying away with 
 the few articles of dress she had come to re- 
 move ; " never again ! Never again." 
 
 "She's very -sensitive," said Quilp, looking 
 after her. " Very sensitive ; that's a pity. The 
 bedstead is much about my size. I think I 
 shall make it my little room." 
 
 Mr. Brass encouraging this idea, as he would 
 have encouraged any other emanating from the 
 same source, the dwarf walked in to try the 
 effect. This he did, by throwing himself on his 
 back upon the bed with his pipe in his mouth, 
 and then kicking up his legs and smoking vio- 
 lently. Mr. Brass applauding this picture very 
 much, and the bed being soft and comfortable, 
 Mr. Quilp determined to use it, both as a sleep- 
 ing-place by night and as a kind of Divan by 
 day ; and in order that it might be converted to 
 the latter purpose at once, remained where he 
 was, and smoked his pipe out. The legal gentle- 
 man, being by this time rather giddy and per- 
 plexed in his ideas (for this was one of the ope- 
 rations of the tobacco on his nervous system), 
 took the opportunity of slinking away into the 
 
 open air, where, in course of time, he recovered 
 sufiiciently to return with a countenance of 
 tolerable composure. He was soon led on by 
 the malicious dwarf to smoke himself into a re- 
 lapse, and in that state stumbled upon a settee,, 
 where he slept till morning. 
 
 Such were Mr. Quilp's first proceedings on 
 entering upon his new property. He was, for 
 some days, restrained by business from perform- 
 ing any particular pranks, as his time was pretty 
 well occupied between taking, with the assist- 
 ance of Mr. Brass, a minute inventory of all the 
 goods in the place, and going abroad upon his 
 other concerns, which happily engaged him for 
 several hours at a time. His avarice and cau- 
 tion being now thoroughly awakened, however^ 
 he was never absent from the house one night ; 
 and his eagerness for some termination, good or 
 bad, to the old man's disorder, increasing rapidly 
 as the time passed by, soon began to vent itself 
 in open murmurs and exclamations of impa- 
 tience. 
 
 Nell shrunk timidly from all the dwarfs ad- 
 vances towards conversation, and fled from the 
 very sound of his voice ; nor were the lawyer's 
 smiles less terrible to her than Quilp's grimaces. 
 She lived in such coiitinual dread and apprehen- 
 sion of meeting one or other of them on the 
 stairs or in the passages, if she stirred from her 
 grandfather's chamber, that she seldom left it, 
 for a moment, until late at night, when the 
 silence encouraged her to venture forth and 
 breathe the purer air of some empty room. 
 
 One night she had stolen to her usual window, 
 and was sitting there very sorrowfully — for the 
 old man had been worse that day — when she 
 thought she heard her name pronounced by a 
 voice in the street. Looking down, she recog- 
 nised Kit, whose endeavours to attract her 
 attention had roused her from her sad reflec- 
 tions. 
 
 " Miss Nell ! " said the boy in a low voice. 
 
 "Yes," replied the child, doubtful whether 
 she ought to hold any communication with the 
 supposed culprit, but inclining to her old favour- 
 ite still ; " what do you want ? " 
 
 " I have wanted to say a word to you for a 
 long time," the boy replied, "but the people 
 below have driven me away, and wouldn't let 
 me see you. You don't believe — I hope you 
 don't really believe — that I deserve to be cast 
 off as I have been ; do you, miss ? " 
 
 " I must believe it," returned the child. " Or 
 why would grandfather have been so angry with 
 you?" 
 
 " I don't know," replied Kit. " I'm sure I've 
 never deserved it from him, no, nor from you. 
 
4'. 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 I can say that with a true and honest heart, 
 anyway. And then to be driven from the door, 
 when I only came to ask how old master 
 was ! " 
 
 " They never told me that," said the child. 
 " I didn't know it indeed. I wouldn't have had 
 them do it for the world." 
 
 " Thankee, miss," returned Kit ; " it's com- 
 fortable to hear you say that. I said I never 
 would believe that it was your doing." 
 
 " That was right ! " said the child eagerly. 
 
 " Miss Nell," cried the boy, coming under the 
 window, and speaking in a lower tone, " there 
 are new masters down-stairs. It's a change for 
 you." 
 
 " It is indeed," replied the child. 
 
 " And so it will be for him when he gets 
 better," said the boy, pointing towards the sick- 
 room. 
 
 " If he ever does," added the child, unable to 
 restrain her tears. 
 
 "Oh! he'll do that, he'll do that," said Kit, 
 
 " IS IT GOOD, BRASS, IS IT NICE, IS IT FRAGRANT } " 
 
 " I'm sure he will. You mustn't be cast down, 
 Miss Nell. Now don't be, pray ! " 
 
 These words of encouragement and consola- 
 tion were few and roughly said, but they affected 
 the child, and made her, for the moment, weep 
 the more. 
 
 " He'll be sure to get better now," said the 
 boy anxiously, " if you don't give way to low 
 spirits, and turn ill yourself, which would make 
 him worse and throw him back, just as he was 
 
 recovering. When he does, say a good word — 
 say a kind word for me. Miss Nell ! " 
 
 " They tell me I must not even mention your 
 name to him for a long, long time," rejoined the 
 child. " I dare not ; and even if I might, what 
 good would a kind word do you, Kit ? We 
 shall be very poor. We shall scarcel}- have 
 bread to eat." 
 
 " It's not that I may be taken back," said the 
 boy, " that I ask the favour of you. It isn't for 
 
KIT'S FIDELITY. 
 
 45 
 
 the sake of food and wages that I've been wait- 
 ing about so long, in hopes to see you. Don't 
 think that I'd come in a time of trouble to talk 
 of such things as them." 
 
 The child looked gratefully and kindly at him, 
 but waited that he might speak again. 
 
 " No, it's not that," said Kit, hesitating ; " it's 
 something very different from that. I haven't 
 got much sense, I know ; but if he could be 
 brought to believe that I'd been a faithful ser- 
 vant to hiui, doing the best I could, and never 
 meaning harm, perhaps he mightn't " 
 
 Here Kit faltered so long that the child en- 
 treated him to speak out, and quickly, for it was 
 very late, and time to shut the window. 
 
 " Perhaps he mightn't think it over-venture- 
 some of me to say — well, then, to say this," 
 cried Kit with sudden boldness. " This home 
 is gone from you and him. Mother and I have 
 got a poor one, but that's better than this with 
 all these people here ; and why not come there 
 till he's had time to look about, and find a 
 better ? " 
 
 The child did not speak. Kit, in the relief 
 of having made his proposition, found his tongue 
 loosened, and spoke out in its favour with his 
 utmost eloquence. 
 
 " You think," said the boy, " that it's very 
 small and inconvenient. So it is, but it's very 
 clean. Perhaps you think it would be noisy, but 
 there's not a quieter court than ours in all the 
 town. Don't be afraid of the children ; the baby 
 hardly ever cries, and the other one is very good 
 — besides, /'d mind 'em. They wouldn't vex you 
 much, I'm sure. Do try, Miss Nell, do try. 
 The little front room up-stairs is very pleasant. 
 You can see a piece of the church clock through 
 the chimneys, and almost tell the time ; mother 
 says it would be just the thing for you, and so it 
 would, and you'd have her to wait upon you 
 both, and me to run of errands. We don't 
 mean money, bless you ; you're not to think of 
 that ! Will you try him, Miss Nell? Only say 
 you'll try him. Do try to make old master 
 come, and ask him first what I have done — will 
 you only promise that, Miss Nell ? " 
 
 Before the child could reply to this earnest 
 sohcitation, the street-door opened, and Mr. 
 Brass, thrusting out his nightcapped head, 
 called, in a surly voice, " Who's there ? " Kit 
 immediately glided away, and Nell, closing the 
 window softly, drew back into the room. 
 
 Before Mr. Brass had repeated his inquiry 
 many times, Mr. Quilp, also embellished with a 
 nightcap, emerged from the same door, and 
 looked carefully up and down the street, and up 
 at all the windows of the house, from the oppo- 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 4. 
 
 site side. Finding that' there was nobody in 
 sight, he presently returned into the house with 
 his legal friend, protesting (as the child heard 
 from the staircase) that there was a league and 
 plot against him ; |that he was in danger of 
 being robbed and plundered by a band of con- 
 spirators who prowled about the house at all 
 seasons ; and that he would delay no longer, 
 but take immediate steps for disposing of the 
 property and returning to his own peaceful roof. 
 Having growled forth these, and a great many 
 other threats of the same nature, he coiled him- 
 self once more into the child's little bed, and 
 Nell crept softly up the stairs. 
 
 It was natural enough that her short and un- 
 finished dialogue with Kit should leave a strong 
 impression on her mind, and influence her 
 dreams that night and her recollections for a 
 long, long time. Surrounded by unfeeling 
 creditors, and mercenary attendants upon the 
 sick, and meeting in the height of her anxiety 
 and sorrow with little regard or sympathy even 
 from the women about her, it is not surprising 
 that the affectionate heart of the child should 
 have been touched to the quick by one kind 
 and generous spirit, however uncouth the temple 
 in which it dwelt. Thank Heaven that the 
 temples of such spirits are not made with hands, 
 and that they may be even more worthily hung 
 with poor patchwork than with purple and fine 
 linen ! 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 T length, the crisis of the old man's 
 disorder was past, and he began to 
 mend. By very slow and feeble de- 
 grees his consciousness came back ; 
 but the mind was weakened, and its 
 functions were impaired. He was pa- 
 tient and quiet ; often sat brooding, 
 but not despondently, for a long space; 
 was easily amused, even by a sunbeam on the 
 wall or ceiling; made no complaint that the 
 days were long, or the nights tedious ; and 
 appeared indeed to have lost all count of time, 
 and every sense of care or weariness. He 
 would sit, for hours together, with Nell's small 
 hand in his, playing with the fingers, and stop- 
 ping sometimes to smooth her hair or kiss her 
 brow ; and, when he saw that tears were glisten- 
 ing in her eyes, would look, amazed, about him 
 for the cause, and forget his wonder even while 
 he looked. 
 
 The child and he rode out : the old man 
 propped up with pillows, and the child beside 
 
 2^2 
 
46 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 him. They were hand-in-hand as usual. The 
 noise and motion in the streets fatigued his 
 brain at first, but he was not surprised, or 
 curious, or pleased, or irritated. He was asked 
 if he remembered this or that. " Oh yes," he 
 said, " quite well — why not ? " Sometimes he 
 turned his head, and looked, with earnest gaze 
 and outstretched neck, after some stranger in 
 the crowd, until he disappeared from sight ; but, 
 to the question why he did this, he answered 
 not a word. 
 
 He was sitting in his easy-chair one day, and 
 Nell upon a stool beside him, when a man out- 
 side the door_ inquired if he might enter. 
 " Yes," he said without emotion, " it was Quilp, 
 he knew. Quilp was master there. Of course 
 he might come in." And so he did. 
 
 " I'm glad to see you well again at last, 
 neighbour," said the dwarf, sitting down oppo- 
 site to him. " You're quite strong now ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the old man feebly, "yes." 
 
 " I don't want to hurry you, you know, neigh- 
 bour," said the dwarf, raising his voice, for the 
 old man's senses were duller than they had 
 been ; " but as soon as you can arrange your 
 future proceedings, the better." 
 
 " Surely," said the old man, " The better 
 for all parties." 
 
 " You see," pursued Quilp after a short pause, 
 " the goods being once removed, this house 
 would be uncomfortable ; uninhabitable, in 
 fact." 
 
 " You say true," returned the old man. 
 " Poor Nell, too, what would she do ? " 
 
 " Exactly," bawled the dwarf, nodding his 
 head ; " that's very well observed. Then will 
 you consider about it, neighbour ? " 
 
 " I will, certainly," replied the old man. " We 
 shall not stop here." 
 
 " So I supposed," said the dwarf. " I have 
 sold the things. They have not yielded quite 
 as much as they might have done, but pretty 
 well — pretty well. To-day's Tuesday, When 
 shall they be moved ? There's no hurry — shall 
 we say this afternoon ? " 
 
 " Say Friday morning," returned the old man. 
 
 " Very good," said the dwarf. " So be it, — 
 with the understanding that I can't go beyond 
 that day, neighbour, on any account." 
 
 " Good," returned the old man. " I shall 
 remember it." 
 
 Mr. Quilp seemed rather puzzled by the 
 strange, even, spiritless way in which all this 
 was said ; but, as the old man nodded his head 
 and repeated " on Friday morning : I shall re- 
 . member it," he had no excuse for dwelling on 
 the subject any further, and so took a friendly 
 
 leave, with many expressions of good-will and 
 many compliments to his friend on his looking 
 so remarkably well ; and went below-stairs to 
 report progress to Mr. Brass. 
 
 All that day, and all the next, the old man 
 remained in this state. He wandered up and 
 down the house, and into and out of the various 
 rooms, as if with some vague intent of bidding 
 them adieu, but he referred neither by direct 
 allusions nor in any other manner to the inter- 
 view of the morning, or the necessity of finding 
 some other shelter. An indistinct idea he had 
 that the child was desolate and in want of help; 
 for he often drew her to his bosom, and bade 
 her be of good cheer, saying that they would not 
 desert each other ; but he seemed unable to 
 contemplate their real position more distinctly, 
 and was still the listless, passionless creature 
 that suffering of mind and body had left him. 
 
 We call this a state of childishness, but it is 
 the same poor hollow mockery of if that death 
 is of sleep. Where, in the dull eyes of doting 
 men, are the laughing light and life of childhood, 
 the gaiety that has known no check, the frank- 
 ness that has felt no chill, the hope that has 
 never withered, the joys that fade in blossom- 
 ing ? Where, in the sharp lineaments of rigid 
 and unsightly death, is the calm beauty of 
 slumber, telling of rest for the waking hours that 
 are past, and gentle hopes and loves for those 
 which are to come ? Lay death and sleep down 
 side by side, and say who shall find the two 
 akin ? Send forth the child and childish man 
 together, and blush for the pride that libels our 
 own old happy state, and gives its title to an 
 ugly and distorted image. 
 
 Thursday arrived, and there v/as no alteration 
 in the old man. But, a change came upon him 
 that evening, as he and the child sat silently to- 
 gether. 
 
 In a small dull yard below his window there 
 was a tree — green and flourishing enough, for 
 such a place — and as the air stirred among its 
 leaves, it threw a rippling shadow on the white 
 wall. The old man sat watching the shadows 
 as they trembled in this patch of light, until the 
 sun went down ; and when it was night, and the 
 moon was slowly rising, he still sat in the same 
 spot. 
 
 To one who had been tossing on a restless 
 bed so long, even these few green leaves and 
 this tranquil light, although it languished among 
 chimneys and housetops, were pleasant things. 
 They suggested quiet places afar off, and rest, 
 and peace. 
 
 The child thought, more than once, that he 
 was moved : and had forborne to speak. But, 
 
THE DA WN OF A BETTER DA Y. 
 
 47 
 
 now, he shed tears — tears that it Hghtened her 
 aching heart to see — and making as though he 
 would fall upon his knees, besought her to for- 
 give him. 
 
 " Forgive you — what ? " said Nell, interpos- 
 ing to prevent his purpose. " Oh, grandfather, 
 what should /forgive ? " 
 
 " All that is past, all that has come upon 
 thee, Nell, all that was done in that uneasy 
 dream," returned the old man. 
 
 " Do not talk so," said the child. " Pray do 
 not. Let us speak of something else." 
 
 "Yes, yes, we will," he rejoined. "And it 
 shall be of what we talked of long ago — many 
 months — months is it, or weeks, or days ? 
 Which is it, Nell ? " 
 
 " I do not understand you," said the child. • 
 
 '■ It has come back upon me to-day, it has all 
 come back since we have been sitting here. I 
 bless thee for it, Nell ! '"' 
 
 " For what, dear grandfather ? " 
 
 '•' For what you said when we were first made 
 beggars, Nell. Let us speak softly. Hush ! 
 for, if they knew our purpose down-stairs, they 
 would cry that I was mad, and take thee from 
 me. We will not stop here another day. We 
 will go far away from here." 
 
 " Yes, let us go," said the child earnestly. 
 " Let us begone from this place, and never turn 
 back or think of it again. Let us wander bare- 
 foot through the world, rather than hnger here." 
 
 " We will," answered the old man, " we will 
 travel afoot through the fields and woods, and 
 by the side of rivers, and trust ourselves to God 
 in the places where He dwells. It is far better 
 to lie down at night beneath an open sky like 
 that yonder — see how bright it is ! — than to rest 
 in close rooms which are always full of care and 
 weary dreams. Thou and I together, Nell, may 
 be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to forget 
 this time, as if it had never been." 
 
 " We will be happy," cried the child. " We 
 never can be here." 
 
 " No, we never can again — never again — 
 that's truly said," rejoined the old man. " Let 
 us steal away to-morrow morning — early and 
 softly, that we may not be seen or heard — and 
 leave no trace or track for them to follow by. 
 Poor Nell ! Thy cheek is pale, and thy eyes 
 are heavy with watching and weeping— with 
 watching and weeping for me — I know — for me; 
 but thou wilfbe well again, and merry too, when 
 we are far away. To-morrow morning, dear, 
 we'll turn our faces from this scene of sorrow, 
 and be as free and happy as the birds." 
 
 And then the old man clasped his liands 
 above her head, and said, in a few broken words, 
 
 that from that time forth they would wander up 
 and down together, and never part more until 
 Death took one or other of the twain. 
 
 The child's heart beat high with hope and con- 
 fidence. She had no thought of hunger, or cold, 
 or thirst, or suffering. She saw in this but a return 
 of the simple pleasures they had once enjoyed, 
 a relief from the gloomy solitude in which she 
 had lived, an escape from the heartless people 
 by whom she had been surrounded in her late 
 time of trial, the restoration of the old man's 
 health and peace, and a life of tranquil happi- 
 ness. Sun and stream, and meadow and summer 
 days, shone brightly in her view, and there was 
 no dark tint in all the sparkling picture. 
 
 The old man had slept, for some hours, soundly 
 in his bed, and she was yet busily engaged in 
 preparing for their flight. Theie were a few 
 articles of clothing for herself to carry, and a few 
 for him ; old garments, such as became their 
 fallen fortunes, laid out to wear ; and a staff to 
 support his feeble steps, put ready for his use. 
 But this was not all her task ; for now she must 
 visit the old rooms for the last time. 
 
 And how different the parting with them was 
 from any she had expected, and most of all from 
 that which she had oftenest pictured to herself ! 
 How could she ever have thought of bidding 
 therh farewell in triumph, when the recollection 
 of the many hours she had passed among them 
 rose to her swelling heart, and made her feel the 
 wish a cruelty : lonely and sad though many of 
 those hours had been ? She sat down at the 
 window where she had spent so many evenings — 
 darker far than this — and every thought of hope 
 or cheerfulness that had occurred to her in that 
 place came vividly upon her mind, and blotted 
 out all its dull and mournful associations in an 
 instant. 
 
 Her own little room, too, where she had so 
 often knelt down and prayed at night — prayed 
 for the time which she hoped was dawning now 
 — the little room where she had slept so peace- 
 fully, and dreamed such pleasant dreams — it was 
 hard not to be able to glance round it once 
 more, and to be forced to leave it without one 
 kind look or grateful tear. There were some 
 trifles there — poor useless things — that she 
 would have liked to take away ; but that was im- 
 possible. 
 
 This brought to her mind her bird, her poor 
 bird, who hung there yet. She wept bitterly for 
 the loss of this little creature — until the idea oc- 
 curred to her — she did not know how, or why, it 
 came into her head — that it might, by some 
 means, fall into the hands of Kit, who would 
 keep it for her sake, and think, perhaps, that 
 
48 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 she had left it behind in the hope that he might 
 have it, and as an assurance that she was grate- 
 ful to him. She was calmed and comforted by 
 the thought, and went to rest with a lighter 
 heart. 
 
 From many dreams of rambling through light 
 and sunny places, but with some vague object 
 unattained which ran indistinctly through them 
 all, she awoke to find that it was yet night, and 
 that the stars were shining brightly in the sky. 
 At length the day began to glimmer, and the 
 stars to grow pale and dim. As soon as she was 
 sure of this she arose, and dressed herself for 
 the journey. 
 
 The old man was yet asleep, and as she was 
 unwilling to disturb him, she left him to slumber 
 on until the sun rose. He was anxious that they 
 should leave the house without a minute's loss 
 of time, and was soon ready. 
 
 The child then took him by the hand, and 
 they trod lightly and cautiously down the stairs, 
 trembling whenever a board creaked, and often 
 stopping to listen. The old man had forgotten 
 a kind of wallet which contained the light burden 
 he had to carry ; and the going back a few steps 
 to fetch it seemed an interminable delay. 
 
 At last they reached the passage on the 
 ground-floor, where the snoring of Mr. Quilp and 
 his legal friend sounded more terrible in their 
 ears than the roars of lions. The bolts of the 
 door were rusty, and difficult to unfasten without 
 noise. When they were all drawn back, it was 
 found to be locked, and, worst of all, the key 
 was gone. Then the child remembered, for the 
 first time, one of the nurses having told her that 
 Quilp always locked both the house-doors at 
 night, and kept the keys on the table in his 
 bedroom. 
 
 It was not without great fear and trepidation 
 that little Nell slipped off her shoes, and gliding 
 through the store-room of old curiosities, where 
 Mr. Brass — the ugliest piece of goods in all the 
 stock — lay sleeping on a mattress, passed into 
 her own little chamber. 
 
 Here she stood, for a few moments, quite 
 transfixed with terror at the sight of Mr. Quilp, 
 who was hanging so far out of bed that he almost 
 seemed to be standing on his head, and who, 
 either from the uneasiness of his posture, or in 
 one of his agreeable habits, was gasping and 
 growling with his mouth wide open, and the 
 wliites (or rather the dirty yellows) of his eyes 
 distinctly visible. It was no time, however, to 
 ask whether anything ailed him ; so, possessing 
 herself of the key after one hasty glance about 
 the room, and repassing the prostrate Mr. Brass, 
 she rejoined the old man in safety. They got 
 
 the door open without noise, and passing into 
 the street, stood still. 
 
 "Which way?" said the child. 
 
 The old man looked, irresolutely and help- 
 lessly, first at her, then to the right and left, 
 then at her again, and shook his head. It was 
 plain that she was thenceforth his guide and 
 leader. The child felt it, but had no doubts or 
 misgiving, and putting her hand in his, led him 
 gently away. 
 
 It was the beginning of a day in June ; the 
 deep blue sky unsullied by a cloud, and teeming 
 with brilliant light. The streets were, as yet, 
 nearly free from passengers, the houses and 
 shops were closed, and the healthy air of morn- 
 ing fell like breath from angels on the sleeping 
 town. 
 
 The old man and the child passed on through 
 the glad silence, elate with hope and pleasure. 
 They were alone together, once again ; every 
 object was bright and fresh ; nothing reminded 
 them, otherwise than by contrast, of the mono- 
 tony and constraint the/had left behind; church 
 towers and steeples, frowning and dark at other 
 times, now shone and dazzled in the sun ; each 
 humble nook and corner rejoiced in light ; and 
 the sky, dimmed only by excessive distance, shed 
 its placid smile on everything beneath. 
 
 Forth from the city, while it yet slumbered, 
 went the two poor adventurers, wandering they 
 knew not whither. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 , ANIEL QUILP of Tower Hill, and 
 Sampson Brass of Bevis Marks, in 
 the city of London, Gentleman, one 
 of her Majesty's attorneys of the 
 Courts of King's Bench and Com- 
 mon Pleas at Westminster and a 
 solicitor of the High Court of Chancery, 
 slumbered on, unconscious and unsus- 
 picious of any mischance, until a knocking at 
 the street-door, often repeated and gradually 
 mounting up from a modest single rap to a per- 
 fect battery of knocks, fired in long discharges 
 with a very short interval between, caused the 
 said Daniel Quilp to struggle into a horizontal 
 position, and to stare at the ceiling with a drowsy 
 indifference, betokening that he heard the noise, 
 and rather wondered at the same, but couldn't 
 be at the trouble of bestowing any further 
 thought upon the subject. 
 
 As the knocking, however, instead of accorii- 
 modating itself to his lazy state, increased in 
 vigour and became more importunate, as if in 
 
PUGILISTIC SKILL OF MR. SWIVELLER. 
 
 m 
 
 earnest remonstrance against his falling asleep 
 again, now that he had once opened his eyes, 
 Daniel Quilp began by degrees to comprehend 
 the possibility of there being somebody at the 
 door ; and thus he gradually came to recollect 
 that it was Friday morning, and he had ordered 
 Mrs. Quilp to be in waiting upon him at an early 
 hour. 
 
 Mr. Brass, after writhing about in a great 
 many strange attitudes, and often twisting his 
 face and eyes into an expression like that which 
 is usually produced by eating gooseberries very 
 early in the season, was by this time awake also. 
 Seeing that Mr. Quilp invested himself in his 
 every-day garments, he hastened to do the like, 
 putting on his shoes before his stockings, and 
 thrusting his legs into his coat-sleeves, and making 
 such other small mistakes in his toilet as are not 
 uncommon to those who dress in a hurry, and 
 labour under the agitation of having been sud- 
 denly roused. 
 
 While the attorney was thus engaged, the 
 dwarf was groping under the table, muttering 
 desperate imprecations on himself, and mankind 
 in general, and all inanimate objects to boot, 
 which suggested to Mr. Brass the question, 
 " What's the matter ? " 
 
 " The key," said the dwarf, looking viciously 
 at him, " the door-key, — that's the matter. D'ye 
 know anything of it ? " 
 
 " How should I know anything of it, sir ? " 
 returned Mr, Brass. 
 
 " How should you ? " repeated Quilp with a 
 sneer. " You're a nice lawyer, an't you ? Ugh, 
 you idiot ! " 
 
 Not caring to represent to the dwarf, in his 
 present humour, that the loss of a key by 
 another person could scarcely be said to affect 
 his (Brass's) legal knowledge in any material 
 degree, Mr. Brass humbly suggested that it must 
 have been forgotten overnight, and was, doubt- 
 less, at that moment in its native keyhole. 
 Notwithstanding that Mr. Quilp had a strong 
 conviction to the contrary, founded on his recol- 
 lection of having carefully taken it out, he was 
 fain to admit that this was possible, and there- 
 fore went grumbling to the door, where, sure 
 enough, he found it. 
 
 Now, just as Mr. Quilp laid his hand upon 
 the lock, and saw with great astonishment that 
 the fastenings were undone, .the knocking came 
 again with most irritating violence, and the day- 
 light which had been shining through the key- 
 hole was intercepted on the outside by a human 
 eye. The dwarf was very much exasperated, 
 and, wanting somebody to wreak his ill-humour 
 upon, determined to dart out suddenly, and 
 
 favour Mrs. Quilp with a gentle acknowledg- 
 ment of her attention in making that hideous 
 uproar. 
 
 With this view, he drew back the lock very 
 silently and softly, and, opening the door all at 
 once, pounced out upon the person on the other 
 side, who had at that moment raised the knocker 
 for another application, and at whom the dwarf 
 ran head first : throwing out his hands and feet 
 together, and biting the air in the fulness of his 
 mahce. 
 
 So far, however, from rushing upon some- 
 body who offered no resistance and implored 
 his mercy, Mr. Quilp was no sooner in the arms 
 of the individual whom he had taken for his 
 wife than he found himself complimented with 
 two staggering blows on the head, and two 
 more, of the same quality, in the chest ; and 
 closing with his assailant, such a shower of 
 buffets rained down upon his person as sufficed 
 to convince him that he was in skilful and 
 experienced hands. Nothing daunted by this 
 reception, he clung tight to his opponent, and 
 bit and hammered away with such good-will and 
 heartiness, that it was at least a couple of 
 minutes before he was dislodged. Then, and 
 not until then, ,Daniel Quilp found himself, all 
 flushed and dishevelled, in the middle of the 
 street, with Mr. Richard Swiveller performing a 
 kind of dance round him, and requiring to know 
 " whether he wanted any more." 
 
 " There's plenty more of it at the same shop," 
 said Mr. Swiveller, by turns advancing and re- 
 treating in a threatening attitude, " a large and 
 extensive assortment always on hand — country 
 orders executed with promptitude and dispatch 
 — will you have a little more, sir ? — don't say 
 no, if you'd rather not." 
 
 " I thought it was somebody else," said Quilp, 
 rubbing his shoulders. " Why didn't you say 
 who you were ? " 
 
 " Why didn't you say \AiQyou were," returned 
 Dick, " instead of flying out of the house like a 
 Bedlamite?'' 
 
 " It was you that — that knocked," said the 
 dwarf, getting up with a short groan, " was it ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am the man," replied Dick. " That 
 lady had begun when I came, but she knocked 
 too soft, so I relieved her." As he said this, he 
 pointed towards Mrs. Quilp, who stood trembling 
 at a little distance. 
 
 "Humph!" muttered the dwarf, darting an 
 angry look at his wife, " I thought it was your 
 fault ! And you, sir — don't you know there has 
 been somebody ill here, that you knock as if 
 you'd beat the door down ? " 
 
 " Damme ! " answered Dick, " that's why I 
 
50 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 did it. I thought there was somebody dead 
 here." 
 
 " You came for some purpose, I suppose," 
 said Quilp. " What is it you want ? " 
 
 * I want to know how the old gentleman is," 
 rejoined Mr. Swiveller, "and to hear from Nell 
 herself, with whom I should like to have a little 
 talk. I'm a friend of the family, sir, — at least, 
 I'm the friend of one of the family, and that's 
 the same thing." 
 
 " You'd better walk in, then," said the dwarf. 
 "Go on, sir, go on. JSTow, Mrs. Quilp — after 
 you, ma'am." 
 
 Mrs. Quilp hesitated, but Mr. Quilp insisted. 
 And it was not a contest of politeness, or by 
 any means a matter of form, for she knew very 
 well that her husband wished to enter the house 
 in this order, that he might have a favourable 
 opportunity of inflicting a few pinches on her 
 arms, which were seldom free from impressions 
 of his fingers in black and blue colours. Mr. 
 Swiveller, who was not in the secret, was a little 
 surprised to hear a suppressed scream, and, look- 
 ing round, to see Mrs. Quilp following him with 
 a sudden jerk; but he did not remark on these 
 appearances, and soon forgot them. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Quilp," said the dwarf when they 
 had entered the shop, "go you up-stairs, if you 
 please, to Nelly's room, and tell her that she's 
 wanted." 
 
 " You seem to make yourself at home here," 
 said Dick, who was unacquainted with Mr. 
 Quilp's authority. 
 
 " I am at home, young gentleman," returned 
 the dwarf. 
 
 Dick was pondering what these words might 
 mean, and still more what the presence of Mr. 
 Brass might mean, when Mrs. Qailp came hurry- 
 ing down-stairs, declaring that the rooms above 
 were empty. 
 
 " Empty, you fool !" said the dwarf. 
 
 " I give you my word, Quilp," answered his 
 trembling wife, " that I have been into every 
 room, and there's not a soul in any of them." 
 
 "And that," said Mr. Brass, clapping his 
 hands once with an emphasis, " explains the 
 mystery of the key ! " 
 
 Quilp looked frowningly at him, and frown- 
 ingly at his wife, and frowningly at Richard 
 Swiveller ; but, receiving no enlightenment from 
 any of them, hurried up-stairs, whence he soon 
 hurried down again, confirming the report which 
 had been already made. 
 
 " It's a strange way of going," he said, glancing 
 at^ Swiveller : " very strange not to communicate 
 with me, who am such a close and intimate 
 friend of his ! Ah ! he'll write to me, no doubt, 
 
 or he'll bid Nelly write — yes, yes, that's Avhat 
 he'll do. Nelly's very fond of me. Pretty 
 Nell ! " • 
 
 Mr. Swiveller looked, as he was, all open- 
 mouthed astonishment. Still glancing furtively 
 at him, Quilp turned to Mr. Brass and observed, 
 with assumed carelessness, that this need not 
 interfere with the removal of the goods. 
 
 " For indeed," he added, " we knew that 
 they'd go away to-day, but not that they'd go so 
 early or so quietly. 13ut they have their reasons, 
 they have their reasons." 
 
 "Where in the devil's name are they gone?" 
 said the wondering Dick. 
 
 Quilp shook his head and pursed up his lips 
 in a manner which implied that he knew very 
 well, but was not at liberty to say. 
 
 " And what," said Dick, looking at the con- 
 fusion about him, " what do you mean by mov- 
 ing the goods ? " 
 
 " That I have bought 'em, sir," rejoined 
 Quilp. "Eh? What then?" 
 
 " Has the sly old fox made his fortune, then, and 
 gone to live in a tranquil cot in a pleasant spot 
 with a distant view of the changing sea ? " said 
 Dick in great bewilderment. 
 
 " Keeping his place of retirement very close, 
 that he may not be visited too often by afi'ec- 
 tionate grandsons and their devoted friends, 
 eh ? " added the dwarf, rubbing his hands hard. 
 " / say nothing, but is that your meaning ? " 
 
 Richard Swiveller was utterly aghast at this 
 unexpected alteration of circumstances, which 
 threatened the complete overthrow of the project 
 in which he bore so conspicuous a part, and 
 seemed to nip his prospects in the bud. Having 
 only received from Frederick Trent, late on the 
 previous night, information of the old man's ill- 
 ness, he had come upon a visit of condolence 
 and inquiry to Nell, prepared with the first in- 
 stalment of that long train of fascinations which 
 was to fire her heart at last. And here, when he 
 had been thinking of all kinds of graceful and 
 insinuating approaches, and meditating on the 
 fearful retaliation which was slowly working 
 against Sophy Wackles — here were Nell, the old 
 man, and all the money gone, melted away,- de- 
 camped he knew not whither, as if with a fore- 
 knowledge of the scheme and a resolution to de- 
 feat it in the very outset, before a step was taken. 
 
 In his secret heart, Daniel Quilp was both 
 surprised and troubled by the flight which had 
 been made. It had not escaped his keen eye 
 that some indispensable articles of clothing were 
 gone with the fugitives, and, knowing the old 
 man's weak state of mind, he marvelled what 
 that course of proceeding might be in which he 
 
MR. SWIVELLER DISCOMFITED. 
 
 51 
 
 had so readily procured the concurrence of the 
 child. It must not be supposed (or it would be 
 ii gross injustice to Mr. Quilp) that he was tor- 
 tured by any disinterested anxiety on behalf of 
 either. His uneasiness arose from a misgiving 
 that the old man had some secret store of money 
 which he had not suspected j and the bare idea 
 of its escaping his clutches overwhelmed him 
 with mortification and self-reproach. 
 
 In this frame of mind it was some consolation 
 to him to find that Richard Swiveller was, for 
 different reasons, evidently irritated and disap- 
 pointed by the same cause. It was plain, 
 thought the dwarf, that he had come there, on 
 behalf of his friend, to cajole or frighten the old 
 man out of some small fraction of that wealth of 
 which they supposed him to have an abundance. 
 Therefore, it was a relief to vex his heart with a 
 picture of the riches the old man hoarded, and 
 to expatiate on his cunning in removing himself 
 even beyond the reach of importunity. 
 
 " Well," said Dick with a blank look, " I sup- 
 pose it's of no use my staying here." 
 
 " Not the least in the world," rejoined the 
 dwarf 
 
 '• You'll mention that I called, perhaps ?" said 
 Dick. 
 
 Mr. Quilp nodded, and said he certainly 
 would, the very first time he saw them. 
 
 " And say," added Mr. Swiveller, " say, sir, 
 that I was wafted here upon the pinions of con- 
 cord ; that I came to remove, with the rake of 
 friendship, the seeds of mutual wiolence and 
 heart-burning, and to sow in their place the 
 germs of social harmony. Will you have the 
 goodness to charge yourself with that commis- 
 sion, sir ?" 
 
 " Certainly ! " rejoined Quilp. 
 
 " Will you be kind enough to add to it, sir," 
 said Dick, producing a very small limp card, 
 "■• that that is my address, and that I am to be 
 found at home every morning? Two distinct 
 knocks, sir, will produce the slavey at any time. 
 My particular friends, sir, are accustomed to 
 sneeze when the door is opened, to give her to 
 understand that they arc my friends, and have 
 no interested motives in asking if I'm at home. 
 I beg your pardon ; will you allow me to look at 
 that card again ? " 
 
 " Oh ! by all means," rejoined Quilp. 
 
 " By a slight and not unnatural mistake, sir," 
 said Dick, substituting another in its stead, " I 
 had handed you the pass-ticket of a select 
 convivial circle called the Glorious ApoUers, 
 of which I have the honour to be Perpetual 
 Grand. That is the proper document, sir. 
 Good morning." 
 
 Quilp bade him good day; the Perpetual 
 Grand Master of the Glorious ApoUers, elevat- 
 ing his hat in honor ' nf Mrs. Quilp, dropped it 
 carelessly on the side ' his head again, and dis- 
 appeared wkh a flounsii. 
 
 By this time, certain vans had arrived for the 
 conveyance of the goods, and divers strong men 
 in caps were balancing chests of drawers and 
 other trifles of that nature upon their heads, 
 and performing muscular feats which heightened 
 their complexions considerably. Not to be be- 
 hindhand in the bustle, Mr. Quilp went to work 
 with surprising vigour ; hustling and driving the 
 people about, like an evil spirit ; setting Mrs. 
 Quilp upon all kinds of arduous and impracti- 
 cable tasks ; carrying great weights up and down 
 with no apparent effort ; kicking the boy from 
 the wharf whenever he could get near him ; and 
 inflicting, with his' loads, a great many sly bumps 
 and blows on the shoulders of Mr. Brass, as he 
 stood upon the door-steps to answer all the in- 
 quiries of curious neighbours : which was his de- 
 partment. His presence and example diffused 
 such alacrity among the persons employed, that, 
 in a few hours, the house was emptied of every- 
 thing but pieces of matting, empty porter pots, 
 and scattered fragments of straw. 
 
 Seated, like an African chief, on one of these 
 pieces of matting, the dwarf was regaling himself 
 in the parlour, with bread and cheese and beer, 
 when he observed, without appearing to do so, 
 that a boy was prying in at the outer door. 
 Assured that it was Kit, though he saw little 
 more than his nose, Mr. Quilp hailed him by his 
 name ; whereupon Kit came in and demanded 
 what he wanted. 
 
 " Come here, you sir," said the dwarf. " Well, 
 so your old master and yoiing mistress have 
 gone ? " 
 
 " Where ? " rejoined Kit, looking round. 
 
 " Do you mean to say you don't know where ? " 
 answered Quilp sharply. " Where have they 
 .gone, eh?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Kit. 
 
 " Come," retorted Quilp, " let's have no more 
 of this. Do you mean to say that you don't 
 know they went away by stealth, as soon as it 
 was light this morning ? " 
 
 " No," said the boy in evident surprise. 
 
 *' You don't know that ? " cried Quilp. 
 " Don't I know that you were hanging about 
 the house the other night, like a thief, eh ? 
 \Veren't you told then ? " 
 
 " No," replied the boy. 
 
 " You were not ? " said Quilp. " What were 
 you told then ; what were you talking about ? " 
 
 Kit, who knew no particular reason why he 
 
52 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 should keep the matter secret now, related the 
 purpose for which he had come on that occasion, 
 and the proposal he had made. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the dwarf after a little considera- 
 tion. "Then I think they'll come to you yet." 
 
 " Do you think they will ? " cried Kit 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Ay, I think they will," returned the dwarf. 
 " Now, when they do, let me know ; d'ye hear ? 
 Let me know, and I'll give you something. I 
 
 I want to do 'em a kindness, and I can't do 'em a 
 j kindness unless I know where they are. You 
 hear what I say ? " 
 
 Kit might have returned some answer which 
 would not have been agreeable to his irascible 
 questioner, if the boy from the wharf, who had 
 been skulking about the room in search of any- 
 thing that might have been left about by acci- 
 dent, had not happened to cry, " Here's a bird ! 
 What's to be done with this ? " 
 
 NOT TO BE BEHINDHAND IN THE BUSTLE, MR. QUILP WENT TO WORK WITH SURPRISING VIGOUR." 
 
 " Wring its neck," rejoined Quilp. 
 
 " Oh no, don't do that ! " said Kit, stepping 
 forward. " Give it to me." 
 
 *' Oh yes, I dare say ! " cried the other boy. 
 " Come ! You let the cage alone, and let me 
 wring its neck, will you ? He said I was to do 
 it. You let the cage alone, will you ? " 
 I " Give it here, give it to me, you dogs ! " 
 roared Quilp. " Fight for it, you dogs, or I'll 
 wring its neck myself ! " 
 
 Without further persuasion, the two boys fell 
 
 upon each other, tooth and nail, while Quilp, 
 holding up the cage in one hand, and chopping 
 the ground with his knife in an ecstasy, urged 
 them on by his taunts and cries to fight more 
 fiercely. They were a pretty equal match, and 
 rolled about together, exchanging blows which 
 were by no means child's play, until at length 
 Kit, planting a well-directed hit in his adversary's 
 chest, disengaged himself, sprung nimbly up, 
 and, snatching the cage from Quilp's hands, 
 made off with his prize. 
 
NELLY'S BIRD. 
 
 53 
 
 He did not stop once until he reached home, 
 where his bleeding face occasioned great con- 
 sternation, and caused the elder child to howl 
 dreadfully. 
 
 " Goodness gracious, Kit, what is the matter, 
 what have you been doing?" cried Mrs. 
 Nubbles. 
 
 " Never you mind, mother," answered her son, 
 wiping his face on the jack-towel behind the 
 door. " I'm not hurt, don't you be afraid for 
 me. I've been a fightin' for a bird, and won him, 
 that's all. Hold your noise, little Jacob. I 
 never see such a naughty boy in all my days." 
 
 " You have been a fighting for a bird ! " ex- 
 claimed his mother. 
 
 "Ah! Fightin' for a bird.!" replied Kit, 
 "and here he is — Miss Nelly's bird, mother, 
 that they was a-goin' to wring the neck of ! I 
 stopped that, though. Ha, ha, ha! They 
 wouldn't wring his neck, and me by, no, no. It 
 wouldn't do, mother, it wouldn't do at all. Ha, 
 ha, ha ! " 
 
 Kit laughing so heartily, with his swollen and 
 bruised face looking out of the towel, made little 
 Jacob laugh, and then his mother laughed, and 
 then the baby crowed and kicked with great 
 glee, and then they all laughed in concert : 
 partly because of Kit's triumph, and partly bcr 
 cause they were very fond of each other. When 
 this fit was over, Kit exhibited the bird to both 
 children, as a great and precious rarity — it was 
 only a poor linnet — and, looking about the wall 
 for an old nail, made a scaffolding of a chair 
 and table, and twisted it out with great exulta- 
 tion. 
 
 " Let me see," said the boy ; " I think I'll 
 hang him in the winder, because it's more light 
 and cheerful, and he can see the sky there, if he 
 looks up very much. He's such a one to sing, 
 I can tell you ! " 
 
 So, the scaffolding was made again, and Kit, 
 cUmbing up with the poker for a hammer, 
 knocked in the nail and hung up the cage, to 
 the immeasurable delight of the whole family. 
 When it had been adjusted and straightened a 
 great many times, and he had walked backwards 
 into the fire-place in his admiration of it, the 
 arrangement was pronounced to be perfect. 
 
 " And now, mother," said the boy, " before I 
 rest any more, I'll go out and see if I can find a 
 horse to hold, and then I can buy some bird- 
 seed, and a bit of something nice for you into 
 the bargain." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 S it was very easy for Kit to persuade 
 himself that the old house was in his 
 way, his way being anywhere, he tried 
 to look upon his passing it once more 
 as a matter of imperative and dis- 
 agreeable necessity, quite apart from 
 any desire of his own, to which he 
 could not choose but yield. It is not 
 uncommon, for people who are much better fed 
 and taught than Christopher Nubbles had ever 
 been, to make duties of their inclinations in 
 matters of more doubtful propriety, and to take 
 great credit for the self-denial with which they 
 gratify themselves. 
 
 There was no need of any caution this time, 
 and no fear of being detained by having to play 
 out a return match with Daniel Quilp's boy. 
 The place was entirely deserted, and looked as 
 dusty and dingy as if it had been so for months. 
 A rusty padlock was fastened on the. door, ends 
 of discoloured blinds and curtains flapped 
 drearily against the half-opened upper windows, 
 and the crooked holes cut in the closed shutters 
 below were black with the darkness of the in- 
 side. Some of the glass in the window he had 
 so often watched had been broken in the rough 
 hurry of the morning, and that room looked 
 more deserted and dull than any. A group of 
 idle urchins had taken possession of the door- 
 steps ; some were plying the knocker, and listen- 
 ing with delighted dread to the hollow sounds it 
 spread through the dismantled house ; others 
 were clustered about the keyhole, watching^ 
 half in jest and half in earnest, for " the ghost," 
 which an hour's gloom, added to the mystery 
 that hung about the late inhabitants, had already 
 raised. Standing all alone in the midst of the 
 business and bustle of the street, the house 
 looked a picture of cold desolation ; and Kit, 
 who remembered the cheerful fire that used to 
 burn there on a winter's night, and the no less 
 cheerful laugh that made the small room ring, 
 turned quite mournfully away. 
 
 It must be especially observed, in justice to 
 poor Kit, that he was by no means of a senti- 
 mental turn, and perhaps had never heard that 
 adjective in all his life. He was only a soft- 
 hearted, grateful fellow, and had nothing genteel 
 or poHte about him ; consequently, instead of 
 going home again, in his grief, to kick the chil- 
 dren and abuse his mother (for, when your 
 finely-strung people are out of sorts, they must 
 have everybody else unhappy likewise), he 
 turned his thoughts to the vulgar expedient of 
 making them more comfortable if he could. 
 
54 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 Bless us, what a number of gentlemen on 
 horseback there were riding up and down, and 
 how few of them wanted their horses held ! A 
 good City speculator or a parliamentary commis- 
 sioner could have told to a fraction, from the 
 crowds that were cantering about, what sum of 
 money was realised in London, in the course 
 of a year, by holding horses alone. And un- 
 doubtedly it would have been a very large one, 
 if only a twentieth part of the gentlemen with- 
 out grooms had had occasion to alight ; but 
 they had not ; and it is often an ill-natured cir- 
 , cumstance like this which spoils the most inge- 
 nious estimate in the world. 
 
 Kit walked about, now with quick steps and 
 now with slow ; now lingering as some rider 
 slackened his horse's pace and looked about 
 him ; and now darting at full speed up a by- 
 street as he caught a glimpse of some distant 
 horseman going lazily up the shady side of the 
 road, and promising to stop at every door. 
 But on they all went, one after another, and 
 there was not a penny stirring. " I wonder," 
 thought the boy, "if one of these gentlemen 
 knew there was nothing in the cupboard at 
 home, whether he'd stop on purpose, and make 
 believe that he wanted to call somewhere, that 
 I might earn a trifle ? " 
 
 He was quite tired out with pacing the streets, 
 to say nothing of repeated disappointments, and 
 was sitting down upon a step to rest, when 
 there approached towards him a little clattering, 
 jingling four-wheeled chaise, drawn by a little 
 obstinate-looking rough-coated pony, and driven 
 by a little fat placid-faced old gentleman. Be- 
 side the little old gentleman sat a little old lady, 
 plump and placid hke himself, and the pony was 
 coming along at his own pace, and doing exactly 
 as he pleased with the whole concern. If the 
 old gentleman remonstrated by shaking the 
 reins, the pony replied by shaking his head. It 
 was plain that the utmost the pony would con- 
 sent to do was to go in his own way up any 
 street that the old gentleman particularly wished 
 to traverse, but that it was an understanding 
 between them that he must do this after his 
 own fashion, or not at all. 
 
 As they passed where he sat, Kit looked so 
 wistfully at the little turn-out, that the old gen- 
 tleman looked at him. Kit rising and putting 
 his hand to his hat, the old gentleman intimated 
 to the pony that he wished to stop, to which pro- 
 ]iosal the pony (who seldom objected to that 
 part of his duty) graciously acceded. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Kit. " I'm 
 sorry you stopped, sir. I only meant did you 
 want your horse minded?" 
 
 " I'm going to get down in the next street," 
 returned the old gentleman. " If you like to 
 come on after us, you may have the job." 
 
 Kit thanked him, and joyfully obeyed. The 
 pony ran off at a sharp angle to inspect a lamp- 
 post on the opposite side of the way, and then 
 went off at a tangent to another lamp-post on 
 the other side. Having satisfied himself that 
 they were of the same pattern and materials, he 
 came to a stop, apparently absorbed in medita- 
 tion. 
 
 " Will you go on, sir," said the old gentleman 
 gravely, " or are we to wait here for you till it's 
 too late for our appointment ?" 
 
 The pony remained immovable. 
 
 "Oh, you naughty Whisker ! " said the old lady. 
 " Fie upon you ! I am ashamed of such con- 
 duct." 
 
 The pony appeared to be touched by this 
 appeal to his feelings, for he trotted on directly, 
 though in a sulky manner, and stopped no more 
 until he came to a door whereon was a brass 
 plate with the words " Witherden — Notary." 
 Here the old gentleman got out and helped out 
 the old lady, and then took from under the seat 
 a nosegay resembling in shape and dimensions 
 a full-sized warm.ing-pan with the handle cut 
 short oft". This, the old lady carried into the 
 house with a staid and stately air, and the old 
 gentleman (who had a club-foot) followed close 
 upon her. 
 
 They went, as it was easy to tell from the 
 sound of their voices, into the front parlour, 
 which seemed to be a kind of office. The day 
 being very warm and the street a quiet one, the 
 windows were wide open ; and it was easy to 
 hear through the Venetian blinds all that passed 
 inside. 
 
 At first there was a great shaking of hands 
 and shuffling of feet, succeeded by the presenta- 
 tion of the nosegay ; for a voice, supposed by the 
 listener to be that of Mr. Witherden, the notary, 
 was heard to exclaim a great many times, " Oh, 
 deUcious !" " Oh, fragrant indeed 1" and a nose, 
 also supposed to be the property of that gentle- 
 man, was heard to inhale the scent with a snuffle 
 of exceeding pleasure. 
 
 " I brought it in honour of the occasion, sir," 
 said the old lady. 
 
 " Ah ! an occasion indeed, ma'am ; an occa- 
 sion which does honour to me, ma'am, honour 
 to me," rejoined Mr. Witherden, the notary. " I 
 have had many a gentleman articled to me, 
 ma'am, many a one. Some of them are now 
 rolling in riches, unmindful of their old com- 
 panion and friend, ma'am; others are in the 
 habit of calling upon me to this day and saying, 
 
NEW FRIENDS FOR KIT. 
 
 55 
 
 ' Mr. Witherden, some of the pleasantest hours 
 I ever speiit in my lite were spent in this office 
 — were spent, sir, upon this very stool ; ' but 
 there was never one among the number, ma'am, 
 attached as I have been to many of them, of 
 whom I augured such bright things as I do of 
 your only son." 
 
 " Oh dear ! " said the old lady. '' How happy 
 you do make us when you tell us that, to be sure ! " 
 
 " I tell you, ma'am," said Mr. Witherden, 
 *' what I think as an honest man, which, as the 
 poet observes, is the noblest work of God. I 
 agree with the poet in every particular, ma'am. 
 The mountainous Alps on the one hand, or a 
 humming-bird on the other, is nothing, in point 
 of workmanship, to an honest man — or woman 
 — or woman." 
 
 "Anything that Mr. Witherden can say of me," 
 observed a small quiet voice, " I can say, with 
 interest, of him, I am sure." 
 
 '• It's a happy circumstance, a truly happy cir- 
 cumstance," said the notary, " to happen too upon 
 his eight-and-twentieth birthday, and I hope I 
 know how to appreciate it. I trust, Mr. Gar- 
 land, my dear sir, that we may mutually congratu- 
 late each other upon this auspicious occasion." 
 
 To this the old gentleman replied that he felt 
 assured they might. There appeared to be 
 another shaking of hands in consequence, and, 
 when it was over, the old gentleman said that, 
 though he said it who should not, he believed no 
 son had ever been a greater comfort to his 
 parents than Abel Garland had been to his. 
 
 " Marrying, as his mother and I did, late in 
 life, sir, after waiting for a great many years, 
 until we were well enough off — coming together 
 when we were no longer young, and then being 
 blessed with one child who has always been 
 dutiful and aftectionate — why, it's a source of 
 great happiness to us both, sir." 
 
 " Of course it is, I have no doubt of it," re- 
 turned the notary in a sympathising voice. "It's 
 the contemplation of this sort of thing that makes 
 me deplore my fate in being a bachelor. There 
 was a young lady once, sir, the daughter of an 
 outfitting warehouse of the first respectability — 
 but that's a weakness. Chuckster, bring in Mr. 
 Abel's articles.' 
 
 " You see, Mr. Witherden," said the old lady, 
 " that Abel- has not been brought up like the 
 run of young men. He has always had a pleasure 
 in our society, and always been with us. Abel 
 has never been absent from us for a day ; has 
 he, my dear?" 
 
 " Never, my dear," returned the old gentle- 
 man, " except when he went to Margate one 
 Saturday with Mr. Tomkinley, that had been a 
 
 teacher at that school he went to, and came 
 back upon the Monday; but he was very ill 
 after that, you remember, my dear ; it was quite 
 a dissipation." 
 
 " He was not used to it, you know," said the 
 old lady ; " and he couldn't bear it, that's the 
 truth. Besides, he had no comfort in being 
 there without us, and had nobody to talk to or 
 enjoy himself with." 
 
 " That was it, you know," interposed the same 
 small quiet voice that had spoken once before. 
 " I was quite abroad, mother, quite desolate, 
 and to think that the sea was between us — oh, I 
 never shall forget what I felt when I first thought 
 that the sea was between us !" 
 
 "Very natural under the circumstances," ob- 
 served the notary. " Mr. Abel's feelings did 
 credit to his nature, and credit to your nature, 
 ma'am, and his father's nature, and human 
 nature. I trace the same current now, flowing 
 through all his quiet and unobtrusive proceed- 
 ings. — I am about to sign my name, you observe, 
 at the foot of the articles which Mr. Chuckster 
 will witness ; and placing my finger upon this 
 blue wafer with the vandyked corners, I am 
 constrained to remark in a distinct tone of voice 
 — don't be alarmed, ma'am, it is merely a form 
 of law — that I deliver this as my act and deed. 
 Mr. Abel will place his name against the other 
 wafer, repeating the same cabalistic words, and 
 the business is over. Ha, ha, ha ! You see 
 how easily these things are done !" 
 
 There was a short silence, apparently, while 
 Mr. Abel went through the prescribed form, and 
 then the shaking of hands and shuffling of feet 
 were renewed, and shortly afterwards there was 
 a clinking of wine-glasses and a great talkative- 
 ness on the part of everybody. In about a 
 quarter of an hour Mr. Chuckster (with a pen 
 behind his ear and his face inflamed with wine) 
 appeared at the door, and, condescending to 
 address Kit by the jocose appellation of " Young 
 Snob," informed him that the visitors were 
 coming out. 
 
 Out they came forthwith ; Mr. Witherden, who 
 was short, chubby, fresh-coloured, brisk, and 
 pompous, leading the old lady with extreme 
 politeness, and the father and son following 
 them, arm-in-arm. Mr. Abel, who had a quaint 
 old-fashioned air about him, looked nearly of 
 the same age as his father, and bore a wonderful 
 resemblance to him in face and figure, though 
 wanting something of his full, round cheerful- 
 ness, and substitutmg in its place a timid reserve. 
 In all other respects, in the neatness of the 
 dress, and even in the club-foot, he and the old 
 gentleman were precisely alike. 
 
56 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 Having seen the old lady safely in her seat, 
 and assisted in the arrangement of her cloak and 
 a small basket which formed an indispensable 
 portion of her equipage, Mr. Abel got into a 
 little box behind which had evidently been 
 made for his express accommodation, and smiled 
 at everybody present by turns, beginning with 
 his mother and ending with the pony. There 
 was then a great to-do to make the pony hold 
 up his head, that the bearing-rein might be 
 fastened ; at last even this was effected ; and 
 the old gentleman, taking his seat and the reins, 
 put his hands in his pocket to find a sixpence 
 for Kit. 
 
 He had no sixpences, neither had the old 
 lady, nor Mr. Abel, nor the notary, nor Mr. 
 Chuckster. The old gentleman thought a shilling 
 too much, but there was no shop in the street 
 to get change at, so he gave it to the boy. 
 
 "There," he said jokingly, " I'm coming here 
 again next Monday at the same time, and mind 
 you're here, my lad, to work it out."" 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Kit. " I'll be sure to 
 be here." 
 
 He was quite serious, but they all laughed 
 heartily at his saying so, especially Mr. Chuck- 
 ster, who roared outright, and appeared to 
 relish the joke amazingly. As the pony, with a 
 presentiment that he was going home, or a de- 
 termination that he would not go anywhere else 
 (which was the same thing), trotted away pretty 
 nimbly, Kit had no time to justify himself, and 
 went his way also. Having expended his 
 treasure in such purchases as he knew would be 
 most acceptable at home, not forgetting some 
 seed for the wonderful bird, he hastened back 
 as fast as he could, so elated with his success 
 and great good fortune, that he more than half 
 expected Nell and the old man would have 
 arrived before him. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 FTEN, while they were yet pacing 
 the silent streets of the town on the 
 morning of their departure, the child 
 trembled with a mingled sensation 
 of hope and fear as, in some far-off 
 figure imperfectly seen in the clear 
 distance, her fancy traced a likeness to 
 honest Kit. But although she would 
 gladly have given him her hand, and thanked 
 him for what he had said at their last meeting, 
 it was always a relief to find, when they came 
 nearer to each other, that the person who ap- 
 proached was not he, but a stranger ; for even 
 
 if she had not dreaded the effect which the sight 
 of him might have wrought upon her fellow- 
 traveller, she felt that to bid farewell to anybody 
 now, and most of all to him who had been so 
 faithful and so true, was more than she could 
 bear. It was enough to leave dumb things 
 behind, and objects that were insensible both to 
 her love and sorrow. To have parted from her 
 only other friend, upon the threshold of that 
 wild journey, would have wrung her heart 
 indeed. 
 
 Why is it that we can better bear to part in 
 spirit than in body, and while we have the for- 
 titude to act farewell have not the nerve to say 
 it ? On the eve of long voyages or an absence 
 of many years, friends who are tenderly attached 
 will separate with the usual look, the usual 
 pressure of the hand, planning one final inter- 
 view for the morrow, while each well knows that 
 it is but a poor feint to save the pain of uttering 
 that one word, and that the meeting will never 
 be. Should possibilities be worse to bear than 
 certainties ? We do not shun our dying friends ; 
 the not having distinctly taken leave of one 
 among them, whom we left in all kindness and 
 affection, will often embitter the whole remainder 
 of a life. 
 
 The town was glad with morning light ; places 
 that had shown ugly and distrustful all night 
 long, now wore a smile ; and sparkUng sunbeams 
 dancing on chamber windows, and twinkling 
 through blind and curtain before sleepers' eyes, 
 shed light even into dreams, and chased away 
 the shadows of the night. Birds in hot rooms, 
 covered up close and dark, felt it was morning, 
 and chafed and grew restless in their little cells; 
 bright-eyed mice crept back to their tiny homes 
 and nestled timidly together; the sleek house- 
 cat, forgetful of her prey, sat winking at the 
 rays of sun starting through keyhole and cranny 
 in the door, and longed for her stealthy run and 
 warm sleek bask outside. The nobler beasts 
 confined in dens stood motionless behind their 
 bars, and gazed on fluttering boughs, and sun- 
 shine peeping through some little window, with 
 eyes in which old forests gleamed — then trod im- 
 patiently the track their prisoned feet had worn — 
 and stopped and gazed again. Men in their dun- 
 geons stretched their cramped cold limbs, and 
 cursed the stone that no bright sky eould warm. 
 The flowers that sleep by night opened their 
 gentle eyes and turned them to the day. Tiie 
 light, creation's mind, was everywhere, and all 
 things owned its power. 
 
 The two pilgrims, often pressing each other's 
 hands, or exchanging a smile or cheerful look, 
 pursued their way in silence. Bright and happy 
 
WANDERING A WA Y. 
 
 57 
 
 as it was, there was something solemn in the 
 long deserted streets, from which, like bodies 
 without souls, all habitual character and ex- 
 pression had departed, leaving but one dead 
 uniform repose, that made them all alike. All 
 was so still at that early hour, that the {Qvi 
 pale people whom they met seemed as much 
 unsuited to the scene as the sickly lamp which 
 had been here and there left burning was power- 
 less and faint in the full glory of the sun. 
 
 Before they had penetrated very far into the 
 labyrinth of men's abodes which yet lay between 
 them and the outskirts, this aspect began to 
 melt away, and noise and bustle to usurp 
 its place. Some straggling carts and coaches 
 rumbling by, first broke the charm, then others 
 came, then others yet more active, then a 
 crowd. The wonder was, at first, to see a trades- 
 man's room window open, but now it was a rare 
 thing to see one closed ; then, smoke rose slowly 
 from the chimneys, and sashes were thrown up 
 to let in air, and doors were opened, and ser- 
 vant-girls, looking lazily in all directions but 
 their brooms, scattered brown clouds of dust 
 into the eyes of shrinking passengers, or listened 
 disconsolately to milkmen who spoke of country 
 fairs, and told of waggons in the mews, with 
 awnings and all things complete, and gallant 
 swains to boot, which another hour would see 
 upon their journey. 
 
 This quarter passed, they came upon the 
 haunts of commerce and great traffic, where 
 many people were resorting, and business was 
 already rife. The old man looked about him 
 with a startled and bewildered gaze, for these 
 were places that he hoped to shun. He pressed 
 his finger on his lip, and drew the child along 
 by narrow courts and winding ways, nor did he 
 seem at ease until they had left it far behind, 
 often casting a backward look towards it, mur- 
 muring that ruin and self-murder were crouch- 
 ing in every street, and would follow if they 
 scented them ; and that they could not fly too 
 fast. 
 
 Again this quarter passed, they came upon 
 a straggUng neighbourhood, where the mean 
 houses parcelled off in rooms, and windows 
 patched with rags and paper, told of the popu- 
 lous poverty that sheltered there. The shops 
 sold goods that only poverty could buy, and 
 sellers and buyers were pinched and griped 
 alike. Here were poor streets where faded gen- 
 tihty essayed with scanty space and shipwrecked 
 means to make its last feeble stand, but tax- 
 gatherer and creditor came there as elsewhere, 
 and the poverty that yet faintly struggled was 
 hardly less squalid and manifest than that 
 
 which had long ago submitted and given up the 
 game. 
 
 This was a wide, wide track — for the humble 
 followers of the camp of wealth pitch their tents 
 round about it for many a mile — but its charac- 
 ter was still the same. Damp rotten houses, 
 many to let, many yet building, many half built 
 and mouldering away — lodgings where it would 
 be hard to tell which needed pity most, those 
 who let or those who came to take — children, 
 scantily fed and clothed, spread over every 
 street, and sprawling in the dust — scolding 
 mothers stamping their slipshod feet with noisy 
 threats upon the pavement — shabby fathers 
 hurrying with dispirited looks to the occupa- 
 tion which brought them " daily bread " and 
 little more — mangling-women, washerwomen, 
 cobblers, tailors, chandlers, driving their trades 
 in parlours and kitchens and back-rooms and 
 garrets, and sometimes all of them under the 
 same roof — brick-fields skirting gardens paled 
 with staves of old casks, or timber pillaged from 
 houses burnt down, and blackened and blistered 
 by the flames — mounds of dock weed, nettles, 
 coarse grass, and oyster shells heaped m rank 
 confusion — small Dissenting chapels to teach, 
 with no lack of illustration, the miseries of 
 Earth, and plenty ; of new churches, erected 
 with a little superfluous wealth, to show the way 
 to Heaven. 
 
 At length these streets, becoming more strag- 
 gling yet, dwindled and dwindled away, until 
 there were only small garden patches bordering 
 the road, with many a summer-house innocent 
 of paint, and built of old timber or some frag- 
 ments of a boat, green as the tough cabbage- 
 stalks that grew about it, and grottoed at the 
 seams with toadstools and tight-sticking snails. 
 To these succeeded pert cottages, two and two, 
 with plots of ground in front, laid out in angular 
 beds with stiff" box borders and narrow paths 
 between, where footstep never strayed to make 
 the gravel rough. Then, came the public-house, 
 freshly painted in green and white, with tea- 
 gardens and a bowling-green, spurning its old 
 neighbour with the horse- trough where the wag- 
 gons stopped ; then fields ; and then some 
 houses, one by one, of goodly size, with lawns, 
 some even with a lodge where dwelt a porter 
 and his wife. Then came a turnpike ; then 
 fields again with trees and haystacks ; then, a 
 hill ; and on the top of that, the traveller might 
 stop, and — looking back at old St. Paul's loom- 
 ing through the smoke, its cross peeping above 
 the cloud (if the day were clear) and glittering 
 in the sun ; and casting his eyes upon the Babel 
 out of which it grew until he traced it down to the 
 
58 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 furthest outposts of the invading army of bricks 
 and mortar whose station lay for the present 
 nearly at his feet — might feel at last that he was 
 clear of London. 
 
 Near such a spot as this, and in a pleasant 
 field, the old man and his little guide (if guide 
 she were, who knew not whither they were 
 bound) sat down to rest. She had had the pre- 
 caution to furnish her basket with some slices 
 of bread and meat, and here they made their 
 frugal breakfast. 
 
 The freshness of the day, the singing of the 
 birds, the beauty of the waving grass, the deep 
 green leaves, the wild flowers, and the thousand , 
 exquisite scents and sounds that floated in the 
 air, — deep joys to most of us, but most of all to 
 those whose life is in a crowd, or who live soli- 
 tarily in great cities as in the bucket of a human 
 well, — sunk into their breasts and made them 
 very glad. The child had repeated her artless 
 prayers once that morning, more earnestly, per- 
 haps, than she had ever done in all her life, but 
 as she felt all this, they rose to her lips again. 
 The old man took off his hat — he had no 
 memory for the words — but he said amen, and 
 that they were very good. 
 
 There had been an old copy of the Pilgrim's 
 Progress, with strange plates, upon a shelf at 
 home, over which she had often pored whole 
 evenings, wondering whether it was true in 
 every word, and where those distant countries 
 with the curious names might be. As she 
 looked back upon the place they had left, one 
 part of it came strongly on her mind. 
 
 " Dear grandfather," she said, " only that this 
 place is prettier and a great deal better than the 
 real one, if that in the book is like it, I feel as 
 if we were both Christian, and laid down on 
 this grass all the cares and troubles we brought 
 with us ; never to take them up again." 
 
 " No — never to return — never to return," re- 
 plied the old man, waving his hand toward the 
 city. " Thou and I are free of it now, Nell. 
 They shall never lure us back." 
 
 " Are you tired ? " said the child. " Are you 
 sure you don't feel ill from this long walk?" 
 
 " I shall never feel ill again, now that we are 
 once away," was his reply. " Let us be stirring, 
 Nell. We must be further away — a long, long 
 way further. We are too near to stop, and be 
 at rest. Come ! " 
 
 There was a pool of clear water in the field, 
 in which the child laved her hands and face, 
 and cooled her feet before setting forth to walk 
 again. She would have the old man refresh 
 himself in this way too, and making him sit 
 down upon the grass, cast the water on him 
 
 with her hands, and dried it with her simple 
 dress. 
 
 " I can do nothing for myself, my darling," 
 said the grandfather. " I don't know how it is, 
 I could once, but the time's gone. Don't leave 
 me, Nell ; say that thou'It not leave me. I 
 loved thee all the while, indeed I did. If I 
 lose thee too, my dear, I must die !" 
 
 He laid his head upon her shoulder and 
 moaned piteously. The time had been, and a 
 very few days before, when the child could not 
 have restrained her tears, and must have wept 
 with him. But now she soothed him with 
 gentle and tender words, smiled at his thinking 
 they could ever part, and rallied him cheerfully 
 upon the jest. He was soon calmed and fell 
 asleep, singing to him.self in a low voice, like a 
 little child. 
 
 He awoke refreshed, and they continued their 
 journey. The road was pleasant, lying between 
 beautiful pastures and fields of corn, above 
 which, poised high in the clear blue sky, the 
 lark trilled out her happy song. The air came 
 laden with the fragrance it caught upon its way, 
 and the bees, upborne upon its scented breath, 
 hummed forth their drowsy satisfaction as they 
 floated by. 
 
 They were now in the open country ; the 
 houses were very few and scattered at long in- 
 tervals, often miles apart. Occasionally they 
 came upon a cluster of poor cottages, some with 
 a chair or low board put across the open door 
 to keep the scrambling children from the road, 
 others shut up close while all the family were 
 working in the fields. These were often the 
 commencement of a little village : and after an 
 interval came a wheelwright's shed, or perhaps 
 a blacksmith's forge ; then a thriving farm with 
 sleepy cows lying about the yard, and horses 
 peering over the low wall and scampering away 
 when harnessed horses passed upon the road, as 
 though in triumph at their freedom. There were 
 dull pigs too, turning up the ground in search 
 of dainty food, and grunting their monotonous 
 grumblings as they prowled about, or crossed 
 each other in their quest ; plump pigeons skim- 
 ming round the roof or strutting on the eaves ; 
 and ducks and geese, far more graceful in their 
 own conceit, waddling awkwardly about the 
 edges of the pond, or sailing glibly on its sur- 
 face. The farmyard passed, then came the little 
 inn ; the humbler beer-shop ; and the village 
 tradesman's ; then the lawyer's and the parson's, 
 at whose dread names the beer-shop trembled ; 
 the church then peeped out modestly from a 
 clump of trees; then there were a few more 
 cottages; then the cage, and pound, and not 
 
STILL WANDERING. 
 
 59 
 
 unfrequently, on a bank by the wayside, a deep 
 old dusty well. Then came the trim-hedged 
 fields on either hand, and the open road again. 
 
 They walked all day, and slept that night at a 
 small cottage where beds were let to travellers. 
 Next morning they were afoot again, and though 
 jaded at first, and very tired, recovered before 
 long, and proceeded briskly forward. 
 
 They often stopped to rest, but only for a 
 short space at a time, and still kept on, having 
 had but slight refreshment since the morning. 
 It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon when, 
 drawing near another cluster of labourers' huts, 
 the child looked wistfully in each, doubtful at 
 which to ask for permission to rest awhile, and 
 buy a draught of milk. 
 
 It was not-easy to determine, for she was timid, 
 and fearful of being repulsed. Here was a cry- 
 ing child, and there a noisy wife. In this, the 
 people seemed too poor ; in that, too many. At 
 length she stopped at one where the family were 
 seated round a table — chiefly because there was 
 an old man sitting in a cushioned chair beside 
 the hearth, and she thought he was a grandfather, 
 and would feel for hers. 
 
 There were, besides, the cottager and his wife, 
 and three young sturdy children, brown as berries. 
 The request was no sooner preferred than granted. 
 The eldest boy ran out to fetch some milk, the 
 second dragged two stools towards the door, and 
 the youngest crept to his mother's gown, and 
 looked at the strangers from beneath his sun- 
 burnt hand. 
 
 " God save you, master," said the old cottager 
 in a thin piping voice ; " are you travelling far?'.' 
 
 " Yes, sir, a long way," replied the child ; for 
 her grandfather appealed to her. 
 
 " From London ?" inquired the old man. 
 
 The child said yes. 
 
 Ah ! he had been in London many a time — 
 used to go there often once, with waggons. It 
 was nigh two-and-thirty year since he had been 
 there last, and he did hear say there were great 
 changes. Like enough ! He had changed him- 
 self, since then. Two-and thirty year was a long 
 time, and eighty-four a great age, though there 
 was some he. had known that had lived to very 
 hard upon a hundred — and not so hearty as he 
 neither — no, nothing like it. 
 
 "Sit thee down, master, in the elbow-chair," 
 said the old man, knocking his stick upon the 
 brick floor, and trying to do so sharply. " Take 
 a pinch out o' that box; I don't take much 
 myself, for it comes dear, but I find it wakes me 
 up sometimes, and ye're but a boy to me. I 
 should have a son pretty nigh as old as you if 
 he'd lived, but they listed him for a so'ger — he 
 
 come back home, though, for all he had but one 
 poor leg. He always said he'd be buried near 
 the sun-dial he used to climb upon when he was 
 a baby, did my poor boy, and his words come 
 true — you can see the place with your own eyes ; 
 we've kept the turf up ever since." 
 
 He shook his head, and looking at his daughter 
 with watery eyes, said she needn't be afraid that 
 he was going to talk about that any more. He 
 didn't wish to trouble nobody, and if he had 
 troubled anybody by what he said, he asked 
 pardon, that was all. 
 
 The milk arrived, and the child producing her 
 little basket and selecting its best fragments for 
 her grandfather, they made a hearty meal. The 
 furniture of the room was very homely, of course 
 — a few rough chairs and a table, a corner cup- 
 board with their little stock of crockery and delf, 
 a gaudy tea-tray, representing a lady in bright 
 red, walking out with a very blue parasol, a few 
 common, coloured Scripture subjects in frames 
 upon the wall and chimney, an old dwarf clothes- 
 press and an eight-day clock, with a few bright 
 saucepans and a kettle, comprised the whole. 
 But everything was clean and neat, and as the 
 child glanced round, she felt a tranquil air of 
 comfort and content to which she had long been 
 unaccustomed. 
 
 "How far is it to any town or village?" she 
 asked of the husband. 
 
 " A matter of good five mile, my dear," was 
 the reply; "but you're not going on to-night?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, Nell," said the old man hastily, 
 urging her too by signs. " Further on, further 
 on, darling, further away, if we walk till mid- 
 night." 
 
 " There's a good barn hard by, master," said 
 the man, "or there's travellers lodging, I know, 
 at the Plow an' Harrer. Excuse me, but you 
 do seem a little tired, and unless you're very 
 anxious to get on " 
 
 " Yes, yes, we are," returned the old man 
 fretfully. " Further away, dear Nell, pray further 
 away." 
 
 "We must go on, indeed," said the child, 
 yielding to his restless wish. " We thank you 
 very much, but we cannot stop so soon. I'm 
 quite ready, grandfather." 
 
 But the woman had observed, from the young 
 wanderer's gait, that one of her little feet was 
 blistered and sore, and, being a woman and a 
 mother too, she would not suffer her to go until 
 she had washed the place and- applied some 
 simple remedy, which she did so carefully and 
 with such a gentle hand — rough-grained and 
 hard though it was with work — that the child's 
 heart was too full to admit of her saying more 
 
6o 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 than a fervent " God bless you !" nor could she 
 look back nor trust herself to speak, until they 
 had left the cottage some distance behind. 
 When she turned her head, she saw that the 
 whole family, even the old grandfather, were 
 standing in the road watching them as they 
 went, and so with many waves of the hand, and 
 cheering nods, and on one side at least not 
 without tears, they parted company. 
 
 They trudged forward more slowly and pain- 
 fully than they had done yet, for another mile or 
 thereabouts, when they heard the sound of 
 wheels behind them, and looking round, ob- 
 served an empty cart approaching pretty briskly. 
 The driver, on coming up to them, stopped his 
 horse, and looked earnestly at Nell. 
 
 " Didn't you stop to rest at a cottage yonder ? " 
 he said. 
 
 '' Yes, sir," replied the child. 
 
 " Ah ! They asked me to look out for you," 
 said the man. ' " I'm going your way. Give me 
 your hand — ^jump up, master." 
 
 This was a great relief, for they were very 
 much fatigued, and could scarcely crawl along. 
 To them the jolting cart was a luxurious carriage, 
 and the ride the most delicious in the world. 
 Nell had scarcely settled herself on a little heap 
 of straw in one corner, when she fell asleep, for 
 the first time that day. 
 
 She was awakened by the stopping of the cart, 
 which was about to turn up a b3f-lane. The 
 driver kindly got down to help her out, and 
 pointing to some trees at a very short distance 
 before them, said that the town lay there, and 
 that they had better take the path which they 
 would see leading through the churchyard. 
 Accordingly, towards this spot they directed 
 their weary steps. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 HE sun was settingwhen they reached 
 the wicket-gate at which the path 
 began, and, as the rain falls upon 
 the just and unjust alike, it shed its 
 warm tint even upon the resting- 
 laces of the dead, and bade them be of 
 good hope for its rising on the morrow, 
 church was old and grey, with ivy 
 clinging to the walls, and round the porch. 
 Shunning the tombs, it crept about the mounds, 
 beneath which slept poor humble men : twining 
 for them the first wreaths they had ever won, 
 but wreaths less liable to wither, and far more 
 lasting in their kind, than some which were 
 graven deep in stone and marble, and told in 
 
 pompous terms of virtues meekly hidden for 
 many a year, and only revealed at last to exe- 
 cutors and mourning legatees. 
 
 The clergyman's horse, stumbling with a dull 
 blunt sound among the graves, was cropping the 
 grass ; at once deriving orthodox consolation 
 from the dead parishioners, and enforcing last 
 Sunday's text that this was what all flesh came 
 to ; a lean ass who had sought to expound it 
 also, without being qualified and ordained, was 
 pricking his ears in an empty pound hard by, 
 and looking with hungry eyes upon his priestly 
 neighbour. 
 
 The old man and the child quitted the gravel 
 path, and strayed among the tombs ; for there 
 the ground was soft, and easy to their tired feet. 
 As they passed behind the church, they heard 
 voices near at hand, and presently came on 
 those who had spoken. 
 
 They were two men who were seated in easy 
 attitudes upon the grass, and so busily engaged 
 as to be at first unconscious of intruders. It was 
 not difficult to divine that they were of a class 
 of itinerant showmen — exhibitors of the freaks 
 of Punch — for, perched cross-legged upon a 
 tombstone behind them was a figure of that hero 
 himself, his nose and chin as hooked and his 
 face as beaming as usual. Perhaps his imper- 
 turbable character was never more strikingly 
 developed, for he preserved his usual equable 
 smile, notwithstanding that his body was dangling 
 in a most uncomfortable position, all loose and 
 limp and shapeless, while his long peaked cap, 
 unequally balanced against his exceedingly slight 
 legs, threatened every instant to bring him top- 
 pling down. 
 
 In part scattered upon the ground at the feet 
 of the two men, and in part jumbled together in 
 a long flat box, were the other persons of the 
 Drama. The hero's wife and one child, the 
 hobby-horse, the doctor, the foreign gentleman 
 who, not being familiar with the language, is 
 unable in the representation to express his ideas 
 otherwise than by the utterance of the word 
 '' Shallabalah " three distinct times, the radical 
 neighbour who will by no means admit that a 
 tin bell is an organ, the executioner, and the 
 devil, were all here. Their owners had evidently 
 come to that spot to make some needful repairs 
 in the stage arrangements, for one of them was 
 engaged in binding together a small gallows 
 with thread, while the other was intent upon 
 fixing a new black wig, with the aid of a small 
 hammer and some tacks, upon the head of the 
 radical neighbour, who had been beaten bald. 
 
 They raised their eyes when the old man and 
 his young companion were close upon them, and 
 
PUNCH IN THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 6i 
 
 pausing in their work, returned their looks of 
 curiosity. One of them, the actual exhibitor no 
 doubt, was a little merry-faced man with a 
 twinkling eye and a red nose, who seemed to 
 have unconsciously imbibed something of his 
 hero's character. The other — that was he who 
 took the money — had rather a careful and 
 cautious look, which was perhaps inseparable 
 from his occupation also. 
 
 The merry man was the first to greet the 
 strangers with a nod ; and following the old 
 man's eyes, he observed that perhaps that was 
 the first time he had ever seen a Punch off the 
 stage. (Punch, it may be remarked, seemed to 
 be pointing with the tip of his cap to a most 
 flourishing epitaph, and to be chuckling over it 
 with all his heart.) 
 
 " Why do you come here to do this ?" said 
 the old man, sitting down beside them, and 
 looking at the figures with extreme delight. 
 
 " Why, you see," rejoined the little man, 
 " we're putting up for to-night at the public- 
 house yonder, and it wouldn't do to let 'em see 
 the present company undergoing repair." 
 
 "No!" cried the old man, making signs to 
 Nell to listen ; " why not, eh? why not?" 
 
 " Because it would destroy all the delusion, 
 and take away all the interest, wouldn't it?" 
 replied the little man. " Would you care a 
 ha'penny for the Lord Chancellor if you knowed 
 him in private and without his wig ? Certainly 
 not." 
 
 " Good ! " said the old man, venturing to 
 touch one of the puppets, and drawing away 
 his hand with a shrill laugh. " Are you going 
 to show 'em to-night ? Are you ? " 
 
 " That is the intention, governor," replied the 
 other, " and, unless I'm much mistaken. Tommy 
 Codlin is a calculating at this minute what we've 
 lost through your coming upon us. Cheer up, 
 Tommy, it can't be much," 
 
 The little man accompanied these latter words 
 with a wink, expressive of the estimate he had 
 formed of the travellers' finances. 
 
 To this Mr. Codlin, who had a surly, grum- 
 bling manner, replied, as he twitched Punch off 
 the tombstone and flung him into the box : 
 
 " I don't care if we haven't lost a farden, but 
 you're too free. If you stood in front of the 
 curtain and see the public's faces as I do, you'd 
 know human natur' better." 
 
 " Ah ! it's been the spoiling of you. Tommy, 
 your taking to that branch," rejoined his com- 
 panion. " When you played the ghost in the 
 reg'lar drama in the fairs, you believed in every- 
 thing — except ghosts. But now you're a universal 
 mistruster. I never see a man so changed." 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 5. 
 
 " Never mind," said Mr. Codlin with the air 
 of a discontented philosopher. " I know better 
 now, and p'raps I'm sorry for it." 
 
 Turning over the figures in the box like one 
 who knew and despised them, Mr. Codlin drew 
 one forth, and held it up for the inspection of 
 his friend : 
 
 "Look here; here's all this Judy's clothes 
 falling to pieces again. You haven't got a 
 needle and thread I suppose ? " 
 
 The little man shook his head, and scratched 
 it ruefully as he contemplated this severe indis- 
 position of a principal performer. Seeing that 
 they were at a loss, the child said timidly : 
 
 " I have a needle, sir, in my basket, and 
 thread too. Will you let me try to mend it for 
 you ? I think I can do it neater than you 
 could." 
 
 Even Mr. Codlin had nothing to urge against 
 a proposal so seasonable. Nelly, kneeling down 
 beside the box, was soon busily engaged in her 
 task, and accomplishing it to a miracle. 
 
 While she was thus engaged, the merry little 
 man looked at her with an interest which did 
 not appear to be diminished when he glanced 
 at her helpless companion. When she had 
 finished her work he thanked her, and inquired 
 whither they were travelling. 
 
 " N — no further to-night, I think," said the 
 child, looking towards her grandfather. 
 
 " If you're wanting a place to stop at," the 
 man remarked, " I should advise you to take up 
 at the same house with us. That's it — the long, 
 low, white house there. It's very cheap." 
 
 The old man, notwithstanding his fatigue, 
 would have remained in the churchyard all 
 night if his new acquaintance had stayed there 
 too. -As he yielded to this suggestion a ready 
 and rapturous assent, they all rose and walked 
 away together ; he keeping close to the box of 
 puppets in which he was quite absorbed, the 
 merry little man carrying it slung over his arm 
 by a strap attached to it for the purpose, Nelly 
 having hold of her grandfathers hand, and Mr. 
 Codlin sauntering slowly behind, casting up at 
 the church tower and neighbouring trees such 
 looks as he was accustomed in town practice to 
 direct to drawing-room and nursery windows, 
 when seeking for a profitable spot on which to 
 plant the show. 
 
 The public-house was kept by a fat old land- 
 lord and landlady who made no objection to 
 receiving their new guests, but praised Nelly's 
 beauty, and were at once prepossessed in her 
 behalf. There was no other company in the 
 kitchen but the two showmen, and the child 
 felt very thankful that they had fallen upon 
 
 253 
 
62 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 
 
 such good quarters. The landlady was very- 
 much astonished to learn that they had come 
 all the way from London, and appeared to have 
 no little curiosity touching their farther destina- 
 tion. The child parried her inquiries as well as 
 she could, and with no great trouble, for, find- 
 ing that they appeared to give her pain, the old 
 lady desisted. 
 
 " These two gentlemen have ordered supper 
 in an hour's time," she said, taking her into the 
 bar ; " and your best plan will be to sup with 
 them. Meanwhile, you shall have a little taste 
 of something that'll do you good, for I am sure 
 you must want it after all you have gone through 
 to-day. Now, don't look after the old gentle- 
 man, because, when you've drank that, he shall 
 have some too." 
 
 As nothing could induce the child to leave 
 him alone, however, or to touch anything in 
 which he was not the first and greatest sharer, 
 the old lady was obliged to help him first. When 
 they had been thus refreshed, the whole house 
 hurried away into an empty stable where the 
 show stood, and where, by the light of a i&vf 
 flaring candles stuck round a hoop which hung 
 by a line from the ceiling, it was to be forthwith 
 exhibited. 
 
 And . now Mr. Thomas Codlin, the misan- 
 thrope, after blowing away at the Pan's pipes 
 until he was intensely wretched, took his station 
 on one side of the checked drapery which con- 
 cealed the mover of the figures, and putting his 
 hands in his pockets, prepared to reply to all 
 questions and remarks of Punch, and to make 
 a dismal feint of being his most intimate private 
 friend, of believing in him to the fullest and 
 most unlimited extent, of knowing that he en- 
 joyed day and night a merry and glorious exist- 
 ence in that temple, and that he was at all 
 times and under every circumstance the same 
 intelligent and joyful person that the spectators 
 then beheld him. All this Mr. Codlin did with 
 the air of a man who had made up his mind for 
 the worst, and was quite resigned ; his eyes 
 slowly wandering about during the briskest 
 repartee to observe the effect upon the audi- 
 ence, and particularly the impression made 
 upon the landlord and landlady, which might 
 be productive of very important results in con- 
 nection with the supper. 
 
 Upon this head, however, he had no cause 
 for any anxiety, for the whole performance was 
 applauded to the echo, and voluntary contribu- 
 tions were showered in with a liberahty which 
 testified yet more strongly to the general delight. 
 Among the laughter none was more loud and 
 frequent than the old man's. Nell's was un- 
 
 heard, for she, poor child, with her head droop- 
 ing on his shoulder, had fallen asleep, and slept 
 too soundly to be roused by any of his eff"orts 
 to awaken her to a participation in his glee. 
 
 The supper was very good, but she was too 
 tired to eat, and yet would not leave the old 
 man until she had kissed him in his bed. He, 
 happily insensible to every care and anxiety, sat 
 listening with a vacant smile and admiring face 
 to all that his new friends said ; and it was not 
 until they retired yawning to their room, that he 
 followed the child up-stairs. 
 
 It was but a loft partitioned into two com- 
 partments, where they were to rest, but they 
 were well pleased with their lodging, and had 
 hoped for none so good. The old man was 
 uneasy when he had lain down, and begged 
 that Nell would come and sit at his bedside as 
 she had done for so many nights. She hastened 
 to him, and sat there till he slept. 
 
 There was a little window, hardly more than 
 a chink in the wall, in her room, and when she 
 left him, she opened it, quite wondering at the 
 silence. The sight of the old church and the 
 graves about it in the moonlight, and the dark 
 trees whispering among themselves, made her 
 more thoughtful than before. She closed the 
 window again, and sitting down upon the bed, 
 thought of the life that was before them. 
 
 She had a little money, but it was very little, 
 and when that was gone, they must begin to 
 beg. There was one piece of gold among it, 
 and an emergency might come when its worth 
 to them would be increased a hundred-fold. It 
 would be best to hide this coin, and never pro- 
 duce it unless their case was absolutely despe- 
 rate, and no other resource was left them. 
 
 Her resolution taken, she sewed the piece of 
 gold into her dress, and, going to bed with a 
 lighter heart, sunk into a deep slumber. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 NOTHER bright day shining in 
 through the small casement, and 
 claiming fellowship with the kindred 
 eyes of the child, awoke her. At 
 sight of the strange room and its 
 unaccustomed objects she started 
 up in alarm, wondering how she had 
 been moved from the familiar chamber in 
 which she seemed to have fallen asleep last 
 night, and whither she had been conveyed. 
 But another glance around called to her mind 
 
LITTLE NELL AND THE OLD WOMAN, 
 
 63 
 
 all that had lately passed, and she sprung from 
 her bed, hoping and trustful. 
 
 It was yet early, and the old man being still 
 asleep, she walked out into the churchyard, 
 brushing the dew from the long grass with her 
 feet, and often turning aside into places where 
 it grew longer than in others, that she might not 
 tread upon the graves. She felt a curious kind 
 of pleasure in lingering among these houses of 
 the dead, and read the inscriptions on the tombs 
 of the good people (a great number of good 
 people were buried there), passing on from one 
 to another with increasing interest. 
 
 It was a very quiet place, as such a place 
 should be, save for the cawing of the rooks who 
 had built their nests among the branches of 
 some tall old trees, and were calling to one 
 another, high up in air. First, one sleek bird, 
 hovering near his ragged house as it swung and 
 dangled in the wind, uttered his hoarse cry, 
 quite by chance as it would seem, and in a 
 sober tone, as though he were but talking to 
 himself. Another answered, and he called 
 again, but louder than before ; then another 
 spoke, and then another ; and each time the 
 first, aggravated by contradiction, insisted on 
 his case more strongly. Other voices, silent 
 till now, struck in from boughs lower down and 
 higher up and midway, and to the right and left, 
 and from the tree-tops ; and others, arriving 
 hastily from the grey church turrets and old 
 belfry window, joined the clamour which rose 
 and fell, and swelled and dropped again, and 
 still \^ent on ; and all this noisy contention 
 amidst a skimming to and' fro, and lighting 
 on fresh branches, and frequent change of 
 place, which satirised the old restlessness of 
 those who lay so still beneath the moss and turf 
 below, and the strife in which they had worn 
 away their lives. 
 
 Frequently raising her eyes to the trees 
 whence these sounds came down, and feeling 
 as though they made the place more quiet than 
 perfect silence would have done, the child loi- 
 tered from grave to grave, now stopping to re- 
 place with careful hands the bramble which had 
 started from some green mound it helped to 
 keep in shape, and now peeping through one of 
 the low latticed windows into the church, with 
 its worm-eaten books upon the desks, and baize 
 of whitened green mouldering from the pew- 
 sides and leaving the naked wood to view. 
 There were the seats where the poor old people 
 sat, worn, spare, and yellow like themselves; 
 the rugged font where children had their names, 
 the homely altar where they knelt in after life, 
 the plain black trestles that bore their weight on 
 
 their last visit to the cool old shady church. 
 Everything told of long use and quiet slow 
 decay; the very bell-rope in the porch was 
 frayed into a fringe, and hoary with old age. 
 
 She was looking at a humble stone which 
 told of a young man who had died at twenty- 
 three years old, fifty-five years ago, when she 
 heard a faltering step approaching, and looking 
 round, saw a feeble woman bent with the weight 
 of years, who tottered to the foot of that same 
 grave, and asked her to read the writing on the 
 stone. The old woman thanked her when she 
 had done, saying that she had had the words 
 by heart for many a long, long year, but coukl 
 not see them now. 
 
 " Where you his mother ? " said the child. 
 
 " I was his wife, my dear." 
 
 She the wife of a young man of three-and- 
 twenty !,. Ah, true ! It was fifty-five years ago. 
 
 " You wonder to hear me say that," remarked 
 the old woman, shaking her head. " You're not 
 the first. Older folk than you have wondered at 
 the same thing before now. Yes, I was his wife. 
 Death doesn't change us more than life, my 
 dear." 
 
 " Do you come here often ?" asked the child. 
 
 " I sit here very often in the summer-time," 
 she answered. " I used to come here once to 
 cry and mourn, but that was a weary while ago, 
 bless God ! " 
 
 " I pluck the daisies as they grow, and take 
 them home," said the old woman, after a short 
 silence. " I like no flowers so well as these, and 
 haven't for five-and-fifty years. It's a long time, 
 and I'm getting very old ! " 
 
 Then growing garrulous upon a theme which 
 was new to one listener, though it were but a 
 child, she told her how she had wept and 
 moaned and prayed to die herself, when this 
 happened; and how, when she first came to 
 that place, a young creature strong in love and 
 grief, she had hoped that her heart was break- 
 ing, as it seemed to be. But that time passed 
 by, and although she continued to be sad when 
 she came there, still she could bear to come, 
 and so went on until it was pain no longer, but 
 a solemn pleasure, and a duty she had learned 
 to like. And now that five-and-fifty years were 
 gone, she spoke of the dead man as if he had 
 been her son or grandson, with a kind of pity 
 for his youth, growing out of her own old age, 
 and an exalting of his strength and manly beauty 
 as compared with her own weakness and decay ; 
 and yet she spoke about him as her husband too, 
 and thinking of herself in connection with him 
 as she used to be, and not as she was now, 
 talked of their meeting in another world as if 
 
64 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 he were dead but yesterday, and she, separated 
 from her former self, were thinking of the happi- 
 ness of that comely girl who seemed to have 
 died with him. 
 
 The child left her gathering the flowers that 
 grew upon the grave, and thoughtfully retraced 
 her steps. 
 
 The old man was by this time up and dressed. 
 Mr. Codlin, still doomed to contemplate the 
 harsh realities of existence, was packing among 
 his linen the candle-ends which had been saved 
 Irom the previous night's performance ; while his 
 
 companion received the compliments of all the 
 loungers in the stable-yard, who, unable to sepa- 
 rate him from the master mind of Punch, set 
 him down as next in importance to that merry 
 outlaw, and loved him scarcely less. When he 
 had sufficiently acknowledged his popularity he 
 came in to breakfast, at which meal they all sat 
 down together. 
 
 " And where are you going to-day ? " said the 
 little man, addressing himself to Nell, 
 
 " Indeed I hardly know, — we have xiot deter- 
 mined yet," replied the child. 
 
 ' NELLY, KNEELING DOWN BESIDE THE BOX, WAS SOON BUSILY ENGAGED IN HER TASK." 
 
 " We're going on to the races," said fne little 
 man. " If that's your way, and you like to have 
 us for company, let us travel together. If you 
 prefer going alone, only say the word, and you'll 
 find that we shan't trouble you." 
 
 "We'll go with you," said the old man. 
 " Nell, — with them, with them." 
 
 The child considered for a moment, and re- 
 flecting' that she must shortly beg, and could 
 scarcely hope to do so at a better place than 
 wjiere crowds of rich ladies and gentlemen were 
 assembled together for purposes of enjoyment 
 and festivity, determined to accompany these 
 
 men so far. She therefore thanked the little 
 man for his offer, and said, glancing timidly 
 towards his friend, that if there was no objection 
 to their accompanying them as far as the race 
 town 
 
 " Objection ! " said the little man. " Now be 
 gracious for once, Tommy, and say that you'd 
 rather they went with us. I know you would. 
 Be gracious. Tommy." 
 
 " Trotters," said Mr. Codlin, who talked very 
 slowly and ate very greedily, as is not uncommon 
 with philosophers and misanthropes ; " you're too 
 free." 
 
WITH MESSRS. COD LIN AND SHORT. 
 
 65 
 
 " Why, what harm can it do?" urged the other. 
 
 " No harm at all in this particular case, per- 
 "haps," replied Mr. Codlin ; " but the principle's 
 a dangerous one, and you're too free I tell you." 
 
 " Well, are they to go with us or not ? " 
 
 " Yes, they are," said Mr. Codlin ; " but you 
 might have made a favour of it, mightn't you?" 
 
 The real name of the little man was Harris, 
 but it had gradually merged into the less eupho- 
 nious one of Trotters, which, with the prefatory 
 adjective, Short, had Ijeen conferred upon him 
 by reason of the small size of his legs. Short 
 Trotters, however, being a compound name, in- 
 convenient of use in friendly dialogue, the gentle- 
 man on whom it had been bestowed was known 
 among his intimates either as " Short," or " Trot- 
 ters," and was seldom accosted at full length as 
 Short Trotters, except in formal conversations 
 and on occasions of ceremony. 
 
 Short, then, or Trotters, as the reader pleases, 
 returned unto the remonstrance of his friend Mr. 
 Thomas Codlin a jocose answer calculated to 
 turn aside his discontent ; and applying himself 
 with great relish to the cold boiled beef, the tea, 
 and bread-and-butter, strongly impressed upon 
 his companions that they should do the like. 
 Mr. Codlin, indeed, required no such persuasion, 
 as he had already eaten as much as he could 
 possibly carry, and was now moistening his clay 
 with strong ale, whereof he took deep draughts 
 with a silent relish, and invited nobody to par- 
 take, — thus again strongly indicating his misan- 
 thropical turn of mind. 
 
 Breakfast being at length over, Mr. Codlin 
 called the bill, and charging the ale to the com- 
 pany generally (a practice also savouring of mis- 
 anthropy), divided the sum-total into two fair 
 and equal parts, assigning one moiety to himself 
 and friend, and the other to Nelly and her grand- 
 father. These being duly discharged, and all 
 things ready for their departure, they took fare- 
 well of the landlord aAd landlady, and resumed 
 their journey. 
 
 And here Mr. Codlin's false position in society, 
 and the effect it wrought upon his wounded spirit, 
 were strongly illustrated ; for whereas he had been 
 last night accosted by Mr. Punch as " master," 
 and had by inference left the audience to under- 
 stand that he maintained that individual for his 
 own luxurious entertainment and delight, here he 
 was, now, painfully walking beneath the burden of 
 that same Punch's temple, and bearing it bodily 
 upon his shoulders on a sultry day and along a 
 dusty road. In place of enlivening his patron 
 with a constant fire of wit, or the cheerful rattle 
 of his quarter-staff on the heads of his rela- 
 tions and acquaintance, here was that beaming 
 
 Punch utterly devoid of spine, all slack and 
 drooping in a dark box, with his legs doubled 
 up round his neck, and not one of his social 
 qualities remaining. 
 
 Mr. Codlin trudged heavily on, exchanging a 
 word or two at intervals with Short, and stop- 
 ping to rest and growl occasionally. Short led 
 the way ; with the flat box, the private luggage 
 (which was not extensive) tied up in a bundle, 
 and a brazen trumpet slung from his shoulder- 
 blade. Nell and her grandfather walked next 
 him on either hand, and Thomas Codlin brought 
 up the rear. 
 
 When they came to any town or village, or 
 even to a detached house of good appearance. 
 Short blew a blast upon the brazen trumpet, 
 and carolled a fragment of a song in that hila- 
 rious tone common to Punches and their con- 
 sorts. If people hurried to the windows, Mr. 
 Codlin pitched the temple, and hastily unfurl- 
 ing the drapery and concealing Short therewith, 
 flourished hysterically on the Pipes, and per- 
 formed an air. Then the entertainment began 
 as soon as might be ; Mr. Codlin having the 
 responsibility of deciding on its length, and of 
 protracting or expediting the time for the hero's 
 final triumph over the enemy of mankind, accord- 
 ing as he judged that the after-crop of halfpence 
 would be plentiful or scant. When it had been 
 gathered in to the last farthing, he resumed his 
 load, and on they went again. 
 
 Sometimes they played out the toll across a 
 bridge or ferry, and once exhibited by particular 
 desire at a turnpike, where the collector, being 
 drunk in his solitude, paid down a shilling to 
 have it to himself. There was one small place oi 
 rich promise in which their hopes were blighted, 
 for a favourite character in the play having gold 
 lace upon his coat, and being a meddling, wooden- 
 headed fellow, was held to be a libel on the 
 beadle, for which reason the authorities enforced 
 a quick retreat; but they were generally well 
 received, and seldom left a town without a troop 
 of ragged children shouting at their heels. 
 
 They made a long day's journey, despite 
 these interruptions, and were yet upon the road 
 when the moon was shining in the sky. Short 
 beguiled the time with songs and jests, and made 
 the best of everything that happened. Mr. 
 Codlin, on the other hand, cursed his fate, and 
 all the hollow things of earth (but Punch espe- 
 cially), and limped along with the theatre on his 
 back, a prey to the bitterest chagrin. 
 
 They had stopped to rest beneath a finger- 
 post where four roads met, and Mr. Codlin, in 
 his deep misanthropy, had let down the drapery 
 and seated himself in the bottom of the show, 
 
66 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 invisible to mortal eyes, and disdainful of the 
 company of his fellow-creatures, when two mon- 
 strous shadows were seen stalking towards them 
 from a turning in the road by which they had 
 come. The child was at first quite terrified by 
 the sight of these gaunt giants — for such they 
 looked as they advanced with lofty strides be- 
 neath the shadow of the trees — but Short, tell- 
 ing her there was nothing to fear, blew a blast 
 upon the trumpet, which was answered by a 
 cheerful shout. 
 
 " It's Grinder's lot, an't it?" cried Mr. Short, 
 in a loud key. 
 
 " Yes," replied a couple of shrill voices. 
 
 " Come on, then," said Short. " Let's have a 
 look at you. I thought it was you," 
 
 Thus invited, " Grinder's lot " approached with 
 redoubled speed, and soon came up with the 
 little party. 
 
 Mr. Grinder's company, familiarly termed a 
 lot, consisted of a young gentleman and a young 
 lady on stilts, and Mr. Grinder himself, who 
 used his natural legs for pedestrian purposes, and 
 carried at his back a drum. The public costume 
 of the young people was of the Highland kind, 
 but the night being damp and cold, the young 
 gentleman wore over his kilt a man's pea-jacket 
 reaching to his ankles, and a glazed hat; the 
 young lady too was muffled in an old cloth 
 pelisse, and had a handkerchief tied about her 
 head. Their Scotch bonnets ornamented with 
 plumes of jet-black feathers Mr. Grinder carried 
 on his instrument. 
 
 " Bound for the races, I see," said Mr. Grinder, 
 coming up out of breath. " So are we. How 
 are you, Short ?" With that they shook hands 
 in a very friendly manner. The young people 
 being too high up for the ordinary salutations, 
 saluted Short after their own fashion. The 
 young gentleman twisted up his right stilt and 
 patted him on the shoulder, and the young lady 
 rattled her tambourine. 
 
 " Practice?" said Short, pointing to the stilts. 
 
 " No," returned Grinder. " It comes either 
 to walkin' in 'em or carryin' of 'em, and they 
 like walkin' in 'em best. It's wery pleasant for 
 the prospects. Which road are you takin' ? 
 We go the nighest." 
 
 "Why, the fact is," said Short, " that we are 
 going the longest way, because then we could 
 stop for the night, a mile and a half on. But 
 three or four mile gained to-night is so many 
 saved to-morrow, and if you keep on, I think 
 our best way is to do the same." 
 
 " Where's your partner?" inquired Grinder. 
 
 " Here he is," cried Mr. Thomas Codlin, pre- 
 senting his head and face in the proscenium of 
 
 the stage, and exhibiting an expression of coun- 
 tenance not often seen there ; " and he'll see his 
 partner boiled alive before he'll go on to-night. 
 That's what he says." 
 
 "Well, don't say such things as them in a 
 spear which is dewoted to something pleasanter," 
 urged Short. " Respect associations. Tommy, 
 even if you do cut up rough." 
 
 "^ Rough or smooth," said Mr. Codlin, beating 
 his hand on the little foot-board, where Punch, 
 when suddenly struck with the symmetry of his 
 legs and their capacity for silk stockings, is 
 accustomed to exhibit them to popular admira- 
 tion, " rough or smooth, I won't go further than 
 the mile and a half to-night. I put up at the 
 Jolly Sandboys, and nowhere else. If you like 
 to come there, come there. If you like to go 
 on by yourself, go on by yourself, and do with- 
 out me if you can." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Codlin disappeared from the 
 scene, and immediately presenting himself out- 
 side the theatre, took it on his shoulders at a 
 jerk, and made off with most remarkable agility. 
 
 Any further controversy being now out of the 
 question. Short was fain to part with Mr. Grinder 
 and his pupils, and to follow his morose com- 
 panion. After lingering at the finger-post for a 
 few minutes to see the stilts frisking away in the 
 moonlight, and the bearer of the drum toiling 
 slowly after them, he blew a few notes upon the 
 trumpet as a parting salute, and hastened with 
 all speed to follow Mr. Codlin. With this view 
 he gave his unoccupied hand to Nell, and 
 l;idding her be of good cheer as they would soon 
 be at the end of their journey for that night, and 
 stimulating the old man with a similar assurance, 
 led them at a pretty swift pace towards their 
 destination, which he was the less unwilling to 
 make for, as the moon was now overcast and 
 the clouds were threatening rain. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 HE Jolly Sandboys was a small road- 
 side inn of pretty ancient date, with 
 a sign, representing three Sandboys 
 increasing their jollity with as many 
 jugs of ale and bags of gold, creak- 
 ^ and swinging on its post on the oppo- 
 site side of the road. As the travellers 
 ^^ had observed that day many indications 
 of their drawing nearer and nearer to the race 
 town, such as gipsy camps, carts laden with 
 gambling booths and their appurtenances, itine- 
 rant showmen of various kinds, and beggars and 
 
AT THE JOLL V SAND BO YS. 
 
 67 
 
 trampers of every degree, all wending their way 
 in the same direction, Mr. Codlin was fearful of 
 finding the accommodations forestalled : this 
 fear increasing as he diminished the distance 
 between himself and the hostelry, he quickened 
 his pace, and notwithstanding the burden he 
 had to carry, maintained a round trot until he 
 reached the threshold. Here he had the grati- 
 fication of finding that his fears were without 
 foundation, for the landlord was leaning against 
 the door-post looking lazily at the rain, which 
 had by this time begun to descend heavily, and 
 no tinkling of cracked bell, nor boisterous shout, 
 nor noisy chorus, gave note of company within. 
 
 " All alone?" said Mr. Codlin, putting down 
 his burden and wiping his forehead. 
 
 "All alone as yet," rejoined the landlord, 
 glancing at the sky, "but we shall have more com- 
 pany to-night I expect. Here, one of you boys, 
 carry that show into the barn. Make haste in out 
 of the wet, 'fom ; when it came on to rain, I told 
 'em to make the fire up, and there's a glorious 
 blaze in the kitchen I can tell you." 
 
 Mr. Codlin followed with a willing mind, and 
 soon found that the landlord had not com- 
 mended his preparations without good reason. A 
 mighty fire was blazing on the hearth and roaring 
 up the wide chimney with a cheerful sound, 
 which a large iron cauldron, bubbling and sim- 
 mering in the heat, lent its pleasant aid to swell. 
 There was a deep red ruddy blush upon the 
 room, and when the 'landlord stirred the fire, 
 sending the flames skipping and leaping up — 
 when he took off the lid of the iron pot, and 
 there rushed out a savoury smell, while the bub- 
 bling sound grew deeper and more rich, and an 
 unctuous steam came floating out, hanging in a 
 delicious mist above their heads — when he did 
 this, Mr. Codlin's heart was touched. He sat 
 down in the chimney-corner and smiled. ^. 
 
 Mr. Codlin sat smiling in the chimney-corner, 
 eyeing the landlord as with a roguish look he 
 held the cover in his hand, and feigning that his 
 doing so was needful to the welfare of the 
 cookery, suffered the delightful steam to tickle 
 the nostrils of his guest. The glow of the fire 
 was upon the landlord's bald head, and upon his 
 twinkling eye, and upon his watering mouth, 
 and upon his pimpled face, and upon his round 
 fat figure. Mr. Codlin drew his sleeve across 
 his lips, and said in a murmuring voice, " What 
 is it?" 
 
 " It's a stew of tripe," said the landlord, 
 smacking his lips, " and cow-heel," smacking 
 them again, "and bacon," smacking them once 
 more, " and steak," smacking them for the fourth 
 time, " and peas, cauliflowers, new potatoes, and 
 
 sparrow-grass, all workmg up together in one 
 delicious gravy." Having come to the climax, 
 he smacked his lips a great many times, and 
 taking a long hearty sniff of the fragrance that 
 was hovering about, put on the cover again with 
 the air of one whose toils on earth were over. 
 
 "At what time will it be ready?" asked Mr. 
 Codlin faintly. 
 
 " It will be done to a turn," said the landlord, 
 looking up at the clock — and the very clock had 
 a colour in its fat white face, and looked a clock 
 for Jolly Sandboys to consult — " it'll be done to 
 a turn at twenty-two minutes before eleven." 
 
 "Then," said Mr. Codlin, "fetch me a pint 
 of warm ale, and don't let nobody bring into 
 the room even so much as a biscuit till the time 
 arrives." 
 
 Nodding his approval of this decisive and 
 manly course of procedure, the landlord retired 
 to draw the beer, and presently returning with 
 it, applied himself to warm the same in a small 
 tin vessel shaped funnel-wise, for the convenience 
 of sticking it far down in the fire and getting at 
 the bright places. This was soon done, and he 
 handed it over to Mr. Codlin with that creamy 
 froth upon the surface which is one of the happy 
 circumstances attendant on mulled malt. 
 
 Greatly softened by this soothing beverage, 
 Mr. Codlin now bethought him of his com- 
 panions, and acquainted mine host of the Sand- 
 boys that their arrival might be shortly looked 
 for. The rain was rattling against the windows 
 and pouring down in torrents, and such was Mr. 
 Codlin's extreme amiability of mind, that he 
 more than once expressed his earnest hope that 
 they would not be so foolish as to get wet. 
 
 At length they arrived, drenched with the rain 
 and presenting a most miserable appearance, 
 notwithstanding that Short had sheltered the 
 child as well as he could under the skirts of his 
 own coat, and they were nearly breathless from 
 the haste they had made. But their steps were 
 no sooner heard upon the road than the landlord, 
 who had been at the outer door anxiously 
 watching for their coming, rushed into the 
 kitchen and took the cover off. The effect was 
 electrical. They all came in with smiling faces, 
 though the wet was dripping from their clothes 
 upon the floor, and Short's first remark was, 
 " What a delicious smell !" 
 
 It is not very difficult to forget rain and mud 
 by the side of a cheerful fire, and in a bright 
 room. They were furnished with slippers and 
 such dry garments as the house or their own 
 bundles afforded, and ensconcing themselves, as 
 Mr. Codlin had already done, in the warm 
 chimney-corner, soon forgot their late troubles, 
 
68 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 or only ren.embered them as enhancing the 
 delights of the present time. Overpowered by 
 the warmth and comfort and the fatigue they 
 had undergone, Nelly and the old man had not 
 long taken their seats here when they fell asleep. 
 
 " Who are they ? " whispered the landlord. 
 
 Short shook his head, and wished he knew 
 himself. 
 
 " Don't you know?" asked the host, turning 
 to Mr. Codlin. 
 
 " Not I," he replied. " They're no good, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " They're no harm," said Short. " Depend 
 upon that. I tell )'^ou what — it's plain that the 
 old man ain't in his right mind " 
 
 " If you haven't got anything newer than that 
 to say," growled Mr. Codlin, glancing at the 
 clock, " you'd better let us fix our minds upon 
 the supper, and not disturb us." 
 
 "Hear me out, won't you?" retorted his 
 friend. " It's very plain to me, besides, that 
 they're not used to this way of life. Don't tell 
 me that that handsome child has been in the 
 habit of prowling about as she's done these last 
 two or three days. I know better." 
 
 "Well, 'fi\\Q does tell you she has?" growled 
 Mr. Codlin, again glancing at the clock, and 
 from it to the cauldron. " Can't you think of 
 anything more suitable to present circumstances 
 than saying things, and then contradicting 'em ?" 
 
 " I wish somebody would give you your sup- 
 per," returned Short ; " for there'll be no peace 
 till you've got it. Have you seen how anxious 
 the old man is to get on — always wanting to 
 be furder away — furder away ? Have you seen 
 tiiat?" 
 
 "Ah ! what then?" muttered Thomas Codlin. 
 
 " This, then," said Short. " He has given his 
 friends the slip. Mind what I say, — he has 
 given his friends the slip, and persuaded this 
 delicate young creetur, all along of her fondness 
 for him, to be his guide and travelling com- 
 panion — where to, he knows no more than the 
 man in the moon. Now I'm not a-going to 
 stand that." 
 
 " You're not a-going to stand that!" cried 
 Mr. Codlin, glancing at the clock again, and 
 pulling his hair with both hands in a kind of 
 frenzy, but whether occasioned by his com- 
 panion's observation or the tardy pace of Time, 
 it was difficult to determine. " Here's a world 
 to live in !" 
 
 " I," repeated Short emphatically and slowly, 
 " am not a-going to stand it. I am not a-going 
 to see this fair young child a falling into bad 
 hands, and getting among people that she's no 
 more fit for than they are to get among angels 
 
 as their ordinary chums. Therefore, when they 
 dewelope an intention of parting company from 
 us, I shall take measures for detaining of 'era, 
 and restoring 'em to their friends, who I dare 
 say have had their disconsolation pasted up on 
 every wall in London by this time." 
 
 " Short," said Mr. Codlin, who with his head 
 upon his hands and his elbows on his knees, 
 had been shaking himself impatiently from side 
 to side up to this point, and occasionally stamp- 
 ing on the ground, but who now looked up with 
 eager eyes ; " it's possible that there may be un- 
 common good sense in what you've said. If 
 there is, and there should be a reward. Short, 
 remember that we're partners in everything ! " 
 
 His companion had only time to nod a brief 
 assent to this'position, for the child awoke at the 
 instant. They had drawn close together during 
 the previous whispering, and now hastily sepa- 
 rated, and were rather awkwardly endeavouring 
 to exchange some casual remarks in their usual 
 tone, when strange footsteps were heard without, 
 and fresh company entered. 
 
 These were no other than four very dismal 
 dogs, who came pattering in one after the other, 
 headed by an old bandy dog of particularly 
 mournful aspect, who, stopping when the last of 
 his followers had got as far as the door, erected 
 himself upon his hind-legs and looked round at 
 his companions, who immediately stood upon 
 their hind-legs, in a grave and melancholy row. 
 Nor was this the only remarkable circumstance 
 about these dogs, for each of them wore a kind 
 of little coat of some gaudy colour trimmed with 
 tarnished spangles, and one of them had a cap 
 upon his head, tied very carefully Under his chin, 
 which had fallen down upon his nose, and com- 
 pletely obscured one eye ; add to this that the 
 gaudy coats were all wet through and discoloured 
 with rain, and that the wearers were splashed 
 and dirty, and some idea may be formed of the 
 unusual appearance of these new visitors to the 
 Jolly Sandboys. 
 
 Neither Short nor the landlord nor Thomas 
 Codlin, however, was the least surprised, merely 
 remarking that these were Jerry's dogs, and that 
 Jerry could not be far behind. So there the 
 dogs stood, patiently winking and gaping and 
 looking extremely hard at the boiling pot, until 
 Jerry himself appeared, when they all dropped 
 down at once, and walked about the room in 
 their natural manner. This posture, it must be 
 confessed, did not much improve their appear- 
 ance, as their own personal tails and their coat- 
 tails — both capital thijigs in their way — did not 
 agree together. 
 
 Jerry, the manager of these dancing dogs, 
 
JERRY'S DOGS. 
 
 69 
 
 was a tall black-whiskered man in a velveteen 
 coat, who seemed well known to the landlord 
 and his guests, and accosted them with great 
 cordiality. Disencumbering himself of a barrel- 
 organ which he placed upon a chair, and retain- 
 ing in his hand a small whip wherewith to awe his 
 company of comedians, he came up to the fire 
 to dry himself, and entered into conversation. 
 
 "Your people don't usually travel in cha- 
 racter, do they?" said Short, pointing to the 
 dresses of the dogs. " It must come expensive 
 if they do." 
 
 " No," replied Jerry, " no, it's not the custom 
 with us. But we've been playing a little on the 
 road to-day, and we come out with a new ward- 
 robe at the races, so I didn't think it worth while 
 to stop to undress. Down, Pedro !" 
 
 This was addressed to the dog with the cap 
 on, who, being a new member of the company 
 and not quite certain of his duty, kept his un- 
 obscured eye anxiously on his master, and was 
 perpetually starting upon his hind-legs when 
 there was no occasion, and falling down again. 
 
 " I've got a animal here," said Jerry, putting 
 his hand into the capacious pocket of his coat, 
 and diving into one corner as if he were feeling 
 for a small orange or an apple or some such 
 article, ** a animal here wot I think you know 
 something of. Short ! " 
 
 '*Ah!" cried Short, "let's have a look at 
 him." 
 
 " Here he is," said Jerry, producing a little 
 terrier from his pocket. " He was once a Toby 
 of yours, warn't he?" 
 
 In some versions of the great drama of Punch 
 there is a small dog — a modern innovation — 
 supposed to be the private property of that 
 gentleman, whose name is always Toby. This 
 Toby has been stolen in youth from another 
 gentleman, and fraudulently sold to the con- 
 fiding hero, who, having no guile himself, has 
 no suspicion that it lurks in others ; but Toby, 
 entertaining a grateful recollection of his old 
 master, and scorning to attach himself to any 
 new patrons, not only refuses to smoke a pipe at 
 the bidding of Punch, but, to mark his old 
 fidelity more strongly, seizes him by the nose 
 and wrings the same with violence, at which 
 instance of canine attachment the spectators are 
 deeply affected. This was the character which 
 the little terrier in question had once sustained ; 
 if there had been any doubt upon the subject, 
 he would speedily have resolved it by his con- 
 duct ; for not only did he, on seeing Short, give 
 the strongest tokens of recognition, but, catching 
 sight of the flat box, he barked so furiously at 
 the pasteboard nose which he knew was inside. 
 
 that his master was obliged to gather him up 
 and put him into his pocket again, to the great 
 relief of the whole company. 
 
 The landlord now busied himself in laying 
 the cloth, in which process Mr. Codlin obligingly 
 assisted by setting forth his own knife and fork 
 in the most convenient place, and establishing 
 himself behind them. When everything was 
 ready, the landlord took off the cover for the 
 last time, and then indeed there burst forth such 
 a goodly promise of supper, that if he had 
 offered to put it on again, or had hinted at post- 
 ponement, he would certainly have been sacri- 
 ficed on his own hearth. 
 
 However, he did nothing of the kind, but 
 instead thereof assisted a stout servant-girl in 
 turning the contents of the cauldron into a large 
 tureen ; a proceeding which the dogs, proof 
 against various hot splashes which fell upon their 
 noses, watched with terrible eagerness. At 
 length the dish was lifted on the table, and mugs 
 of ale having been previously set round, little 
 Nell ventured to say grace, and supper began. 
 
 At this juncture the poor dogs were standing 
 on their hind-legs quite surprisingly ; the child, 
 having pity on them, was about to cast some 
 morsels of food to them before she tasted it her- 
 self, hungry though she was, when their master 
 interposed. 
 
 " No, my dear, no, not an atom from any- 
 body's hand but mine, if you please. That 
 dog," said Jerry, pointing out the old leader of 
 the troop, and speaking in a terrible voice, " lost 
 a halfpenny to-day. Ife goes without his sup- 
 per." 
 
 The unfortunate creature dropped upon his 
 fore-legs directly, wagged his tail, and looked 
 imploringly at his master. 
 
 " You must be more careful, sir," said Jerry, 
 walking coolly to the chair where he had placed 
 the organ, and setting the stop. " Come here. 
 Now, sir, you play away at that while we have 
 supper, and leave off if you dare ! " 
 
 The dog immediately began to grind most 
 mournful music. His master, having shown him 
 the whip, resumed his seat and called up the 
 others, who, at his directions, formed in a row, 
 standing upright as a file of soldiers. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen," said Jerry, looking at them 
 attentively. " The dog whose name's called, eats. 
 The dogs whose names an't called, keep quiet. 
 Carlo ! " 
 
 The lucky individual whose name was called 
 snapped up the morsel thrown towards him, but 
 none of the others moved a muscle. In this 
 manner they were fed at the discretion of their 
 master. Meanwhile the dog in disgrace ground 
 
70 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 hard at tlie organ, sometimes in quick time, some- 
 times in slow, but never leaving off for an instant. 
 When the knives and forks rattled very much, or 
 any of his fellows got an unusually large piece of 
 fat, he accompanied the music with a short howl, 
 but he immediately checked it on his master look- 
 ing round, and applied himself with increased 
 diligence to the Old Hundredth. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 UPPER was not yet over, when there 
 arrived at the Jolly Sandboys two 
 more travellers bound for the same 
 haven as the rest, who had been walk- 
 ing in the rain for some hours, and 
 came in shining and heavy with water. 
 )ne of these was the proprietor of a 
 giant, and a little lady without legs or 
 arms, who had jogged forward in a van ; the 
 other, a silent gentleman who earned his living 
 by showing tricks upon the cards, and who had 
 rather deranged the natural expression of his 
 countenance by putting small leaden lozenges 
 into his eyes . and bringing them out at his 
 mouth, which was one of his professional ac- 
 complishments. The name of the first of these 
 new-comers was Vuffin ; the other, probably as 
 a pleasant satire upon his ugliness, was called 
 Sweet William. To render them as comfortable 
 as he could, the landlord bestirred himself nimbly, 
 and in a very short time both gentlemen were 
 perfectly at their ease. 
 
 " How's the Giant ? " said Short when they 
 all sat smoking round the fire. 
 
 '•Rather weak upon his legs," returned Mr. 
 Vufiin. " I begin to be afraid he's going at the 
 knees." 
 
 " That's a bad look-out," said Short. 
 
 " Ay ! Bad indeed," replied Mr. Vuffin, con- 
 templating the fire with a sigh. " Once get a 
 giant shaky on his legs, and the public care no 
 more about him than they do for a dead cabbage- 
 stalk." 
 
 " What becomes of the old giants?'' said Short, 
 turning to him again after a little reflection. 
 
 " They're usually kept in carawans to wait 
 upon the dwarfs," said Mr. Vuffin. 
 
 "■ The maintaining of 'em must come expen- 
 sive, when they can't be shown, eh ? " remarked 
 Short, eyeing him doubtfully. 
 
 " It's better that than letting 'em go upon the 
 parish or about the streets," said Mr. Vuffin. 
 " Once make a giant common, and giants will 
 never draw again. Look at wooden legs. If 
 
 there was only one man with a wooden leg what 
 a property //^'d be !" 
 
 " So he would ! " observed the landlord and 
 Short both together. "That's very true." 
 
 " Instead of which," pursued Mr. Vuffin, " if 
 you was to advertise Shakspeare played entirely 
 by wooden legs, it's my belief you wouldn't draw 
 a sixpence." 
 
 " I don't suppose you would," said Short. And 
 the landlord said so too. 
 
 " This shows, you see," said Mr. Vuffin, waving 
 his pipe with an argumentative air, " this shows 
 the policy of keeping the used-up giants still in 
 the carawans, where they get food and lodging 
 for nothing all their lives, and in general very 
 glad they are to stop there. There was one 
 giant — a black 'un — as left his carawan some 
 year ago, and took to carrying coach-bills about 
 London, making himself as cheap as crossing- 
 sweepers. He died. I make no insinuation 
 against anybody in particular," said Mr. Vuffin, 
 looking solemnly round, " but he was ruining 
 the trade ; — and he died." 
 
 The landlord drew his breath hard, and looked 
 at the owner of the dogs, who nodded and said 
 gruffly that he remembered. 
 
 " I know you do, Jerry," said Mr. Vuffin with 
 profound meaning. " I knov/ you remember it, 
 Jerry, and the universal opinion was, that it 
 served him right. Why, I remember the time 
 when old Maunders as had three -and -twenty 
 wans— I remember the time when old Maunders 
 had in his cottage in Spa Fields in the winter- 
 time, when the season was over, eight male and 
 female dwarfs setting down to dinner every day, 
 who was waited on by eight old giants in green 
 coats, red smalls, blue cotton stockings, and high- 
 lows ; and there was one dwarf as had grown 
 elderly and wicious, who, whenever his giant 
 wasn't quick enough to please him, used to stick 
 pins in his legs, not being able to reach up any 
 higher. I know that's a fact, for Maunders told 
 it me himself." 
 
 " What about the dwarfs when they get old ? " 
 inquired the landlord. 
 
 " The older the dwarf is, the better worth he 
 is," returned Mr. Vuflin ; " a grey-headed dwarf, 
 well wrinkled, is beyond all suspicion. But a 
 giant weak in the legs, and not standing upright ! 
 — keep him in the carawan, but never show him, 
 never show him, for any persuasion that can be 
 offered." 
 
 While Mr. Vuffin and his two friends smoked 
 their pipes and beguiled the time with such con- 
 versation as this, the silent gentleman sat in a 
 warm corner, swallowing, or seeming to swallow, 
 sixpennyworth of halfpence for practice, balanc- 
 
JDE SIGNS OF COD LIN AND SHORT. 
 
 71 
 
 ing a feather upon his nose, and rehearsing other 
 feats of dexterity of that kind, without paying 
 any regard whatever to the company, who in 
 their turn left him utterly unnoticed. At length 
 the weary child prevailed upon her grandfather 
 to retire, and they withdrew, leaving the com- 
 pany yet seated round the fire, and the dogs fast 
 asleep at a humble distance. 
 
 After bidding the old man good night, Nell 
 retired to her poor garret, but had scarcely 
 closed the door when it was gently tapped at. 
 She opened it directly, and was a little startled 
 by the sight of Mr. Thomas Codlin, whom she 
 had left, to all appearance, fast asleep down- 
 stairs. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" said the child. 
 
 '■ Nothing's the matter, my dear," returned her 
 visitor. " I'm your friend. Perhaps you haven't 
 thought so, but it's me that's your friend — not 
 him." 
 
 " Not who ? " the child inquired. 
 
 " Short, my dear. I tell you what," said Cod- 
 lin, " for all his having a kind of way with him 
 that you'd be very apt to like, I'm the real, 
 open-hearted man. I mayn't look it, but I am 
 indeed." 
 
 The child began to be alarmed, considering 
 that the ale had taken effect upon Mr. Codlin, 
 and that this commendation of himself was the 
 consequence. 
 
 " Short's very well, and seems kind," resumed 
 the misanthrope, " but he overdoes it. Now I 
 don't." 
 
 Certainly, if there were any fault in Mr. Cod- 
 lin's usual deportment, it was that he rather 
 underdid his kindness to those about him than 
 overdid it. But the child was puzzled, and could 
 not tell what to say. 
 
 " Take my advice," said Codhn ; " don't ask 
 me why, but take it. As long as you travel with 
 us, keep as near me as you can. Don't offer to 
 leave us — not on any account — but always stick 
 to me, and say that I'm your friend. Will you 
 bear that in mind, my dear, and always say that 
 it was me that was your friend ?" 
 
 " Say so where, — and when ? " inquired the 
 child innocently. 
 
 " Oh ! nowhere in particular," replied Codlin, 
 a little put out as it seemed by the question ; " I 
 am only anxious that you should think me so, 
 and do me justice. You can't think what an 
 interest I have in you. Why didn't you tell me 
 your little history — that about you and the poor 
 old gentleman ? I'm the best adviser that ever 
 was, and so interested in you — so much more 
 interested than Short. I think they're breaking 
 up down-stairs ; you needn't tell Short, you 
 
 know, that we've had this little talk together. 
 God bless you ! Recollect the friend. Codlin's 
 the friend, not Short. Short's very well as far 
 as he goes, but the real friend is .Codlin — not 
 Short." 
 
 Eking out these professions with a number of 
 benevolent and protecting looks and great fer- 
 vour of manner, Thomas Codlin stole away on 
 tiptoe, leaving the child in a state of extreme 
 surprise. She was still ruminating upon his 
 curious behaviour, when the floor of the crazy 
 stairs and landing cracked beneath the tread of 
 the other travellers, who were passing to their 
 beds. When they had all passed, and the sound 
 of their footsteps had died away, one of them 
 returned, and after a little hesitation and rustling 
 in the passage, as if he were doubtful what door 
 to knock at, knocked at hers. 
 
 " Yes?" said the child from within. 
 
 " It's me — Short," a voice called through the 
 keyhole. " I only wanted to say that we must 
 be off early to-morrow morning, my dear, because, 
 unless we get the start of the dogs and the con- 
 jurer, the villages won't be worth a penny. You'll 
 be sure to be stirring early, and go with us ? I'll 
 call you." 
 
 The child answered in the affirmative, and, 
 returning his " good night," heard him creep 
 away. She felt some uneasiness at the anxiety 
 of these men, increased by the recollection of 
 their whispering together down-stairs, and their 
 slight confusion when she awoke, nor was she 
 quite free from a misgiving that they were not 
 the fittest companions she could have stumbled 
 on. Her uneasiness, however, was nothing, 
 weighed against her fatigue ; and she soon forgot 
 it in sleep. 
 
 Very early next morning. Short fulfilled his 
 promise, and, knocking softly at her door, en- 
 treated that she would get up directly, as the 
 proprietor of the dogs was still snoring, and if 
 they lost no time they might get a good deal in 
 advance both of him and the conjurer, who 
 was talking in his sleep, and, from what he could 
 be heard to say, appeared to be balancing a 
 donkey in his dreams. She started from her bed 
 without delay, and roused the old man with so 
 much expedition that they were both ready as 
 soon as Short himself, to that gentleman's un- 
 speakable gratification and relief. 
 
 After a very unceremonious and scrambling 
 breakfast, of which the staple commodities were 
 bacon and bread, and beer, they took leave of 
 the landlord, and issued from the door of the 
 Jolly Sandboys. The morning was fine and 
 warm, the ground cool to the feet after the late 
 rain, the hedges gayer and more green, the air 
 
72 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 clear, and everything fresh and healthful. Sur- 
 rounded by these influences, they walked on 
 pleasantly enough. 
 
 They had not gone very far, when the child 
 was again struck by the altered behaviour of Mr. 
 Thomas CodHn, who, instead of plodding on 
 sulkily by himself as he had theretofore done, 
 kept close to her, and when he had an opportu- 
 nity of looking at her unseen by his companion, 
 warned her, by certain wry faces and jerks of 
 the head, not to put any trust in Short, but to 
 
 reserve all confidences for Codlin. Neither did 
 he confine himself to looks and gestures, for 
 when she and her grandfather were walking on 
 beside the aforesaid Short, and that little man 
 was talking with his accustomed cheerfulness on 
 a variety of indifferent subjects, Thomas Codlin 
 testified his jealousy and distrust by following 
 close at her heels, and occasionally admonishing 
 her ankles with the legs of the theatre in a very 
 abrupt and painful manner. 
 All these proceedings naturally made the child 
 
 "NOW, GENTLEMEN," SAID JERRY, LOOKING AT THEM ATTENTIVELY. 
 
 CALLED, EATS." 
 
 ■ THE DOG WHOSE NAME S 
 
 more watchful and suspicious, and she soon ob- 
 served that, whenever they halted to perform 
 outside a village alehouse or other place, Mr. 
 Codlin, while he went through his share of the 
 entertainments, kept his eye steadily upon her 
 and the old man, or with a show of great friend- 
 ship and consideration invited the latter to lean 
 upon his arm, and so held him tight until the 
 representation was over and they again went for- 
 ward. Even Short seemed to change in this 
 
 respect, and to mingle with his good-nature 
 something of a desire to keep them in safe cus- 
 tody. This increased the child's misgivings, and 
 made her yet more anxious and uneasy. 
 
 Meanwhile they were drawing near the town 
 where the races were to begin next day ; for, 
 from passing numerous groups of gipsies and 
 trampers on the road, wending their way to- 
 wards it, and straggling out from every by-way 
 and cross-country lane, they gradually fell into a 
 
LITTLE NELL RESOL VES ON FLIGHT. 
 
 n 
 
 stream of people, some walking by the side of 
 covered carts, others with horses, others with 
 donkeys, others toiling on with heavy loads upon 
 their backs, but all tending to the same point. 
 The public-houses by the wayside, from being 
 empty and noiseless as those in the remoter 
 parts had been, now sent out boisterous shouts 
 and clouds of smoke ; and, from the misty win- 
 dows, clusters of broad red faces looked down 
 upon the road. On every piece of waste or 
 common ground, some small gambler drove his 
 noisy trade, and bellowed to the idle passers-by 
 to stop and try their chance ; the crowd grew 
 thicker and more noisy; gilt gingerbread in 
 blanket-stalls exposed its glories to the dust; 
 and often a four-horse carriage, dashing by, ob- 
 scured all objects in the gritty cloud it raised, 
 and left them, stunned and blinded, far behind. 
 
 It was dark before they reached the town 
 itself, and long indeed the few last miles had 
 been. Here all was tumult and confusion ; the 
 streets were filled with throngs of people — many 
 strangers Avere there, it seemed, by the looks 
 they cast about — the church bells rang out their 
 noisy peals, and flags streamed from windows 
 and housetops. In the large inn yards waiters 
 flitted to and fro and ran against each other, 
 horses clattered on the uneven stones, carriage 
 steps fell ratthng down, and sickening smells 
 from many dinners came in a heavy lukewarm 
 breath upon the sense. In the smaller pubHc- 
 houses, fiddles with all their might and main 
 were squeaking out the tune to staggering feet ; 
 drunken men, oblivious of the burden of their 
 song, joined in a senseless howl, which drowned 
 the tinkling of the feeble bell, and made them 
 savage for their drink ; vagabond groups assem- 
 bled round the doors to see the stroller woman 
 dance, and add their uproar to the shrill flageolet 
 and deafening drum. 
 
 Through this delirious scene, the child, 
 frightened and repelled by all she saw, led on 
 her bewildered charge, clinging close to her 
 conductor, and trembling lest in the press she 
 should be separated from him and left to find 
 her way alone. Quickening their steps to get 
 clear of all the roar and riot, they at length 
 passed through the town, and made for the 
 race-course, which was upon an open heath, 
 situated on an eminence, a full mile distant 
 from its furthest bounds. 
 
 Although there were many people here, none 
 of the best favoured or best clad, busily erecting 
 tents and driving stakes into the ground, and 
 hurrying to and fro with dusty feet and many a 
 grumbled oath — although there were tired chil- 
 dren cradled on heaps of straw between the 
 
 il^ight 
 
 wheels of carts, crying themselves to sleep — 
 and poor lean horses and donkeys just turned 
 loose, grazing among the men and women, and 
 pots and kettles, and half-lighted fires, and ends 
 of candles flaring and wasting in the air — for alt 
 this, the child felt it an escape from the town, 
 and drew her breath more freely. After a scanty 
 supper, the purchase of which reduced her little 
 stock so low, that she had only a few halfpence 
 with which to buy a breakfast on the morrow, 
 she and the old man lay down to rest in a 
 corner of a tent, and slept, despite the busy 
 preparations that were going on around them all 
 long. 
 
 And now they had come to the time when 
 they must beg their bread. Soon after sunrise 
 in the morning she stole out from the tent, and 
 rambling into some fields at a short distance, 
 plucked a few wild roses and such humble 
 flowers, purposing to make them into little 
 nosegays, and ofter them to the ladies in the 
 carriages when the company arrived. Her 
 thoughts were not idle while she was thus em- 
 ployed. When she returned and was seated be- 
 side the old man in one corner of the tent, 
 tying her flowers together, while the two men 
 lay dozing in another corner, she plucked him 
 by the sleeve, and, slightly glancing towards 
 them, said in a low voice : 
 
 " Grandfather, don't look at those I talk of, 
 and don't seem as if I spoke of anything but 
 what I am about. What was that you told me 
 before we left the old house ? That if they 
 knew what we were going to do, they would say 
 that you were mad, and part us ? " 
 
 The old man turned to her with an aspect of 
 wild terror ; but she checked him by a look, and 
 bidding him hold some flowers, while she tied 
 them up, and so bringing her lips closer to his 
 ear, said : 
 
 " I know that was what you told me. You 
 needn't speak, dear. I recollect it very well. 
 It was not likely that I should forget it. Grand- 
 father, these men suspect that we have secretly 
 left our friends, and mean to carry us before 
 some gentleman, and have us taken care of and 
 sent back. If you let your hand tremble so, 
 we can never get away from them, but, if you're 
 only quiet now, we shall do so easily." 
 
 " How ? " muttered the old man. " Dear 
 Nelly, how ? They will shut me up in a stone 
 room, dark and cold, and chain me up to the 
 wall, Nell — flog me with whips, and never let 
 me see thee more ! " 
 
 "You're trembling again," said the child, 
 " Keep close to me all day. Never mind them, 
 don't look at them, but me. I shall find a time 
 
74 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 when we can steal away. When I do, mind 
 you come with me, and do not stop or speak a 
 word. Hush ! That's all." 
 
 "Halloa! what are you up to, my dear?" 
 said Mr. Codlin, raising his head, and yawning. 
 Then, observing that his companion was fast 
 asleep, he added in an earnest whisper, " Cod- 
 lin's the friend, remember — not Short." 
 
 " Making some nosegays," the child replied ; 
 '' I am going to try and sell some, these three 
 days of the races. Will you have one — as a 
 present I mean ? " 
 
 Mr. Codlin would have risen to receive it, 
 but the child hurried towards him and placed it 
 in his hand. He stuck it in his button-hole 
 with an air of ineffable complacency for a misan- 
 thrope, and, leering exultingly at the unconscious 
 Short, muttered, as he laid himself down again, 
 " Tom Codlin's the friend, by G— ! " 
 
 As the morning wore on, the tents assumed a 
 gayer and more brilliant appearance, and long 
 lines of carriages came rolling softly on the turf. 
 Men who had lounged about all night in smock- 
 frocks and leather leggings came out in silken 
 vests and hats and plumes, as jugglers or 
 mountebanks ; or in gorgeous liveries as soft- 
 spoken servants . at gambling booths ; or in 
 sturdy yeoman dress as decoys at unlawful 
 games. Black-eyed gipsy girls, hooded in showy 
 handkerchiefs, sallied forth to tell fortunes, and 
 pale slender women with consumptive faces 
 lingered upon the footsteps of ventriloquists 
 and conjurers, and counted the sixpences with 
 anxious eyes long before they were gained. As 
 many of the children as could be kept within 
 bounds were stowed away, with all the other 
 signs of dirt and poverty, among the donkeys, 
 carts, and horses ; and as many as could not be 
 thus disposed of ran in and out in all intricate 
 spots, crept between people's legs and carriage 
 wheels, and came forth unharmed from under 
 horses' hoofs. The dancing dogs, the stilts, the 
 little lady and the tall man, and all the other 
 attractions, with organs out of number and 
 bands innumerable, emerged from -the holes and 
 corners in which they had passed the night, and 
 flourished boldly in the sun. 
 
 Along the uncleared course Short led his 
 party, sounding the brazen trumpet, and revel- 
 ling in the voice of Punch; and at his heels 
 went Thomas Codlin, bearing the show as usual, 
 and keeping his eye on Nelly and her grand- 
 father, as they rather lingered in the rear. The 
 child bore upon her arm the little basket with 
 her flowers, and sometimes stopped, with timid 
 and modest looks, to offer them at some gay 
 carriage; but alas! there were many bolder 
 
 beggars there, gipsies who promised husbands, 
 and other adepts in their trade, and although 
 some ladies smiled gently as they shook their 
 heads, and others cried to the gentlemen beside 
 them, " See, what a pretty face ! " they let the 
 pretty face pass on, and never thought that it 
 looked tired or hungry. 
 
 There was but one lady who seemed to under- 
 stand the child, and she was one who sat alone 
 in a handsome carriage, while two young men in 
 dashing clothes, who had just dismounted from 
 it, talked and laughed loudly at a little distance, 
 appearing to forget her quite. There were many 
 ladies all around, but they turned their backs, 
 or looked another way, or at the two young men 
 (not unfavourably at them), and left her to her- 
 self. She motioned away a gipsy woman urgent 
 to tell her fortune, saying that it was told already, 
 and had been for some years, but called the 
 child towards her, and, taking her flowers, put 
 money into her trembling hand, and bade her 
 go home and keep at home for God's sake. 
 
 Many a time they went up and down those 
 long long lines, seeing everything but the horses 
 and the race ; when the bell rung to clear the 
 course, going back to rest among the carts and 
 donkeys, and not coming out again until the 
 heat was over. Many a time, too, was Punch 
 displayed in the full zenith of his humour, but 
 all this while the eye of Thomas Codlin was 
 upon them, and to escape without notice was 
 impracticable. 
 
 At length, late in the day, Mr. Codlin pitched 
 the show in a convenient spot, and the specta- 
 tors were soon in the very triumph of the scene. 
 The child, sitting down with the old man close 
 behind it, had been thinking how strange it was 
 that horses who were such fine honest creatures 
 should seem to make vagabonds of all the men 
 they drew about them, when a loud laugh at 
 some extemporaneous witticism of Mr. Short's, 
 having allusion to the circumstances of the day, 
 roused her from her meditation and caused her 
 to look around. 
 
 If ihey were ever to get away unseen, that 
 was the very moment. Short was plying the 
 quarter-staves vigorously, and knocking the cha- 
 racters in the fury of the combat against the 
 sides of the show, the people were looking on 
 with laughing faces, and Mr. Codlin had relaxed 
 into a grim smile as his roving eye detected 
 hands going into waistcoat pockets, and groping 
 secretly for sixpences. If they were ever to get 
 away unseen, that was the very moment. They 
 seized it, and fled. 
 
 They made a path through booths and car- 
 riages and throngs of people, and never once 
 
KIT KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT. 
 
 75 
 
 stopped to look behind. The bell was ringing 
 and the course was cleared by the time they 
 reached the ropes, but they dashed across it, 
 insensible to the shouts and screeching that 
 assailed them for breaking in upon its sanctity, 
 and, creeping under the brow of the hill at a 
 quick pace, made I'br the open fields. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AY after day as he bent his steps 
 homeward, returning from some new 
 effort to procure employment. Kit 
 raised his eyes to the window of the 
 little room he had so much com- 
 mended to the child, and hoped to see 
 some indication of her presence. His 
 own earnest wish, coupled with the assur- 
 ance he liad received from Quilp, filled him with 
 the belief that she would yet arrive to claim the 
 humble shelter he had • offered, and from the 
 death of each day's hope, another hope sprung 
 up to live to-n-:orrow, 
 
 "I think they must certainly come to-morrow, 
 eh, mother ?" said Kit, laying aside his hat with 
 a weary air, and sighing as he spoke. " They 
 have been gone a week. They surely couldn't 
 stop away more than a week, could they now ? " 
 
 The mother shook her head, and reminded 
 him how often he had been disappointed already. 
 
 " For the matter of that," said Kit, " you 
 speak true and sensible enough, as you always 
 do, mother. Still, I do consider that a week is 
 quite long enough for 'em to be rambling about ; 
 don't you say so ? " 
 
 " Quite long enough. Kit, longer than enough, 
 but they may not come back for all that." 
 
 Kit was for a moment disposed to be vexed 
 by this contradiction, and not the less so from 
 having anticipated it in his own mind, and 
 knowing how just it was. But the impulse was 
 only momentary, and the vexed look became a 
 kind one before it had crossed the room. 
 
 " Then what do you think, mother, has be- 
 come of 'em ? You don't think they've gone to 
 sea, anyhow?'' 
 
 " Not gone for sailors, certainly," returned the 
 mother with a smile. " But I can't help thinking 
 that they have gone to some foreign country." 
 
 " I say," cried Kit with a rueful face, " don't 
 talk like that, mother." 
 
 " I am afraid they have, and that's the truth," 
 she said. " It's the talk of all the neighbours, 
 and there are some even that know of their 
 Iiaving been seen on board ship, and can tell 
 
 you the name of the place they've gone to, 
 which is more than I can, my dear, for it's a 
 very hard one." 
 
 " I don'tbeHeveit,"said Kit. "Not a word of it. 
 A setofidle chatterboxes, liow should they know?" 
 
 " They may be wrong, of course," returned 
 the mother. " I can't tell about that, though I 
 don't think it's at all unlikely that they're in the 
 right, for the talk is that the old gentleman had 
 put by a little money that nobody knew of, not 
 even that ugly little man you talk to me about 
 — what's his name? — Quilp; and that he and 
 Miss Nell have gone to hve abroad, where it 
 can't be taken from them, and they will never 
 be disturbed. That don't seem very far out of 
 the way now, do it ? " 
 
 Kit scratched his head mournfully, in reluctant 
 admission that it did not, and clambering up to 
 the old nail, took down the cage and set himself 
 to clean it and to feed the bird. His thoughts 
 reverting from this occupation to the little old 
 gentleman who had given him the shilling, he 
 . suddenly recollected that that was the very day 
 -r-nay, nearly the very hour — at which the little 
 old gentleman had said he should be at the 
 notary's: house again. He no sooner remem- 
 bered fhis than he hung up the cage with great 
 precipitation, and hastily explaining the nature 
 of his errand, went off at full speed to the 
 appointed place. 
 
 It was some two minutes after the time when 
 he reached the spot, which was a considerable 
 distance from his home, but by great good luck 
 the httle old gentleman had not yet arrived ; at 
 least there was no pony-chaise to be seen, audit 
 ^>vas not likely that he had come and gone again 
 in so short a space. Greatly relieved to find 
 that- he was not too late. Kit leant against a 
 lamp-post to take breath, and waited the advent 
 of the pony and his charge. 
 
 Sure enough, before long the pony came 
 trotting round the corner of the street, looking 
 as obstinate as pony might, and picking his steps 
 as if he were spying about for the cleanest places, 
 and would by no means dirty his feet or hurry 
 himself inconveniently. Behind the pony sat 
 the little old gentleman, and by the old gentle- 
 man's side sat the little old lady, carrying just 
 such a nosegay as she had brought before. 
 
 The old gentleman, the old lady, the pony, 
 and the chaise came up the street in perfect 
 unanimity, until they arrived within some half-a- 
 dozen doors of the notary's house, when the 
 pony, deceived by a brass plate beneath a tailor's 
 knocker, came to. a halt, and maintained by a 
 sturdy* silence that that was the house they 
 wanted. 
 
76 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " Now, sir, will you have the goodness to go 
 on ? This is not the place," said the old gentle- 
 man. 
 
 The pony looked with great attention into a 
 fire-plug which was near him, and appeared to 
 be quite absorbed in contemplating it. 
 
 "Oh dear, such a naughty Whisker !" cried 
 the old lady. " After being so good too, and 
 coming along so well ! I am quite ashamed of 
 him. I don't know what we arc to do with him, 
 I really don't." 
 
 The pony, having thoroughly satisfied himself 
 as to the nature and properties of the fire-plug, 
 looked into the air after his old enemies the 
 flies, and as there happened to be one of them 
 tickling his ear at that moment, he shook his 
 head and whisked his tail, after which he ap- 
 peared full of thought, but quite comfortable 
 and collected. The old gentleman, having ex- 
 hausted his powers of persuasion, alighted to 
 lead him ; whereupon the pony, perhaps because 
 he held this to be a sufficient concession, per- 
 
 " THERE WAS BUT ONE LADY WHO SEEMED TO UNDERSTAND THE CHILD, AND SHE WAS ONE WHO SAT 
 
 ALONE IN A HANDSOME CARRIAGE." 
 
 haps because he happened to catch sight of the 
 other brass plate, or perhaps because he was in 
 a spiteful humour, darted off with the old lady, 
 and stopped at the right house, leaving the old 
 gentleman to come panting on behind. 
 
 It was then that Kit presented himself at the 
 pony's head, and touched his hat with a smile. 
 
 "Why, bless me," cried the old gentleman, 
 " the lad is here ! My dear, do you see ?" 
 
 "I said I'd be here, sir," said Kit, patting 
 Whisker's neck. " I hope you've had a pleasant 
 ride, sir. He's a very nice Httle pony." 
 
 " My dear ! " said the old gentleman. " This 
 is an uncommon lad ! a good lad, I'm sure." 
 
 " I'm sure he is," rejoined the old lady. " A 
 very good lad, and I'm sure he is a good son." 
 
 Kit acknowledged these expressions of con- 
 fidence by touching his hat again, and blushing 
 very much. The old gentleman then handed 
 the old lady out, and after looking at him with 
 an approving smile, they went into the house — 
 talking about him as they went, Kit could not 
 help feeUng. Presently Mr. Witherden, smelling 
 very hard at the nosegay, came to the window 
 
THE JVEJV FHIENBS AGAIN. 
 
 77 
 
 and looked at him, and after that Mr. Abel came 
 and looked at him, and after that the old gentle- 
 man and lady came and looked at him again, 
 and after that they all came and looked at him 
 together, which Kit, feeling very much embar- 
 rassed by, made a pretence of not observing. 
 Therefore he patted the pony more and more ; 
 and this liberty the pony most handsomely per- 
 mitted. 
 
 The faces had not disappeared from the win- 
 dow many moments, when Mr. Chuckster in his 
 official coat, and with his hat hanging on his 
 head just as it happened to fall from its peg, 
 appeared upon the pavement, and telling him 
 he was wanted inside, bade him go in, and he 
 would mind the chaise the while. In giving 
 him this direction Mr. Chuckster remarked that 
 he wished that he might be blessed if he could 
 make out whether he (Kit) was " precious raw " 
 or " precious deep," but intimated, by a dis- 
 trustful shake of the head, that he inclined to 
 the latter opinion. 
 
 Kit entered the office in a great tremor, for 
 he was not used to going among strange ladies 
 and gentlemen, and the tin boxes and bundles 
 of dusty papers had in his eyes an awful and 
 i-enerable air. Mr. Witherden, too, was a 
 bustling gentleman, who talked loud and fast, 
 and all eyes were upon him, and he was very 
 shabby. 
 
 "Well, boy," said Mr. Witherden, "you came 
 to work out that shilling ; — not to get another, 
 hey?" 
 
 " No indeed, sir," replied Kit, taking courage 
 to look up. " I never thought of such a thing." 
 
 " Father alive ?" said the notary. 
 
 '' Dead, sir." 
 
 ^'Mother?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Married again — eh?" 
 
 Kit made answer, not without some indigna- 
 tion, that she was a widow with three children, 
 and that as to her marrying again, if the gentle- 
 man knew her he wouldn't think of such a thing. 
 At this reply Mr. Witherden buried his nose in 
 the flowers again, and whispered behind the 
 nosegay to the old gentleman that he believed 
 the lad was as honest a lad as need be. 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Garland when they had 
 made some further inquiries of him, " I am not 
 going to give you anything " 
 
 " Thank you, sir," Kit replied ; and quite 
 seriously too, for this announcement seemed to 
 free him from the suspicion which the notary 
 had hinted. 
 
 " — But," resumed the old gentleman, " per- 
 haps I may want to know something more about 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 6. 
 
 you, so tell me where you live, and I'll put it 
 down in my pocket-book." 
 
 Kit told him, and the old gentleman wrote 
 down the address with his pencil. He had 
 scarcely done so, when there was a great uproar 
 in the street, and the old lady, hurrying to the 
 window, cried that Whisker had run away, upon 
 which Kit darted out to the rescue, and the 
 others followed. 
 
 It seemed that Mr. Chuckster had been stand- 
 ing with his hands in his pockets looking care- 
 lessly at the pony, and occasionally insulting 
 him with such admonitions as " Stand still," — 
 "Be quiet," — "Woa-a-a!" and the like, which 
 by a pony of spirit cannot be borne. Conse- 
 quently, the pony being deterred by no con- 
 siderations of duty or obedience, and not 
 having before him the slightest fear of the 
 human eye, had at length started off, and was 
 at that moment rattling down the street, — Mr. 
 Chuckster, with his hat off and a pen behind his 
 ear, hanging on in the rear of the chaise, and 
 making lutile attempts to draw it the other way, 
 to the unspeakable admiration of all beholders. 
 Even in running away, however, Whisker was 
 perverse, for he had not gone very far when he 
 suddenly stopped, and before assistance could 
 be rendered, commenced backing at nearly as 
 quick a pace as he had gone forward. By these 
 means Mr. Chuckster was pushed and hustled 
 to the office again in a most inglorious manner, 
 and arrived in a state of great exhaustion and 
 discomfiture. 
 
 The old lady then stepped into her seat, and 
 Mr. Abel (whom they had come to fetch) into 
 his. The old gentleman, after reasoning with 
 the pony on the extreme impropriety of his con- 
 duct, and making the best amends in his power 
 to Mr. Chuckster, took his place also, and they 
 drove away, waving a farewell to the notary and 
 his clerk, and more than once turning to nod 
 kindly to Kit as he watched them from the 
 road. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 5IT turned away, and very soon forgot 
 the pony, and the chaise, and the 
 little old lady, and the little old gen- 
 tleman, and the little young gentle- 
 man to boot, in thinking what could 
 have become of his late master and 
 his lovely grandchild, who were the foun- 
 tain-head of all his meditations. Still 
 casting about for some plausible means of ac- 
 counting for their non-appearance, and of per- 
 
 254 
 
73 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 suading himself that they must soon return, he 
 bent his steps towards home, intending to finish 
 the task which the sudden recollection of his 
 contract had interrupted, and then to sally forth 
 once more to seek his fortune for the day. 
 
 When he came to the corner of the court in 
 which he lived, lo and behold there was the 
 pony again ! Yes, there he was, looking more 
 obstinate than ever; and, alone in the chaise, 
 keeping a steady watch upon his every wink, sat 
 Air. Abel, who, lifting up his eyes by chance and 
 seeing Kit pass by, nodded to him as though he 
 would have nodded his head off. 
 
 Kit wondered to see the pony again, so near 
 his own home too, but it never occurred to him 
 for what purpose the pony might have come 
 there, or where the old lady and the old gentle- 
 man had gone, until he lifted the latch of the 
 door, and walking in, found them seated in the 
 room in conversation with his mother, at which 
 unexpected sight he pulled off his hat and made 
 his best bow in some confusion. 
 
 " We are here before you, you see, Christo- 
 pher," said Mr. Garland, smiling. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Kit ; and, as he said it, he 
 looked towards his mother for an explanation of 
 the visit. 
 
 " The gentleman's been kind enough, my 
 dear," said she in reply to this mute interroga- 
 tion, " to ask me whether you were in a good 
 place, or in any place at all, and when I told 
 him no, you were not in any, he was so good as 
 to say that " 
 
 " That we wanted a good lad in our house," 
 said the old gentleman and the old lady both 
 together, "and that perhaps we might think of 
 it, if we found everything as we would wish it 
 to be." 
 
 As this thinking of it plainly meant the think- 
 ing of engaging Kit, he immediately partook of 
 his mother's anxiety, and fell into a great flutter ; 
 for the little old couple were very methodical 
 and cautious, and asked so many questions that 
 he began to be afraid there was no chance of his 
 success. 
 
 " You see, my good woman," said Mrs. Gar- 
 land to Kit's mother, "that it's necessary to be 
 very careful and particular in such a matter as 
 this, for we're only three in family, and are very 
 quiet regular folks, and it would be a sad thing 
 if we made any kind of mistake, and found things 
 different from what we hoped and expected." 
 
 To this Kit's mother replied that certainly it 
 was quite true, and quite right, and quite proper, 
 and Heaven forbid that she should shrink, or 
 have cause to shrink, from any inquiry into her 
 character, or that of her son, who was a very 
 
 good son, though she was his mother, in which 
 respect, she was bold to say, he took after his 
 father, who was not only a good son to his 
 mother, but the best of husbands and the best 
 of fathers besides, which Kit could and would 
 corroborate she knew, and so would little Jacob 
 and the baby likewise if they were old enough, 
 which unfortunately they were not, though, as 
 they didn't know what a loss they had had, per- 
 haps it was a great deal better that they should 
 be as young as they were ; and so Kit's mother 
 wound up a long story by wiping her eyes with 
 her apron, and patting little Jacob's head, who 
 was rocking the cradle and staring with all his 
 might at the strange lady and gentleman. 
 
 When Kit's mother had done speaking the old 
 lady struck in again, and said that she was quite 
 sure she was a very honest and very respectable 
 person, or she never would have expressed herself 
 in that manner, and that certainly the appearance 
 of the children and the cleanliness of the house 
 deserved great praise, and did her the utmost 
 credit, whereat Kit's mother dropped a curtsy 
 and became consoled. Then the good woman 
 entered into a long and minute account of Kit's- 
 hfe and history from the earliest period down to 
 that time, not omitting to make mention of his 
 miraculous fall out of a back-parlour window 
 when an infant of tender years, or his uncommon- 
 sufferings in a state of measles, which were illus- 
 trated by correct imitations of the plaintive man- 
 ner in which he called for toast-and-water day 
 and night, and said " Don't cry, mother, I shall 
 soon be better;" for proof of which statements, 
 reference was made to Mrs. Green, lodger, at 
 the cheesemonger's round the corner, and divers, 
 other ladies and gentlemen in various parts o£ 
 England and Wales (and one Mr. Brown, who 
 was supposed to be then a corporal in the East 
 Indies, and who could of course be found with 
 very little trouble), within whose personal know- 
 ledge the circumstances had occurred. This- 
 narration ended, Mr. Garland put some ques- 
 tions to Kit respecting his qualifications and 
 general acquirements, while Mrs. Garland no- 
 ticed the children, and hearing from Kit's mother 
 certain remarkable circumstances which had at- 
 tended the birth of each, related certain other 
 remarkable circumstances which had attended 
 the birth of her own son, Mr. Abel, from which 
 it appeared that both Kit's mother and herself 
 had been, above and beyond all other women of 
 what condition or age soever, peculiarly hemmed 
 in with perils and dangers. Lastly, inquiry was 
 made into the nature and extent of Kit's ward- 
 robe, and a small advance being made to im- 
 prove the same, he was formally hired at an 
 
KIT TAKES SERVICE WITH MR, GARLAND. 
 
 79 
 
 annual income of Six Pounds, over and above 
 his board and lodging, by Mr. and Mrs. Garland, 
 of Abel Cottage, Finchley. 
 
 It would be difficult to say which party ap- 
 peared most pleased with this arrangement, the 
 conclusion of which was hailed with nothing but 
 pleasant looks and cheerful smiles on both 
 sides. It was settled that Kit should repair to 
 his new abode on the next day but one, in the 
 morning ; and finally, the little old couple, after 
 bestowing a bright half-crown on little Jacob and 
 another on the baby, took their leaves ; being 
 escorted as far as the street by their new attend- 
 ant, Avho held the obdurate pony by the bridle 
 while they took their seats, and saw them drive 
 away with a lightened heart. 
 
 " Well, mother," said Kit, hurrying back into 
 the house, " I think my fortune's about made 
 now." 
 
 " I should think it was indeed, Kit," rejoined 
 his mother. " Six pound a year ! Only think ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Kit, trying to maintain the gra- 
 vity which the consideration of such a sum de- 
 manded, but grinning with delight in spite of 
 himself " There's a property ! " 
 
 Kit drew a long breath when he had said this, 
 and putting his hands deep into his pockets as 
 if there were one year's wages at least in each, 
 looked at his mother as though he saw through 
 her, and down an immense perspective of sove- 
 reigns beyond. 
 
 " Please God we'll make such a lady of you 
 for Sundays, mother ! such a scholar of Jacob, 
 such a child of the baby, such a room of the one 
 up-stairs ! Six pound a year ! " 
 
 " Hem ! " croaked a strange voice. " What's 
 that about six pound a year ? What about six 
 pound a year?" And as the voice made this 
 inquiry, Daniel Quilp walked in, with Richard 
 Swiveller at his heels. 
 
 " Who said he was to have six pound a year ? " 
 said Quilp, looking sharply round. " Did the 
 old man say it, or did little Nell say it ? And 
 what's he to have it for, and where are they, eh ? " 
 
 The good woman was so much alarmed by 
 the sudden apparition of this unknown piece of 
 ugliness, that she hastily caught the baby from 
 its cradle, and retreated into the furthest corner 
 of the room ; while little Jacob, sitting on his 
 stool with his hands on his knees, looked full at 
 him in a species of fascination, roaring lustily all 
 the time. Richard Swiveller took an easy ob- 
 servation of the family over Mr. Quilp's head, 
 and Quilp himself, with his hands in his pockets, 
 smiled in an exquisite enjoyment of the commo- 
 tion he occasioned. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, mistress," said Quilp 
 
 after a pause. " Your son knows me ; I don't 
 eat babies ; I don't like 'em. It will be as well 
 to stop that young screamer, though, in case I 
 should be tempted to do him a mischief. Holloa, 
 sir ! Will you be quiet ? " 
 
 Little Jacob stemmed the course of two tears 
 which he Avas squeezing out of his <;yes, and 
 instantly subsided into a silent horror. 
 
 " Mind you don't break out again, you villain," 
 said Quilp, looking sternly at him, " or I'll make 
 faces at you, and throw you into fits, I will. 
 Now, you sir, why haven't you been to me as 
 you promised ? " 
 
 "What should I come for?" retorted Kit. 
 " I hadn't any business with you, no more than 
 you had with me." 
 
 " Here, mistress," said Quilp, turning quickly 
 away, and appealing from Kit to his mother. 
 " When did his old master come or send here 
 last ? Is he here now ? If not, where's he 
 gone ? " 
 
 " He has not been here at all," she replied. 
 " I wish we knew where they have gone, for it 
 would make my son a good deal easier in his 
 mind, and me too. If you're the gentleman 
 named Mr. Quilp, I should have thought you'd 
 have known, and so I told him only this very 
 day." 
 
 " Humph ! " muttered Quilp, evidently dis- 
 appointed to believe that this was true. " That's 
 what you tell this gentleman too, is it ? " 
 
 " If the gentleman comes to ask the same 
 question, I can't tell him anything else, sir ; and 
 I only wish I could, for our own sakes," was the 
 reply. 
 
 Quilp glanced at Richard Swiveller, and ob- 
 served that having met him on the threshold, he 
 assumed that he had come in search of some 
 intelligence of the fugitives. He supposed he 
 was right ? 
 
 " Yes," said Dick, " that was the object of the 
 present expedition. I fancied it possible — but 
 let us go ring fancy's knell, /'ll begin it." 
 
 " You seem disappointed," observed Quilp. 
 
 " A baffler, sir, a baffler, that's all," returned 
 Dick. " I have entered upon a speculation 
 which has proved a baffler ; and a Being of 
 brightness and beauty will be offered up a sacri- 
 fice at Cheggs's altar. That's all, sir." 
 
 The dwarf eyed Richard with a sarcastic 
 smile, but Richard, who had been taking a 
 rather strong lunch with a friend, observed him 
 not, and continued to deplore his fate with 
 mournful and despondent looks. Quilp plainly 
 discerned that there was some secret reason for 
 this visit and his uncommon disappointment, 
 and, in the hope there might be means of mis- 
 
8o 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 chief lurking beneath it, resolved to worm it 
 out. He had no sooner adopted this resolution, 
 than he conveyed as much honesty into his face 
 as it was capable of expressing, and sympathised 
 with Mr. Swiveller exceedingly. 
 
 " I'm disappointed myself," said Quilp, " out 
 of mere friendly feeling for them ; but you have 
 real reasons, private reasons I have no doubt, 
 for your disappointment, and therefore it comes 
 heavier than mine." 
 
 " Why, of course it does," Dick observed 
 testily. 
 
 " Upon my word, I'm very sorry, very sorry. 
 I'm rather cast down myself. As we are com- 
 panions in adversity, shall we be companions in 
 the surest way of forgetting it ? If you had no 
 particular business, now, to lead you in another 
 direction," urged Quilp, plucking him by the 
 sleeve, and looking slily up into his face out of 
 the corners of his eyes, " there is a house by the 
 water-side where they have some of the noblest 
 Schiedam — reputed to be smuggled, but that's 
 between ourselves — that can be got in all the 
 world. The landlord knows me. There's a 
 little summer-house overlooking the river, where 
 we might take a glass of this delicious liquor 
 with a whiff of the best tobacco — it's in this 
 case, and of the rarest quality, to my certain 
 knowledge — and be perfectly snug and happy, 
 could we possibly contrive it ; or is there any 
 very particular engagement that peremptorily 
 takes you another way, Mr. Swiveller, eh?" 
 
 As the dwarf spoke, Dick's face relaxed into a 
 compliant smile, and his eyebrows slowly un- 
 bent. By the time he had finished, Dick was 
 looking down at Quilp in the same sly manner 
 as Quilp was looking up at him, and there re- 
 mained nothing more to be done but to set out 
 for the house in question. This they did straight- 
 way. The moment their backs were turned, 
 little Jacob thawed, and resumed his crying from 
 the point where Quilp had frozen him. 
 
 The summer-house of which Mr. Quilp had 
 spoken was a rugged wooden box, rotten and 
 bare to see, which overhung the river's mud, and 
 threatened to slide down into it. The tavern to 
 which it belonged was a crazy building, sapped 
 and undermined by the rats, and only upheld by 
 great bars of wood which were reared against its 
 walls, and had propped it up so long that even 
 they were decaying and yielding with their load, 
 and of a windy night might be heard to creak 
 and crack as if the whole fabric were about to 
 come toppling down. The house stood — if any- 
 thing so old and feeble could be said to stand — 
 on a piece of waste ground, blighted vvith the 
 unwholesome smoke of factory chimneys, and 
 
 echoing the clank of iron wheels and rush of 
 troubled water. Its internal accommodations 
 amply fulfilled the promise of the outside. The 
 rooms were low and damp, the clammy walls 
 were pierced with chinks and holes, the rotten 
 floors had sunk from their level, the very beams 
 started from their places and warned the timid 
 stranger from their neighbourhood. 
 
 To this inviting spot, entreating him to ob- 
 serve its beauties as they passed along, Mr. 
 Quilp led Richard Swiveller, and on the table 
 of the summer-house, scored deep with many a 
 gallows and initial letter, there soon appeared a 
 wooden keg, full of the vaunted liquor. Draw- 
 ing it off into the glasses with the skill of a 
 practised hand, and mixing it with about a third 
 part of water, Mr. Quilp assigned to Richard 
 Swiveller his portion, and lighting his pipe from 
 an end of a candle in a very old and battered 
 lantern, drew himself together upon a seat and 
 puffed away. 
 
 " Is it good V said Quilp as Richard Swiveller 
 smacked his lips, " is it strong and fiery ? Does 
 it make you wink and choke, and your eyes 
 water, and your breath come short — does it ? " 
 
 " Does it .-* " cried Dick, throwing away part 
 of the contents of his glass, and filling it up with 
 water. " Why, man, you don't mean to tell me 
 that you drink such fire as this ? " 
 
 "No!" rejoined Quilp. "Not drink it! 
 Look here. And here. And here, again. Not 
 drink it ! " 
 
 As he spoke, Daniel Quilp drew off" and drank 
 three small glassfuls of the raw spirit, and then 
 with a horrible grimace took a great many pulls 
 at his pipe, and swallowing the smoke, dis- 
 charged it in a heavy cloud from his nose. This 
 feat accomplished, he drew himself together in 
 his former position, and laughed excessively. 
 
 *' Give us a toast ! " cried Quilp, rattling on 
 the table in a dexterous manner with his fist and 
 elbow alternately, in a kind of tune, " a woman, 
 a beauty. Let's have a beauty for our toast, 
 and empty our glasses to the last drop. Her 
 name, come ! " 
 
 " If you want a name," said Dick, " here's 
 Sophy Wackles." 
 
 " Sophy Wackles," screamed the dwarf, " Miss 
 Sophy Wackles that is — Mrs. Richard Swiveller 
 that shall be — that shall be — ha, ha, ha I " 
 
 " Ah !" said Dick, "you might have said that 
 a few weeks ago, but it won't do now, my 
 buck. Immolating herself upon the shrine of 
 Cheggs " 
 
 " Poison Cheggs, cut Cheggs's ears off," re- 
 joined Quilp. " I won't hear of Cheggs. Her 
 name is Swiveller or nothmg. I'll drink her 
 
MR. QUI LP INDULGES IN A LITTLE SPORT 
 
 health again, and her father's and her mother's ; 
 and to all her sisters and brothers — the glorious 
 family of the Wackleses — all the Wackleses in 
 one glass — down with it to the dregs !" 
 
 " Well," said Richard Swiveller, stopping short 
 in the act of raising the glass to his lips, and 
 looking at the dwarf in a species of stupor as he 
 flourished his arms and legs about ; " you're a 
 jolly fellow, but of all the jolly fellows I ever 
 saw or heard of, you have the queerest and most 
 extraordinary way with you, upon my life you 
 have." 
 
 This candid declaration tended rather to in- 
 crease than restrain Mr, Quilp's eccentricities, 
 and Richard Swiveller, astonished to see him in 
 such a roystering vein, and drinking not a little 
 himself, for company, began imperceptibly to 
 become more companionable and confiding, so 
 that, being judiciously led on by Mr. Quilp, he 
 grew at last very confiding indeed. Having 
 once got him into this mood, and knowing now 
 the key-note to strike whenever he was at a loss, 
 Daniel Quilp's task was comparatively an easy 
 one, and he was soon in possession of the whole 
 details of the scheme contrived between the easy 
 Dick and his more designing friend. 
 
 "Stop!" said Quilp. "That's the thing, 
 that's the thing. It can be brought about, it 
 shall be brought about. There's my hand upon 
 it; I'm your friend from this minute." 
 
 " What ! do you think there's still a chance ?" 
 inquired Dick, in surprise at this encourage- 
 ment. 
 
 " A chance !" echoed the dwarf, " a certainty ! 
 Sophy Wackles may become a Cheggs, or any- 
 thing else she likes, but not a Swiveller. Oh, 
 you lucky dog ! He's richer than any Jew alive ; 
 you're a made man. I see in you now nothing 
 but Nelly's husband, rolhng in gold and silver. 
 I'll help you. It shall be done. Mind my 
 words, it shall be done." 
 
 "But how?" said Dick. 
 
 " There's plenty of time," rejoined the dwarf, 
 " and it shall be done. We'll sit down and talk 
 it over again all the way through. Fill your 
 glass while I'm gone. I shall be back directly 
 — directly." 
 
 With these hasty words, Daniel Quilp with- 
 drew into a dismantled skittle-ground behind the 
 public-house, and, throwing himself upon the 
 ground, actually screamed and rolled about in 
 uncontrollable delight. 
 
 " Here's sport ! " he cried, " sport ready to my 
 hand, all invented and arranged, and only to be 
 enjoyed. It was this shallow-pated fellow who 
 made my bones ache t'other day, was it? It 
 was his friend and fellow-plotter, Mr. Trent, that 
 
 once made eyes at Mrs. Quilp, and leered and 
 looked, was it ? After labouring for two or three 
 years in their precious scheme, to find that they've 
 got a beggar at last, and one of them tied for 
 life. Ha, ha, ha ! He shall marry Nell. He 
 shall have her, and I'll be the first man, when the 
 knot's tied hard and fast, to tell 'em what they've 
 gained and what I've helped 'em to. Here will 
 be a clearing of old scores, here will be a time 
 to remind 'em what a capital friend I was, and 
 how I helped 'em to the heiress. Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 In the height of his ecstasy, Mr. Quilp had 
 like to have met with a disagreeable check, for 
 rolling very near a broken dog-kennel, there 
 leaped forth a large fierce dog, who, but that his 
 chain was of the shortest, would have given him 
 a disagreeable salute. As it was, the dwarf 
 remained upon his back in perfect safety, taunt- 
 ing the dog with hideous faces, and triumphing 
 over him in his inability to advance another 
 inch, though there were not a couple of feet be- 
 tween them. 
 
 " Why don't you come and bite me, why don't 
 you come and tear me to pieces, you coward? ' 
 said Quilp, hissing and worrying the animal till 
 he was nearly mad. " You're airaid, you bully, 
 you're afraid, you know you are." 
 
 The dog tore and strained at his chain with 
 starting eyes and furious bark, but there the 
 dwarf lay, snapping his fingers with gestures of 
 defiance and contempt. When he had suffi- 
 ciently recovered from his delight, he rose, and 
 with his arms a-kimbo, achieved a kind of 
 demon-dance round the kennel, just without the 
 limits of the chain, driving the dog quite wild. 
 Having by this means composed his spirits and 
 put himself in a pleasant train, he returned to 
 his unsuspicious companion, whom he found 
 looking at the tide with exceeding gravity, and 
 thinking of that same gold and silver which Mr. 
 Quilp had mentioned. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HE remainder of that day and the 
 whole of the next were a busy time 
 for the Nubbles family, to whom 
 everything connected with Kit's out- 
 fit and departure was matter of as 
 great moment as if he had been about to 
 penetrate into the interior of Africa, or to 
 take a cruise round the world. It would 
 be difficult to suppose that there ever was a box 
 which was opened and shut so many times 
 within four-and-twenty hours as that which con- 
 
82 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 tained liis wardrobe and necessaries ; and cer- 
 tainly there never was one which to two small 
 eyes presented such a mine of clothing as this 
 mighty chest, with its three shirts and propor- 
 tionate allowance of stockings and pocket- 
 handkerchiefs, disclosed to the astonished vision 
 of little Jacob. At last it was conveyed to the 
 carrier's, at whose house at Finchley, Kit was to 
 find it next day ; and the box being gone, there 
 remained but two questions for consideration : 
 firstly, whether the carrier would lose, or dis- 
 honestly feign to lose, the box upon the road ; 
 and secondly, whether Kit's mother perfectly 
 understood how to take care of herself in the 
 absence of her son. 
 
 " I don't think there's hardly a chance of his 
 really losing it, but carriers are under great 
 temptation to pretend they lose things, no doubt," 
 said Mrs. Nubbles apprehensively, in reference 
 to the first point. 
 
 " No doubt about it," returned Kit with a 
 serious look ; " upon my word, mother, I don't 
 think it was right to trust it to itself. Somebody 
 ought to have gone with it, I'm afraid." 
 
 " We can't help it now," said his mother ; 
 " but it was foolish and wrong. People oughtn't 
 to be tempted." 
 
 Kit inwardly resolved that he would never 
 tempt a carrier any more, save with an empty 
 box ; and, having formed this Christian deter- 
 mination, he turned his thoughts to the second 
 question. 
 
 " You know you must keep up your spirits, 
 mother, and not be lonesome because I'm not 
 at home. I shall very often be able to look in 
 when I come into town I dare say, and I shall 
 send you a letter sometimes, and when the 
 quarter comes round, I can get a holiday of 
 course; and then see if we don't take little 
 Jacob to the play, and let him know what oysters 
 means." 
 
 " I hope plays mayn't be sinful, Kit, but I'm 
 a'most afraid," said Mrs. Nubbles. 
 
 " I know who has been putting that in your 
 head," rejoined her son disconsolately ; " that's 
 Little Bethel again. Now I say, mother, pray 
 don't take to going there regularly, for if I was 
 to see your good-humoured face, that has always 
 made home cheerful, turned into a grievous one, 
 and the baby trained to look grievous too, and 
 to call itself a young sinner (bless its heart) and 
 a child of the devil (which is calHng its dead 
 father names) ; if I was to see this, and see little 
 Jacob looking grievous likewise, I should so take 
 it to heart that I'm sure I should go and list for 
 a soldier, and run my head on purpose against 
 the first cannon-ball I saw coming my way." 
 
 " Oh, Kit, don't talk like that !" 
 
 " I would indeed, mother, and, unless you 
 want to make me feel very wretched and uncom- 
 fortable, you'll keep that bow on your bonnet, 
 which you'd more than half a mind to pull off 
 last week. Can you suppose there's any harm 
 in looking as cheerful and being as cheerful as 
 our poor circumstances will permit ? Do I see 
 anything in the way I'm made, which calls upon 
 me to be a snivelling, solemn, whispering chap, 
 sneaking about as if I couldn't help it, and ex- 
 pressing myself in a most unpleasant snuffle? 
 On the contrairy, don't I see every reason why 
 I shouldn't .? Just hear this ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 An't that as nat'ral as walking, and as good for 
 the health ? Ha, ha, ha ! An't that as nat'ral 
 as a sheep's bleating, or a pig's grunting, or a 
 horse's neighing, or a bird's singing } Ha, ha, 
 ha ! Isn't it, mother ?" 
 
 There was something contagious in Kit's 
 laugh, for his mother, who had looked grave 
 before, first subsided into a smile, and then fell 
 to joining in it heartily, which occasioned Kit to 
 say that he knew it was natural, and to laugh the 
 more. Kit and his mother, laughing together 
 in a pretty loud key, woke the baby, who, find- 
 ing that there was something very jovial and 
 agreeable in progress, was no sooner in its 
 mother's arms than it began to kick and laugh 
 most vigorously. This new illustration of his 
 argument so tickled Kit, that he fell backward 
 in his chair in a state of exhaustion, pointing at 
 the baby, and shaking his sides till he rocked 
 again. After recovering twice or thrice, and as 
 often relapsing, he wiped his eyes and said 
 grace ; and a very cheerful meal their scanty 
 supper was. 
 
 With more kisses, and hugs, and tears than 
 many young gentlemen who start upon their 
 travels, and leave well-stocked homes behind 
 them, would deem within the bounds of pro- 
 bability (if matter so low could be herein set 
 down), Kit left the house at an early hour next 
 morning, and set out to walk to Finchley ; feel- 
 ing a sufficient pride in his appearance to have 
 warranted his excommunication from Little 
 Bethel from that time forth, if he had ever been 
 one of that mournful congregation. 
 
 Lest anybody should feel a curiosity to know 
 how Kit was clad, it may be briefly remarked 
 that he wore no livery, but was dressed in a coat 
 of pepper-and-salt, with waistcoat of canary 
 colour, and nether garments of iron grey ; be- 
 sides these glories, he shone in the lustre of a 
 new pair of boots and an extremely stiff and shiny 
 hat, which, on being struck anywhere with the 
 knuckles, sounded like a drum. And in this 
 
A MAID CALLED BARBARA. 
 
 H 
 
 attire, rather wondering that he attracted so 
 little attention, and attributing the circumstance 
 to the insensibility of those who got up early, he 
 made his way towards Abel Cottage. 
 
 Without encountering any more remarkable 
 adventure on the road than meeting a lad in a 
 brimless hat, the exact counterpart of his old 
 one, on whom he bestowed half the sixpence he 
 possessed, Kit arrived in course of time at 
 the carrier's house, where, to the lasting honour 
 of human nature, he found the box in safety. 
 Receiving from the wife of this immaculate man 
 a direction to Mr. Garland's, he took the box 
 upon his shoulder and repaired thither directly. 
 
 To be sure, it was a beautiful little cottage 
 with a thatched roof and little spires at the 
 gable-ends, and pieces of stained glass in some 
 of the windows, almost as large as pocket-books. 
 On one side of the house was a little stable, just 
 the size for the pony, with a little room over it, 
 just the size for Kit. White curtains were flutter- 
 ing, and birds in cages that looked as bright as 
 if they were made of gold, were singing at the 
 windows; plants were arranged on either side 
 of the path, and clustered about the door ; and 
 the garden was bright with flowers in full bloom, 
 which shed a sweet odour all round, and had a 
 charming and elegant appearance. Everything, 
 within the house and without, seemed to be the 
 perfection of neatness and order. In the garden 
 there was not a weed to be seen, and to judge 
 from some dapper gardening tools, a basket, and 
 a pair of gloves which were lying in one of the 
 walks, old Mr. Garland had been at work in it 
 that very morning. 
 
 Kit looked about him, and admired, and 
 looked again, and this a great many times, 
 before he could make up his mind to turn his 
 head another way and ring the bell. There was 
 abundance of time to look about him again, 
 though, when he had rung it, for nobody came, 
 so after ringing twice or thrice, he sat down 
 upon his box, and waited. 
 
 He rung the bell a great many times, and yet 
 nobody came. But at last, as he was sitting 
 upon the box thinking about giants' castles, and 
 princesses tied up to pegs by the hair of their 
 heads, and dragons bursting out from behind 
 gates, and other incidents of the like nature, 
 common in story books to youths of low degree 
 on their first visit to strange houses, the door was 
 gently opened, and a little servant-girl, very tidy, 
 modest, and demure, but very pretty too, ap- 
 peared. 
 
 " I suppose you're Christopher, sir," said the. 
 servant-girl. 
 
 Kit got off the box, and said yes, he was. 
 
 " I'm afraid you've rung a good many times, 
 perhaps," she rejoined, " but we couldn't hear 
 you, because we've been catching the pony." 
 
 Kit rather wondered what this meant, but, as 
 he couldn't stop there asking questions, he 
 shouldered the box again and followed the girl 
 into the hall, where, through a back-door, he 
 descried Mr. Garland leading Whisker in triumph 
 up the garden, after that self-willed pony had (as 
 he afterwards learned) dodged the family round 
 a small paddock in the rear for one hour and 
 three-quarters. 
 
 The old gentleman received him very kindly, 
 and so did the old lady, whose previous good 
 opinion of him was greatly enhanced by his 
 wiping his boots on the mat until the soles of 
 his feet burnt again. He was then taken into 
 the parlour to be inspected in his new clothes ; 
 and when he had been surveyed several times, 
 and had afforded by his appearance unlimited 
 satisfaction, he was taken into the stable (where 
 the pony received him with uncommon com- 
 plaisance) ; and thence into the little chamber 
 he had already observed, which was very clean 
 and comfortable ; and thence into the garden, 
 in which the old gentleman told him he would 
 be taught to employ himself, and where he told 
 him, besides, what great things he meant to do 
 to make him comfortable and happy, if he 
 found he deserved it. All these kindnesses 
 Kit acknowledged with various expressions of 
 gratitude, and so many touches of the new hat, 
 that the brim suffered considerably. When the 
 old gentleman had said all he had to say in the 
 way of promise and advice, and Kit had said all 
 he had to say in the way of assurance and thank- 
 fulness, he was handed over again to the old 
 lady, who, summoning the little servant-girl 
 (whose name was Barbara), instructed her to 
 take him down-stairs and give him something to 
 eat and drink, after his walk. 
 
 Down-stairs, therefore. Kit went ; and at the 
 bottom of the stairs there was such a kitchen 
 as was never before seen or heard of out of a 
 toy-shop window, with everything in it as bright 
 and glowing, and as precisely ordered too, as 
 Barbara herself. And in this kitchen Kit sat 
 himself down at a table as white as a table-cloth, 
 to eat cold meat, and drink small ale, and use 
 his knife and fork the more awkwardly, because 
 there was an unknown Barbara looking on and 
 observing him. 
 
 It did not appear, however, that there was 
 anything remarkably tremendous about this 
 strange Barbara, who, having lived a very quiet 
 life, blushed very much, and was quite as embar- 
 rassed and uncertain what she ought to say or 
 
84 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 do as Kit could possibly be. When he had sat 
 for some little time, attentive to the ticking of 
 the sober clock, he ventured to glance curiously 
 at the dresser, and there, among the plates and 
 dishes, were Barbara's little workbox with a 
 sliding lid to shut in the balls of cotton, and 
 Barbara's Prayer-book, and Barbara's hymn-book, 
 and Barbara's Bible. Barbara's little looking- 
 glass hiuig in a good light near the window, and 
 Barbara's bonnet was on a nail behind the door. 
 From all these mute signs and tokens of her pre- 
 sence, he naturally glanced at Barbara herself, 
 who sat as mute as they, shelling peas into a 
 dish; and just when Kit was looking at her eye- 
 lashes, and wondering^ — quite in the simplicity 
 of his heart — what colour her eyes might be, it 
 perversely happened that Barbara raised her 
 head a little to look at him, when both pair of 
 eyes were hastily withdrawn, and Kit leant 
 over his plate, and Barbara over her pea-shells, 
 each in extreme confusion at having been 
 detected by the other. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 'R. RICHARD SWIVELLER, wend- 
 ing homewards from the Wilderness 
 (for such was the appropriate name 
 of Quilp's choice retreat), after a 
 sinuous and cork-screw fashion, with 
 many checks and stumbles; after 
 stopping suddenly and staring about him, 
 then as suddenly running forward for a 
 few paces, and as suddenly halting again and 
 shaking his head ; doing everything with a jerk, 
 and nothing by premeditation; — Mr. Richard 
 Swiveller, wending his way homewards after this 
 fashion, which is considered by evil-minded men 
 to be symbolical of intoxication, and is not held 
 by such persons to denote that state of deep 
 wisdom and reflection in which the actor knows 
 himself to be, began to think that possibly he 
 had misplaced his confidence, and that the 
 dwarf might not be precisely the sort of person 
 to whom to intrust a secret of such delicacy and 
 importance. And being led and tempted on by 
 this remorseful thought into a condition which 
 the evil-minded class before referred to would 
 term the maudhn state or stage of drunkenness, 
 it occurred to Mr. Swiveller to cast his hat upon 
 the ground, and moan, crying aloud that he was 
 an unhappy orphan, and that, if he had not been 
 an unhappy orphan, things had never come to 
 this. 
 
 " Left an infant by my parents at an early 
 
 age," said Mr. Swiveller, bewailing his hard lot, 
 " cast upon the world in my tenderest period, 
 and thrown upon the mercies of a deluding dwarf, 
 who can wonder at my weakness? Here's a 
 miserable orphan for you. Here," said Mr. 
 Swiveller, raising his voice to a high pitch, and 
 looking sleepily round, " is a miserable orphan 1" 
 
 " Then," said somebody hard by, " let me be 
 a father to you." 
 
 Mr. Swiveller swayed himself to and fro to 
 preserve his balance, and, looking into a kind of 
 haze which seemed to surround him, at last per- 
 ceived two eyes dimly twinkling through the 
 mist, which he observed, after a short time, were 
 in the neighbourhood of a nose and mouth. 
 Casting his eyes down towards that quarter in 
 which, with reference to a man's face, his legs 
 are usually to be found, he observed that the 
 face had a body attached : and, when he looked 
 more intently, he Avas satisfied that the person 
 was Mr. Quilp, who indeed had been in his com- 
 pany all the time, but whom he had some vague 
 idea of having left a mile or two behind. 
 
 " You have deceived an orphan, sir," said Mr. 
 Swiveller solemnly. 
 
 " I ! I'm a second father to you," rejDlied 
 Quilp. 
 
 " You my father, sir ! " retorted Dick. " Being, 
 all right myself, sir, I request to be left alone — 
 instantly, sir." 
 
 " What a funny fellow you are ! " cried Quilp. 
 
 " Go, sir," returned Dick, leaning against a 
 post and waving his hand. "Go, deceiver, go, 
 some day, sir, p'raps you'll waken, from pleasure's 
 dream to know, the grief of orphans forsaken. 
 Will you go, sir ? " 
 
 The dwarf taking no heed of this adjuration, 
 Mr. Swiveller advanced with the view of inflict- 
 ing upon him condign chastisement. But, for- 
 getting his purpose or changing his mind before 
 he came close to him, he seized his hand and 
 vowed eternal friendship, declaring with an 
 agreeable frankness that from that time fortli 
 they were brothers in everything but personal 
 appearance. Then he told his secret all over 
 again, with the addition of being pathetic on the 
 subject of Miss Wackles, who, he gave Mr. 
 Quilp to understand, was the occasion of any 
 slight incoherency he might observe in his 
 speech at that moment, which was attributable 
 solely to the strength of his affection, and not to 
 rosy wine or other fermented liquor. And then 
 they went on arm-in-arm, very lovingly together. 
 
 " I'm as sharp," said Quilp to him, at parting, 
 " as sharp as a ferret, and as cunning as a weasel. 
 You bring Trent to me ; assure him that I'm his 
 friend, though I fear he a little distrusts me (I 
 
CHOICE SPIRITS. 
 
 55 
 
 don't know why, I have not deserved it) ; and 
 you've both of you made your fortunes— in per- 
 spective." 
 
 " That's the worst of it," returned Dick. 
 " These fortunes in perspective look such a long 
 way off." 
 
 " But they look smaller than they really are, 
 on that account," said Quilp, pressing his arm. 
 " You'll have no conception of the value of your 
 prize until you draw close to it. Mark that." 
 
 " D'ye think not ? '' said Dick. 
 
 " Ay, I do ; and I am certain of what I say, 
 
 "AND THEN THEY WENT ON ARM-IN-ARM, VERY LOVINGLY TOGETHER. 
 
 that's better," returned the dwarf. " You bring 
 Trent to me. Tell him I am his friend and 
 yours. Why shouldn't I be ? " 
 
 " There's no reason why you shouldn't, cer- 
 tainly," replied Dick, " and perhaps there are a 
 great many why you should — at least, there 
 
 would be nothing strange in your wanting to be 
 my friend, if you were a choice spirit, but then 
 you know you're notd. choice spirit." 
 
 " I not a choice spirit ! " cried Quilp. 
 
 " Devil a bit, sir," returned Dick. " A man 
 ©f your appearance couldn't be. If you're any 
 
86 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 spirit at all, sir, you're an evil spirit. Choice 
 spirits," added Dick, smiting himself on the 
 breast, " are quite a different-looking sort of 
 people, you may take your oaih of that, sir." 
 
 Quilp glanced at his free-spoken friend with 
 a mingled expression of cunning and dislike, and, 
 wringing his hand almost at the same moment, 
 declared that he was an uncommon character, 
 and had his warmest esteem. With that they 
 parted ; Mr. Swiveller to make the best of his 
 way home and sleep himself sober ; and Quilp 
 to cogitate upon the discovery he had made, 
 and exult in the prospect of the rich field of en- 
 joyment and reprisal it opened to him. 
 
 It was not without great reluctance and mis- 
 giving that Mr. Swiveller, next morning, his 
 head racked by the fumes of the renowned 
 Schiedam, repaired to the lodging of his friend 
 Trent (which was in the roof of an old house in 
 an old ghostly inn), and recounted by very slow 
 degrees what had yesterday taken place between 
 him and Quilp. Nor was it without great sur- 
 prise and much speculation on Quilp's probable 
 motives, nor without many bitter comments on 
 Dick Swiveller's folly, that his friend received 
 the tale. 
 
 " I don't defend myself, Fred," said the peni- 
 tent Richard ; " but the fellow has such a queer 
 way with him, and is such an artful dog, that 
 first of all he set me upon thinking whether 
 there was any harm in telling him, and while I 
 was thinking, screwed it out of me. If you had 
 seen him drink and smoke, as I did, you couldn't 
 have kept anything from him. He's a Sala- 
 mander, you know, that's what he is." 
 
 Without inquiring whether Salamanders were 
 of necessity good confidential agents, or whether 
 a fire-proof man was as a matter of course trust- 
 worthy, Frederick Trent threw himself into a 
 chair, and, burying his head in his hands, en- 
 deavoured to fathom the motives which had led 
 Quilp to insinuate himself into Richard Swivel- 
 ler's confidence ; for that the disclosure was of 
 his seeking, and had not been spontaneously 
 revealed by Dick, was sufficiently plain from 
 Quilp's seeking his company and enticing him 
 away. 
 
 The dwarf had twice encountered him when 
 lie was endeavouring to obtain intelligence of 
 the fugitives. This, perhaps, as he had not 
 shown any previous anxiety about them, was 
 enough to awaken suspicion in the breast of a 
 creature so jealous and distrustful by nature, 
 setting aside any additional impulse to curiosity 
 that he might have derived from Dick's incau- 
 tious manner. But knowing the scheme they 
 had planned, why should he offer to assist it ? 
 
 This was a question more difficult of solution ; 
 but as knaves generally overreach themselves by 
 imputing their own designs to others, the idea 
 immediately presented itself that some circum- 
 stances of irritation between Quilp and the old 
 man, arising out of their secret transactions, and 
 not unconnected, perhaps, with his sudden dis- 
 appearance, now rendered the former desirous 
 of revenging himself upon him by seeking to 
 entrap the sole object of his love and anxiety 
 into a connection of which he knew he had a 
 dread and hatred. As Frederick Trent himself, 
 utterly regardless of his sister, had this object at 
 heart, only second to the hope of gain, it seemed 
 to him the more likely to be Quilp's main prin- 
 ciple of action. Once investing the dwarf with 
 a design of his own in abetting them, which the 
 attainment of their purpose would serve, it was 
 easy to believe him sincere and hearty in the 
 cause ; and as there could be no doubt of his 
 proving a powerful and useful auxiliary, Trent 
 determined to accept his invitation and go to 
 his house that night, and if what he said and 
 did confirmed him in the impression he had 
 formed, to let him share the labour of their plan, 
 but not the profit. 
 
 Having revolved, these things in his mind and 
 arrived at this conclusion, he communicated to 
 Mr. Swiveller as much of his meditations as he 
 thought proper (Dick would have been perfectly 
 satisfied with less), and, giving him the day to 
 recover himself from his late salamandering, 
 accompanied him at evening to Mr. Quilp's 
 house. 
 
 Mightily glad Mr. Quilp was to see them, or 
 mightily glad he seemed to be; and fearfully 
 pohte Mr. Quilp was to Mrs. Quilp and Mrs. 
 Jiniwin ; and very sharp was the look he cast 
 on his wife to observe how she was affected by 
 the recognition of young Trent. Mrs. Quilp was 
 as innocent as her own mother of any emotion, 
 painful or pleasant, which the sight of him 
 awakened, but as her husband'* glance made 
 her timid and confused, and uncertain what to 
 do or what was required of her, Mr. Quilp did 
 not fail to assign her embarrassment to the 
 cause he had in his mind, and, while he chuckled 
 at his penetration, was secretly exasperated by 
 his jealousy. 
 
 Nothing of this appeared, however. On the 
 contrary, Mr. Quilp was all blandness and suavity, 
 and presided over the case-bottle of rum with 
 extraordinary open-heartedness. 
 
 " Why, let me see," said Quilp. " It must be 
 a matter of nearly two years since we were first 
 acquainted." 
 
 " Nearer three, I think," said Trent. 
 
WELCOME BACK! 
 
 "Nearer three!" cried Quilp. "How fast 
 time flies ! Does it seem as long as that to 
 you, Mrs. Quilp?" 
 
 " Yes, I think it seems full three years, Quilp," 
 was the unfortunate reply. " Oh indeed, ma'am," 
 thought Quilp, " you have been pining, have 
 you? Very good, ma'am." 
 
 " It seems to me but yesterday that you went 
 out to Demerara in the Mary Anne," said Quilp ; 
 *' but yesterday, I declare. Well, I like a little 
 wildness. I was wild myself once." 
 
 Mr. Quilp accompanied this admission with 
 such an awful wink, indicative of old rovings 
 and backslidings, that Mrs. Jiniwin was indig- 
 nant, and could not forbear from remarking 
 under her breath that he might at least put off 
 his confessions until his wife was absent; for 
 which act of boldness and insubordination Mr. 
 Quilp first stared her out of countenance, and 
 then drank her health ceremoniously. 
 
 " I thought you'd come back directly, Fred. 
 I always thought that," said Quilp, setting down 
 his glass. " And when the Mary Anne returned 
 with you on board, instead of a letter to say 
 what a contrite heart you had, and how happy 
 you were in the situation that had been provided 
 for you, I was amused — exceedingly amused. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 The young man smiled, but not as though the 
 theme was the most agreeable one that could 
 have been selected for his entertainment ; and 
 for that reason Quilp pursued it. 
 
 " I always will say," he resumed, " that when 
 a rich relation having two young people — sisters 
 or brothers, or brother and sister — dependent 
 on him, attaches himself exclusively to one, and 
 casts off the other, he does wrong." 
 
 The young man made a movement of impa- 
 tience, but Quilp went on as calmly as if he 
 were discussing some abstract question in which 
 nobody present had the slightest personal in- 
 terest. 
 
 " It's very true," said Quilp, " that your 
 grandfather urged repeated forgiveness, ingrati- 
 tude, riot, and extravagance, and all that ; but, 
 as I told him, ' these are common faults.' ' But 
 he's a scoundrel,' said he. * Granting that,' 
 said I (for the sake of argument, of course), ' a 
 great many young noblemen and gentlemen are 
 scoundrels too ! ' But he wouldn't be con- 
 vinced." 
 
 " I wonder at that, Mr. Quilp," said the young 
 man sarcastically. 
 
 " Well, so did I at the time," returned Quilp, 
 "but he was always obstinate. He was in a 
 manner a friend of mine, but he was always 
 obstinate and wrong-headed. Little Nell is a 
 
 nice girl, a charming girl, but you're her brother, 
 Frederick, You're her brother after all ; as you 
 told him the last time you met, he can't alter 
 that." 
 
 " He would if he could, confound him for that 
 and all other kindnesses," said the young man 
 impatiently. " But nothing can come of this 
 subject now, and let us have done with it in the 
 devil's name." 
 
 " Agreed," returned Quilp, " agreed on my 
 part readily. Why have I alluded to it ? Just 
 to show you, Frederick, that I have always stood 
 your friend. You little knew who was your 
 friend and who your foe ; now did you ? You 
 thought I was against you, and so there has 
 been a coolness between us ; but it was all on 
 your side, entirely on your side. Let's shake 
 hands again, Fred." 
 
 With his head sunk down between his shoul- 
 ders, and a hideous grin overspreading his face, 
 the dwarf stood up and stretched his short arm 
 across the table. After a moment's hesitation, 
 the young man stretched out his to meet it ; 
 Quilp clutched his fingers in a grip that for the 
 moment stopped the current of the blood within 
 them, and pressing his other hand upon his lip, 
 and frowning towards the unsuspicious Richard, 
 released them and sat down. 
 
 This action was not lost upon Trent, who, 
 knowing that Richard Swiveller was a mere tool 
 in his hands, and knew no more of his designs 
 than he thought proper to communicate, saw 
 that the dwarf perfectly understood their relative 
 position, and fully entered into the character of 
 his friend. It is something to be appreciated, 
 even in knavery. This silent homage to his 
 superior abilities, no less than a sense of the 
 power with which the dwarf's quick perception 
 had already invested him, inclined the young 
 man towards that ugly worthy, and determined 
 him to profit by his aid. 
 
 It being now Mr. Quilp's cue to change the 
 subject with all convenient expedition, lest 
 Richard Swiveller in his heedlessness should 
 reveal anything which it was inexpedient for the 
 women to know, he proposed a game at four- 
 handed cribbage ; and partners being cut for, 
 Mrs. Quilp fell to Frederick Trent, and Dick 
 himself to Quilp. Mrs. Jiniwin, being very fond 
 of cards, was carefully excluded by her son-in- 
 law from any participation in the game, and had 
 assigned to her the duty of occasionally replenish- 
 ing the glasses from the case-bottle ; Mr. Quilp 
 from that moment keeping one eye constantly 
 upon her, lest she should by any means procure a 
 taste of the same, and thereby tantalising the 
 wretched old lady (who was as much attached to 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 the case-bottle as the cards) in a double degree 
 and most ingenious manner. 
 
 But it was not to Mrs. Jinivvin alone that Mr. 
 Quilp's attention was restricted, as several other 
 matters required his constant vigilance. Among 
 his various eccentric habits he had a humorous 
 one of always cheating at cards, which rendered 
 necessary on his part, not only a close observance 
 of the game, and a sleight-of-hand in counting and 
 scoring, but also involved the constant correc- 
 tion, by looks, and frowns, and kicks under the 
 table, of Richard Swiveller, who, being bewildered 
 by the rapidity with which his cards were told, 
 and the rate at which the pegs travelled down 
 the board, could not be prevented from some- 
 times expressing his surprise and incredulity. 
 Mrs. Quilp, too, was the partner of young Trent, 
 and for every look that passed between them, 
 and every word they spoke, and every card they 
 played, the dwarf had eyes and ears ; not occu- 
 pied alone with what was passing above the 
 table, but with signals that might be exchanging 
 beneath it, which he laid all kinds of traps to 
 detect ; besides often treading on his wife's toes 
 to see whether she cried out or remained silent 
 under the infliction, in which latter case it would 
 have been quite clear that Trent had been tread- 
 ing on her toes before. Yet, in the midst of all 
 these distractions, the one eye was upon the old 
 lady always, and if she so much as stealthily 
 advanced a tea-spoon towards a neighbouring 
 glass (which she often did), for the purpose of 
 abstracting but one sup of its sweet contents, 
 Quilp's hands would overset it in the very mo- 
 ment of her triumph, and Quilp's mocking voice 
 implore her to regard her precious health. And 
 in any one of these his many cares, from first to 
 last, Quilp never flagged nor faltered. 
 
 At length when they had played a great many 
 rubbers and drawn pretty freely upon the case- 
 bottle, Mr. Quilp warned his lady to retire to 
 rest, and that submissive wife complying, and 
 being followed by her indignant mother, Mr. 
 Swiveller fell asleep. The dwarf, beckoning his 
 remaining companion to the other end of the 
 room, held a short conference with him in 
 whispers, 
 
 " It's as well not to say more than one can 
 help before our worthy friend," said Quilp, 
 making a grimace towards the slumbering Dick. 
 " Is it a bargain between us, Fred ? Shall he 
 marry little rosy Nell by-and-by ? " 
 
 " You have some end of your own to answer, 
 of course," returned the other. 
 
 " Of course I have, dear Fred," said Quilp, 
 grinning to think how little he suspected what 
 the real end was. " It's retaliation, perhaps ; 
 
 perhaps whim. I have influence, Fred, to help 
 or oppose. Which way shall I use it ? There 
 are a pair of scales, and it goes into one." 
 " Throw it into mine, then," said Trent. 
 " It's done, Fred," rejoined Quilp, stretching 
 out his clenched hand and opening it as if he 
 had let some weight fall out. " It's in the scale 
 from this time, and turns it, Fred. Mind that." 
 "Where have they gone .?" asked Trent. 
 Quilp shook his head, and said that point 
 remained to be discovered, which it might be 
 easily. When it was, they would begin their 
 preliminary advances. He would visit the old 
 man, or even Richard Swiveller might visit him, 
 and by affecting a deep concern in his behalf, 
 and imploring him to settle in some worthy 
 home, lead to the child's remembering him with 
 gratitude and favour. Once impressed to this 
 extent, it would be easy, he said, to win her in 
 a year or two, for she supposed the old man to 
 be poor, as it was a part of his jealous poHcy 
 (in common with many other misers) to feign to 
 be so to those about him. 
 
 " He has feigned it often enough to me, of 
 late," said Trent. 
 
 "Oh, and to me too!" replied the dwarf. 
 " Which is more extraordinary, as I know how 
 rich he really is." 
 
 " I suppose you should," said Trent. 
 "I think I should indeed," rejoined the dwarf; 
 and in that, at least, he spoke the truth. 
 
 After a few more whispered words, they re- 
 turned to the table, and the young man, rousing- 
 Richard Swiveller, informed him that he was 
 waiting to depart. This was welcome news to 
 Dick, who started up directly. After a few 
 words of confidence in the result of their pro- 
 ject had been exchanged, they bade the grinning 
 Quilp good night. 
 
 Quilp crept to the window as they passed in 
 the street below, and listened. Trent was pro- 
 nouncing an encomium upon his wife, and they 
 were both wondering by what enchantment she 
 had been brought to marry such a misshapen 
 wretch as he. The dwarf, after watching their 
 retreating shadows with a wider grin than his 
 face had yet displayed, stole softly in the dark 
 to bed. 
 
 In this hatching of their scheme, neither Trent 
 nor Quilp had had one thought about the hap- 
 piness or misery of poor innocent Nell. It 
 would have been strange if the careless profligate, 
 who was the butt of both, had been harassed by 
 any such consideration ; for his high opinion of 
 his own merits and deserts rendered the project 
 rather a laudable one than otherwise ; and if he 
 had been visited by so unwonted a guest as 
 
SAFE FROM PURSUIT. 
 
 89 
 
 reflection, he would — being a brute only in the 
 gratification of his appetites — have soothed his 
 conscience with the plea that he did not mean 
 to beat or kill his wife, and would therefore, 
 after all said and done, be a very tolerable, 
 average husband. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 '•'^' T was not until they were quite ex- 
 hausted, and could no longer main- 
 tain the pace at which they had fled 
 from the race-ground, that the' old 
 man and the child ventured to stop, 
 and sit down to rest upon the bor- 
 ders of a little wood. Here, though the 
 course was hidden from their view, they 
 could yet faintly distinguish the noise of distant 
 shouts, the hum of voices, and the beating of 
 drums. Climbing the eminence which lay be- 
 tween them and the spot they had left, the child 
 could even discern the fluttering flags and white 
 tops of booths ; but no person was approaching 
 towards them, and their resting-place was solitary 
 and still. 
 
 Some time elapsed before she could reassure 
 her trembling companion, or restore him to a 
 state of moderate tranquillity. His disordered 
 imagination represented to him a crowd of per- 
 sons stealing towards them beneath the cover of 
 the bushes, lurking in every ditch, and peeping 
 from the boughs of every rustling tree. He was 
 haunted by apprehensions of being led captive 
 to some gloomy place where he would be chained 
 <xnd scourged, and, worse than all, where Nell 
 could never come to see him, save through iron 
 bars and gratings in the wall. His terrors 
 affected the child. Separation from her grand- 
 father was the greatest evil she could dread ; 
 and feeling for the time as though, go v/here 
 they would, they were to be hunted down, and 
 could never be safe but in hiding, her heart 
 failed her, and her courage drooped. 
 
 In one so young, and so unused to the scenes 
 in which she had lately moved, this sinking of 
 the spirit was not surprising. But Nature often 
 enshrines gallant and noble hearts in weak 
 bosoms — ottenest, God bless her, in female 
 breasts — and when the child, casting her tearful 
 eyes upon the old man, remembered how weak 
 he was, and how destitute and helpless he would 
 be if she failed him, her heart swelled within 
 her, and animated her with new strength and 
 fortitude. 
 
 " We are quite safe now, and have nothing to 
 fear indeed, dear grandfather," she said. 
 
 " Nothing to fear ! " returned the old man. 
 " Nothing to fear if they took me from thee ! 
 Nothing to fear if they parted us ! Nobody is 
 true to me. No, not one. Not even Nell ! " 
 
 " Oh ! do not say that," replied the child, 
 " for if ever anybody was true at heart, and ear- 
 nest, I am. I am sure you know I am." 
 
 " Then how," said the old man, looking fear- 
 fully round, " how can you bear to think that we 
 are safe, when they are searching for me ever)- 
 where, and may come here and steal upon us, 
 even while we're talking?" 
 
 " Because I'm sure we have not been followed," 
 said the child. " Judge for yourself, dear grand- 
 father ; look round, and see how quiet and still 
 it is. We are alone together, and may ramble 
 where we like. Not safe ! Could I feel easy — 
 did I feel at ease — when any danger threatened 
 you?" 
 
 " True, true," he answered, pressing her hand, 
 but still looking anxiously about. " What noise 
 was that ? " 
 
 "A bird," said the child, "flying into the 
 wood, and leading the way for us to follow. 
 You remember that we said we would walk in 
 woods and fields, and by the side of rivers, and 
 how happy we would be — you remember that ? 
 But here, while the sun shines above our heads, 
 and everything is bright and happy, we are sit- 
 ting sadly down, and losing time. See what a 
 pleasant path ; and there's the bird — the same 
 bird — now he flies to another tree, and stays to 
 sing. Come ! " 
 
 When they rose up from the ground, and took 
 the shady track which led them through the 
 wood, she bounded on before, printing her tiny 
 footsteps in the moss, which rose elastic from so 
 light a pressure, and gave it back as mirrors 
 throw off breath ; and thus she lured the old man 
 on, with many a backward look and merry beck, 
 now pointing stealthily to some lone bird as it 
 perched and twittered on a branch that strayed 
 across their path, now stopping to Hsten to the 
 songs that broke the happy silence, or watch 
 the sun as it trembled through the leaves, and 
 stealing in among the ivied trunks of stout old 
 trees, opened long paths of light. As they 
 passed onward, parting the boughs that clustered 
 in their way, the serenity which the child had 
 first assumed stole into her breast in earnest ; 
 the old man cast no longer fearful looks behind, 
 but felt at ease, and cheerful, for the further they 
 passed into the deep green shade, the more they 
 felt that the tranquil mind of God was there, and 
 shed its peace on them. 
 
 At length the path, becoming clearer and less 
 intricate, brought them to the end of the wood. 
 
90 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 and into a public road. Taking their Avay along 
 it for a short distance, they came to a lane, so 
 shaded by the trees on either hand that they 
 met together overhead, and arched the narrow 
 way. A broken finger-post announced that this 
 led to a village three miles off; and thither they 
 resolved to bend their steps. 
 
 The miles appeared so long that they some- 
 times thought they must have missed their road. 
 But at last, to their great joy, it led downward 
 in a steep descent, with overhanging banks over 
 which the footpaths led ; and the clustered houses 
 of the village peeped from the woody hollow 
 below. 
 
 It was a very small place. The men and boys 
 were playing at cricket on the green ; and as the 
 other folks were looking on, they wandered up 
 and down, uncertain where to seek a humble 
 lodging. There was but one old man in the 
 little garden before his cottage, and him they 
 were timid of approaching, for he was the school- 
 master, and had "School" written up over his 
 window in black letters on a white board. He 
 was a pale, simple-looking man, of a spare and 
 meagre habit, and sat among his flowers and 
 beehives, smoking his pipe, in the little porch 
 before his door. 
 
 " Speak to him, dear," the old man whispered. 
 
 " I am almost afraid to disturb him," said the 
 child timidly. " He does not seem to see us. 
 Perhaps, if we wait a little, he may look this 
 way." 
 
 They waited, but the schoolmaster cast no 
 look towards them, and still sat, thoughtful and 
 silent, in the little porch. He had a kind face. 
 In his plain old suit of black, he looked pale and 
 meagre. They fancied, too, a lonely air about 
 him and his house, but perhaps that was because 
 the other people formed a merry company upon 
 the green, and he seemed the only solitary man 
 in all the place. 
 
 They were very tired, and the child would 
 have been bold enough to address even a school- 
 master, but for something in his manner which 
 seemed to denote that he was uneasy or dis- 
 tressed. As they stood hesitating at a little dis- 
 tance, they saw that he sat for a {^■^ minutes at 
 a time like one in a brown study, then laid aside 
 his pipe and took a few turns in his garden, then 
 approached the gate and looked towards the 
 green, then took up his pipe again with a sigh, 
 and sat down thoughtfully as before. 
 
 As nobody else appeared, and it would soon 
 be dark, Nell at length took courage, and, when 
 he had resumed his pipe and seat, ventured to 
 draw near, leading her grandfather by the hand. 
 The slight noise they made in raising the latch 
 
 of the wicket-gate caught his attention. He 
 looked at them kindly, but seemed disappointed 
 too, and slightly shook his head. 
 
 Nell dropped a curtsy, and told him they were 
 poor travellers who sought a shelter for the 
 night, which they would gladly pay for, so far as 
 their means allowed. The schoolmaster looked 
 earnestly at her as she spoke, laid aside his pipe, 
 and rose up directly. 
 
 " If you could direct us anywhere, sir," said 
 the child, "we should take it very kindly." 
 
 " You have been walking a long way," said 
 the schoolmaster. 
 
 " A long way, sir," the child replied. 
 
 " You're a young traveller, my child," he said, 
 laying his hand gently on her head. " Your 
 grandchild, friend?" 
 
 " Ay, sir," cried the old man, " and the stay 
 and comfort of my life." 
 
 " Come in," said the schoolmaster. 
 
 Without further preface he conducted them 
 into his little schoolroom, which was parlour and 
 kitchen likewise, and told them they were wel- 
 come to remain under his roof till morning. 
 Before they had done thanking him, he spread 
 a coarse white cloth upon the table, with knives 
 and platters ; and, bringing out some bread and 
 cold meat and a jug of beer, besought them to 
 eat and drink. 
 
 The child looked round the room as she took 
 her seat. There were a couple of forms, notched 
 and cut and inked all over ; a small deal desk 
 perched on four legs, at which no doubt the mas- 
 ter sat ; a few dog's-eared books upon a high shelf; 
 and beside them a motley jcollection of pegtops,. 
 balls, kites, fishing-lines, marbles, half-eaten 
 apples, and other confiscated property of idle 
 urchins. Displayed on hooks upon the wall in 
 all their terrors were the cane and ruler ; and 
 near them, on a small shelf of its own, the 
 dunce's cap, made of old newspapers, and deco- 
 rated with glaring wafers of the largest size. But 
 the great ornaments of the walls Avere certain 
 moral sentences fairly copied in good round text, 
 and well-worked sums in simple addition and mul- 
 tiplication, evidently achieved by the same hand, 
 which were plentifully pasted all round the room : 
 for the double purpose, as it seemed, of bearing 
 testimony to the excellence of the school, and 
 kindling a worthy emulation in the bosoms of 
 the scholars. 
 
 "Yes," said the old schoolmaster, observing 
 that her attention was caught by these latter spe- 
 cimens. " That's beautiful writing, my dear." 
 
 " Very, sir," replied the child modestly. " Is 
 it yours ? " 
 
 " Mine ! " he returned, taking out his spec- 
 
UNDER THE SCHOOLMASTER'S ROOF. 
 
 91 
 
 tacles and putting them on, to have a better view 
 of the triumphs so dear to his heart. " / couldn't 
 write Hke that, nowadays. No. -They're all 
 done by one hand ; a little hand it is, not so old 
 as yours, but a very clever one." 
 
 As the schoolmaster said this, he saw that a 
 small blot of ink had been thrown on one of the 
 copies, so he took a penknife from his pocket, 
 and, going up to the wall, carefully scraped it 
 out. When he had finished, he walked slowly 
 backward from the writing, admiring it as one 
 might contemplate a beautiful picture, but with 
 something of sadness in his voice and manner 
 which quite touched the child, though she was 
 unacquainted with its cause. 
 
 " A little hand indeed," said the poor school- 
 master. " Far beyond all his companions, in 
 his learning and his sports too, how did he ever 
 come to be so fond of me ? That I should love 
 him is no wonder, but that he should love 
 
 me " And there the schoolmaster stopped, 
 
 and took off his spectacles to wipe them, as 
 though they had grown dim. 
 
 " I hope there is nothing the matter, sir," said 
 Nell an xi 0.1 sly. 
 
 "Not much, my dear," returned the school- 
 master. " I hoped to have seen him on the 
 green to-night. He was always foremost among 
 them. But he'll be there to-morrow." 
 
 "Has he been ill?" asked the child with a 
 child's quick sympathy. 
 
 " Not very. They said he was wandering in 
 his head yesterday, dear boy, and so they said 
 the day before. But that's a part of that kind of 
 disorder ; it's not a bad sign — not at all a bad 
 sign." 
 
 The child was silent. He walked to the door, 
 and looked wistfully out. The shadows of night 
 were gathering, and all was still. 
 
 " If he could lean upon anybody's arm, he 
 would come to me, I know," he said, returning 
 into the room. " He always came into the gar- 
 den to say good night. But perhaps his illness 
 has only just taken a favourable turn, and it's too 
 late for him to come out, for it's very damp, and 
 there's a heavy dew. It's much better he 
 shouldn't come to-night." 
 
 The schoolmaster lighted a candle, fastened 
 the window shutter, and closed the door. But 
 after he had done this, and sat silent a little 
 time, he took down his hat, and said he would 
 go and satisfy himself, if Nell would sit up till 
 he returned. The child readily comphed, and 
 he went out. 
 
 She sat there half an hour or more, feeling the 
 place very strange and lonely, for she had pre- 
 vailed upon the old man to go to bed, and there 
 
 was nothing to be heard but the ticking of an 
 old clock, and the whistling of the wind among 
 the trees. When he returned, he took his seat 
 in the chimney-corner, but remained silent for a 
 long time. At length he turned to her, and, 
 speaking very gently, hoped she would say a 
 prayer that night for a sick child. 
 
 " My favourite scholar ! " said the poor school- 
 master, smoking a pipe he had forgotten to light, 
 and looking mournfully round upon the walls. 
 " It is a little hand to have done all that, and 
 waste away with sickness. It is a very, very- 
 little hand ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 FTER a sound night's rest in a cham- 
 ber in the thatched roof, in which it 
 seemed the sexton had for some 
 years been a lodger, but which he 
 had lately deserted for a wife and a 
 cottage of his own, the child rose ear}y 
 in the morning, and descended to the 
 room where she had supped last night. 
 As the schoolmaster had already left his bed 
 and gone out, she bestirred herself to make it 
 neat and comfortable, and had just finished its 
 arrangement when the kind host returned. 
 
 He thanked her many times, and said that the 
 old dame who usually did such offices for him 
 had gone to nurse the little scholar whom he 
 had told her of. The child asked how he was, 
 and hoped he was better. 
 
 " No," rejoined the schoolmaster, shaking his 
 head sorrowfully, " no better. They even say 
 he is worse." 
 
 " I am very sorry for that, sir," said the child. 
 
 The poor schoolmaster appeared to be grati- 
 fied by her earnest manner, but yet rendered 
 more uneasy by it, for he added has1:ily that 
 anxious people often magnified an evil, and 
 thought it greater than it was. " For my part," 
 he said in his quiet, patient way, " I hope it's 
 not so. I don't think he can be worse." 
 
 The child asked his leave to prepare break- 
 fast, and her grandfather coming down-stairs, 
 they all three partook of it together. While the 
 meal was in progress, their host remarked that 
 the old man seemed much fatigued, and evi- 
 dently stood in need of rest. 
 
 " If the journey you have before you is a long 
 one," he said, " and don't press you for one 
 day, you're very welcome to pass another night 
 here. I should really be glad if you would, 
 friend." 
 
 He saw that the old man looked at Nell, un- 
 
92 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 certain whether to accept or decUne his offer ; 
 and added : 
 
 '' I shall be glad to have your young com- 
 panion with me for one day. If you can do a 
 charity to a lone man, and rest yourself at the 
 same time, do so. If you must proceed upon 
 your journey, I wish you well through it, and 
 will walk a little way with you before school 
 begins." 
 
 " What are we to do, Nell ? " said the old man 
 irresolutely. " Say what we're to do, dear." 
 
 It required no great persuasion to induce the 
 child to answer that they had better accept the 
 invitation and remain. She was happy to show 
 her gratitude to the kind schoolmaster by busy- 
 ing herself in the performance of such household 
 duties as his little cottage stood in need of. 
 When these were done, she took some needle- 
 work from her basket, and sat herself down upon 
 a stool beside the lattice, where the honeysuckle 
 and woodbine entwined their tender stems, and 
 stealing into the room, filled it with their deli- 
 cious breath. Her grandfather was basking in 
 the sun outside, breathing the perfume of the 
 flowers, and idly watching the clouds as they 
 floated on before the light summer wind. 
 
 As the schoolmaster, after arranging the two 
 forms in due order, took his seat behind his desk 
 and made other preparations for school, the 
 child was apprehensive that she might be in the 
 way, and offered to withdraw to her little bed- 
 room. But this he would not allow, and, as he 
 seemed pleased to have her there, she remained, 
 busying herself with her work. 
 
 " Have you many scholars, sir ? " she asked. 
 
 The poor schoolmaster shook his head, and 
 said that they barely filled the two forms. 
 
 " Are the others clever, sir ? " asked the child, 
 glancing at the trophies on the wall. 
 
 " Good boys," returned the schoolmaster, 
 ^'good boys enough, my dear, but they'll never 
 ■do like that." 
 
 A small white-headed boy with a sunburnt 
 face appeared at the door while he was speaking, 
 and, stopping there to make a rustic bow, came 
 in and took his seat upon one of the forms. The 
 white-headed boy then put an open book, as- 
 tonishingly dog's-eared, upon his knees, and, 
 thrusting his hands into his pockets, began 
 counting the marbles with which they were 
 filled ; displaying in the expression of his face a 
 remarkable capacity of totally abstracting his 
 mind from the spelling on which his eyes were 
 fixed. Soon afterwards another white-headed 
 little boy came straggling in, and after him a 
 red-headed lad, and after him two more with 
 white heads, and then one with a flaxen poll, 
 
 and so on until the forms were occupied by a 
 dozen boys or thereabouts, with heads of every 
 colour but grey, and ranging in their ages from 
 four years old to fourteen years or more ; for the 
 legs of the youngest were a long way from the 
 floor when he sat upon the form, and the eldest 
 was a heavy, good-tempered, foolish fellow, 
 about half a head taller than the schoolmaster. 
 
 At the top of the first form — the post of 
 honour in the school — was the vacant place of 
 the little sick scholar, and at the head of the row 
 of pegs on which those who came in hats or caps 
 were wont to hang them up, one was left empty. 
 No boy attempted to violate the sanctity of seat 
 or peg, but many a one looked from the empty 
 spaces to the schoolmaster, and whispered his 
 idle neighbour behind his hand. 
 
 Then began the hum of conning over lessons 
 and getting them by heart, the whispered jest 
 and stealthy game, and all the noise and drawl 
 of school ; and in the midst of the din sat the 
 poor schoolmaster, the very image of meekness 
 and simplicity, vainly attempting to fix his mind 
 upon the duties of the day, and to forget his 
 little friend. But the tedium of his office re- 
 minded him more strongly of the wiUing scholar, 
 and his thoughts were rambling from his pupils 
 — it was plain. 
 
 None knew this better than the idlest boys, 
 who, growing bolder with impunity, waxed 
 louder and more daring ; playing odd-or-even 
 under the master's eye, eating ajDples openly and 
 without rebuke, pinching each other in sport or 
 mahce without the least reserve, and cutting 
 their autographs in the very legs of his desk. 
 The puzzled dunce, who stood beside it to say 
 his lesson out of book, looked no longer at the 
 ceiling for forgotten words, but drew closer to 
 the master's elbow and boldly cast his eye upon 
 the page ; the wag of the httle troop squinted 
 and made grimaces (at the smallest boy, of 
 course), holding no book before his face, and 
 his approving audience knew no constraint in 
 their delight. If the master did chance to rouse 
 himself and seem alive to what was going on, 
 the noise subsided for a moment, and no eyes 
 met his but wore a studious and a deeply humble 
 look ; but the instant he relapsed again, it broke 
 out afresh, and ten times louder than before. 
 
 Oh ! how some of those idle fellows longed to 
 be outside, and how they looked at the open 
 door and window, as if they half meditated 
 rushing violently out, plunging into the woods, 
 and being wild boys and savages from that time 
 forth ! What rebellious thoughts of the cool 
 river, and some shady bathing-place beneath 
 willow-trees with branches dipping in the water, 
 
A HALF-HOLIDAY. 
 
 93 
 
 kept tempting and urging that sturdy boy, who, 
 with his shirt-collar unbuttoned and flung back 
 as far as it could go, sat fanning his flushed face 
 with a spelling-book, wishing himself a whale, or 
 a tittlebat, or a fly, or anything but a boy at 
 :chool on that hot, broiling day ! Heat ! Ask 
 that other boy, whose seat being nearest to the 
 door, gave him opportunities of gliding out into 
 the garden and driving his companions to mad- 
 ness by dipping his face into the bucket of the 
 well, and then rolling on the grass — ask him if 
 there were ever such a day as that, when even 
 
 the bees were diving deep down into the cups of 
 flowers, and stopping there, as if they had made 
 up their minds to retire from business and be 
 manufacturers of honey no more. The day was 
 made for laziness, and lying on one's back in 
 green places, and staring at the sky till its 
 brightness forced one to shut one's eyes and go 
 to sleep ; and was this a time to be poring over 
 musty books in a dark room, slighted by the 
 very sun itself? Monstrous! 
 
 Nell sat by the window occupied with her 
 work, but attentive still to all that passed, though 
 
 W;,i'fi.*",'/f;i""' ■■'/*',7' "'(/;';; '■i'l I'll 111 ir* > 
 
 " A SMALL WHITE-HEADED BOY WITH A SUNBURNT FACE APPEARED AT THE DOOR WHILE HE WAS SPEAKING, 
 AND, STOPPING THERE TO MAKE A RUSTIC BOW, CAME IN." 
 
 sometimes rather timid of the boisterous boys. 
 The lessons over, writing-time began ; and there 
 being but one desk, and that the master's, each 
 boy sat at it in turn and laboured at his crooked 
 copy, while the master walked about. This was 
 a quieter time ; for he would come and look 
 over the writer's shoulder, and tell him mildly 
 to observe how such a letter was turned in such 
 a copy on the wall, praise such an up-stroke here 
 and such a down-stroke there, and bid him take 
 it for his model. Then he would stop and tell 
 them what the sick child had said last night, and 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, -. 
 
 how he had longed to be among them once 
 again ; and such was the poor schoolmaster's 
 gentle and affectionate manner, that the boys 
 seemed quite remorseful that they had worried 
 him so much, and were absolutely quiet j eating 
 no apples, cutting no names, inflicting no 
 pinches, and making no grimaces for full two 
 minutes afterwards. 
 
 " I think, boys," said the schoolmaster, when 
 the clock struck twelve, " that I shall give an 
 extra half-holiday this afternoon." 
 
 At this intelligence, the boys, led on and 
 
 255 
 
94 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 headed by the tall boy, raised a great shout, in 
 the midst of which the master was seen to speak, 
 but could not be heard. As he held up his 
 hand, however, in token of his wish that they 
 should be silent, they were considerate enough 
 to leave off as soon as the longest-winded among 
 them were quite out of breath. 
 
 " You must promise me first," said the school- 
 master, " that you'll not be noisy, or at least, if 
 you are, that you'll go away and be so — away 
 out of the village I mean. I'm sure you wouldn't 
 disturb your old playmate and companion." 
 
 There was a general murmur (and perhaps a 
 very sincere one, for they were but boys) in the 
 negative ; and the tall boy, perhaps as sincerely 
 as any of them, called those about him to wit- 
 ness that he had only shouted in a whisper. 
 
 "Then pray don't forget, there's my dear 
 scholars," said the schoolmaster, " what I have 
 asked you, and do it as a favour to me. Be 
 as happy as you can, and don't be unmindful 
 that you are blessed with health. Good-bye 
 all ! " 
 
 " Thankee, sir," and " Good-bye, sir,"' were 
 said a great many times in a variety of voices, 
 and the boys went out very slowly and softly. 
 But there was the sun shining, and there were 
 the birds singing, as the sun only shines and the 
 birds only sing on holidays and half-holidays 3 
 there were the trees waving to all free boys to 
 climb and nestle among their leafy branches ; 
 the hay, entreating them to come and scatter it 
 to the pure air ; the green corn, gently beckon- 
 ing towards wood and stream ; the smooth 
 ground, rendered smoother still by blending 
 lights and shadows, inviting to runs and leaps, 
 and long walks God knows whither. It was 
 more than boy could bear, and with a joyous 
 whoop the whole cluster took to their heels and 
 spread themselves about, shouting and laughing 
 as they went. 
 
 " It's natural, thank Heaven ! " said the poor 
 schoolmaster, looking after them. " I'm very 
 glad they didn't mind me ! " 
 
 It is difficult, however, to please everybody, 
 as most of us would have discovered, even with- 
 out the fable which bears that moral; and in the 
 course of the afternoon several mothers and aunts 
 of pupils looked in to express their entire disap- 
 proval of the schoolmaster's proceeding. A few 
 confined themselves to hints, such as politely in- 
 quiring what red-letter day or saint's day the 
 almanac said it was ; a few (these were the pro- 
 found village politicians) argued that it was a 
 slight to the throne and an affront to church and 
 state, and savoured of revolutionary principles, 
 to grant a half-holiday upon any lighter occasion 
 
 than the birthday of the Monarch ; but the- 
 majority expressed their displeasure on private 
 grounds and in plain terms, arguing that to put 
 the pupils on this short allowance of learning 
 was nothing but an act of downright robbery and 
 fraud : and one old lady, finding that she could 
 not inflame or irritate the peaceable school- 
 master by talking to him, bounced out of his 
 house and talked at him for half an hour outside 
 his own window, to another old lady, saying that 
 of course he would deduct this half-holiday from 
 his weekly charge, or of course he would 
 naturally expect to have an opposition started 
 against him ; there was no want of idle chaps in 
 that neighbourhood {here the old lady raised her 
 voice), and some chaps who were too idle even 
 to be schoolmasters, might soon find that there 
 were other chaps put over their heads, and so she 
 would have them take care, and look pretty 
 sharp about them. But all these taunts aiid 
 vexations failed to elicit one word from the 
 meek schoolmaster, who sat with the child by 
 his side, — a little more dejected, perhaps, but 
 quite silent and uncomplaining. 
 
 Towards night an old woman came tottering 
 up the garden as speedily as she could, and, 
 meeting the schoolmaster at the door, said he 
 was to go to Dame West's directly, and had best 
 run on before her. He and the child were on 
 the point of going out together for a walk, and 
 without relinquishing her hand, the schoolmaster 
 hurried away, leaving the messenger to follow as 
 she might. 
 
 They stopped at a cottage door, and the 
 schoolmaster knocked softly at it with his hand. 
 It Avas opened without loss of time. They en- 
 tered a room where a little group of women were 
 gathered about one, older than the rest, who 
 was crying very bitterly, and sat wringing her 
 hands and rocking herself to and fro. 
 
 " Oh, dame ! " said the schoolmaster, drawing 
 near her chair, " is it so bad as this ? " 
 
 "He's going fast," cried the old woman ; " my 
 grandson's dying. It's all along of you. You 
 shouldn't see him now, but for his being so ear- 
 nest on it. This is what his learning has brought 
 him to. Oh dear, dear, dear, what can I do ? " 
 
 " Do not say that I am in any fault," urged 
 the gentle schoolmaster. " I am not hurt, dame. 
 No, no. You are in great distress of mind, and 
 don't mean what you say. I am sure you don't." 
 
 " I do," returned the old woman. "I m^;n 
 it all. If he hadn't been poring over his books 
 out of fear of you, he would have been well and 
 merry now, I know he would." 
 
 The schoolmaster looked round upon the 
 other women as if to entreat some one among 
 
THE FAVOURITE LITTLE SCHOLAR. 
 
 95 
 
 them to say a kind word for him, but they shook 
 their heads, and murmured to each other that 
 they never thought there was much good in 
 learning, and that this convinced them. With- 
 out saying a word in reply, or giving them a 
 look of reproach, he followed the old woman 
 who had summoned him (and who had now re- 
 joined them) into another room, where his infant 
 friend, half dressed, lay stretched upon a bed. 
 
 He was a very young boy ; quite a little child. 
 His hair still hung in curls about his face, and 
 his eyes were very bright; but their light was of 
 Heaven, not earth. The schoolmaster took a 
 seat beside him, and, stooping over the pillow, 
 whispered his name. The boy sprung up, stroked 
 his face with his hand, and threw his wasted arms 
 around his neck, crying out that he was his dear 
 kind friend. 
 
 " I hope I always was. I meant to be, God 
 knows," said the poor schoolmaster. 
 
 " Who is that ? " said the boy, seeing NqH. 
 " I am afraid to kiss her, lest I should make her 
 ill. Ask her to shake hands with me." 
 
 The sobbing child came closer up, and took 
 the little languid hand in hers. Releasing his 
 again after a time, the sick boy laid him gently 
 down. 
 
 "You remember the garden, Harry," whis- 
 pered the schoolmaster, anxious to rouse him, 
 for a dulness seemed gathering upon the child, 
 " and how pleasant it used to be in the evening- 
 time ? You must make haste to visit it again, 
 for I think the very flowers have missed you, and 
 are less gay than they used to be. You will 
 come soon, my dear, very soon now, — won't 
 you ? " 
 
 The boy smiled faintly — so very, very faintly 
 — and put his hand upon his friend's grey head. 
 He moved his lips too, but no voice came from 
 them -y no, not a sound. 
 
 In the silence that ensued, the hum of distant 
 voices borne upon the evening air came floating 
 through the open window. " What's that ? " 
 said the sick child, opening his eyes. 
 
 " The boys at play upon the green." 
 
 He took a handkerchief from his pillow, and 
 tried to wave it above his head. But the feeble 
 arm dropped powerless down. 
 
 " Shall I do it ? " said the schoolmaster. 
 
 " Please wave it at the window," was the faint 
 reply. " Tie it to the lattice. Some of them 
 may see it there. Perhaps they'll think of me 
 and look this way." 
 
 He raised his head, and glanced from the 
 fluttering signal to his idle bat, that lay with slate 
 and book and other boyish property upon a table 
 in the room. And then he laid him softly down 
 
 once more, and asked if the little girl were there, 
 for he could not see her. 
 
 She stepped forward, and pressed the passive 
 hand that lay upon the coverlet. The two old 
 friends and companions — for such they were, 
 though they were man and child — held each 
 other in a long embrace, and then the little 
 scholar turned his face towards the wall, and fell 
 asleep. 
 
 The poor schoolmaster sat in the same place, 
 holding the small cold hand in his, and chafing 
 it. It was but the hand of a dead child. He 
 felt that ; and yet he chafed it still, and could 
 not lay it down. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 K "^f^ 
 
 LMOST broken-hearted, Nell Mith. 
 drew with the schoolmaster from the 
 bedside, and returned to his cottage. 
 In the midst of her grief and tears 
 she was yet careful to conceal their 
 real cause from the old man, for the 
 dead boy had been a grandchild, and 
 left but one aged relative to mourn his 
 premature decay. 
 
 She stole away to bed as quickly as she could, 
 and, when she was alone, gave free vent to the 
 sorrow with which her breast was overcharged. 
 But the sad scene she had witnessed was not 
 without its lesson of content and gratitude ; of 
 content with the lot which left her health and 
 freedom ; and gratitude that she was spared to 
 the one relative and friend she loved, and to live 
 and move in a beautiful world, when so many 
 young creatures — as young and full of hope as 
 she — were stricken down and gathered to their 
 graves. How many of the mounds in that old 
 churchyard where she had lately strayed, grew 
 green above the graves of children ! And 
 though she thought as a child herself, and did 
 not, perhaps, sufficiently consider to what a 
 bright and happy existence, those who die young 
 are borne, and how in death they lose the pain 
 of seeing others die around them, bearing to the 
 tomb some strong affection of their hearts (which 
 makes the old die many times in one long life), 
 still she thought wisely enough to draw a plain 
 and easy moral from what she had seen that 
 night, and to store it deep in her mind. 
 
 Her dreams were of the little scholar: not 
 coffined and covered up, but mingling with 
 angels, and smiling happily. The sun, darting 
 his cheerful rays into the room, awoke her ; and 
 now there remained but to take leave of the 
 poor schoolmaster, and wander forth once more. 
 
96 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 By the time they were ready to depart, school 
 had begun. In the darkened room the din of 
 yesterday was going on again : a Uttle sobered 
 and softened down, perhaps, but only a very 
 little, if at all. The schoolmaster rose from his 
 desk, and walked with them to the gate. 
 
 It was with a trembling and reluctant hand 
 that the child held out to him the money which 
 the lady had given her at the races for her 
 flowers ; faltering in her thanks as she thought 
 hQw small the sum was, and blushing as she 
 offered it. But he bade her put it up, and, 
 stooping to kiss her cheek, turned back into his 
 house. 
 
 They had not gone half-a-dozen paces when 
 he was at the door again ; the old man retraced 
 his steps to shake hands, and the child did the 
 same. 
 
 " Good fortune and happiness go with you ! '' 
 said the poor schoolmaster. " I am quite a soli- 
 tary man now. If you ever pass this way again, 
 you'll not forget the little village school." 
 
 "We shall never forget it, sir," rejoined Nell ; 
 " nor ever forget to be grateful to you for your 
 kindness to us." 
 
 " I have heard such words from the lips of 
 children very often," said the schoolmaster, 
 shaking his head, and smiling thoughtfully, "but 
 they were soon forgotten. I had attached one 
 young friend to me, the better friend for being 
 young — but that's over — God bless you ! " 
 
 They bade him farewell very many times, and 
 turned away, walking slowly and often looking 
 back, until they could see him no more. At 
 length they had left the village far behind, -and 
 even lost sight of the smoke among the trees. 
 They trudged onward now at a quicker pace, 
 resolving to keep the main road, and go wherever 
 it might lead them. 
 
 But main roads stretch a long, long way. 
 AVith the exception of two or three inconsider- 
 able clusters of cottages which they passed with- 
 out stopping, and one lonely roadside public- 
 house where they had some bread and cheese, 
 this highway had led them to nothing — late in 
 the afternoon — and still lengthened out, far in 
 the distance, the same dull, tedious, winding 
 course that they had been pursuing all day. As 
 they had no resource, however, but to go for- 
 ward, they still kept on, though at a much slower 
 pace, being very weary and fatigued. 
 
 The afternoon had worn away into a beautiful 
 evening, when they arrived at a point where the 
 road made a sharp turn and struck across a com- 
 mon. On the border of this common, and close 
 to the hedge which divided it from the cultivated 
 fields, a caravan was drawn up to rest; upon 
 
 which, by reason of its situation, they came so 
 suddenly that they could not have avoided it if 
 they would. 
 
 It was not a shabby, dingy, dusty cart, but a 
 smart little house upon wheels, with white dimity 
 curtains festooning the windows, and window 
 shutters of green picked out with panels of a 
 staring red, in which happily-contrasted colours 
 the whole concern shone brilliant. Neither was 
 it a poor caravan drawn by a single donkey or 
 emaciated horse, for a pair of horses in pretty 
 good condition were released from the shafts 
 and grazing on the frouzy grass. Neither was it 
 a gipsy caravan, for at the open door (graced 
 with a bright brass knocker) sat a Christian lady, 
 stout and comfortable to look upon, who wore 
 a large bonnet trembling with bows. And that 
 it was not an unprovided or destitute caravan 
 was clear from this lady's occupation, which was 
 the very pleasant and refreshing one of taking 
 tea. The tea-things, including a bottle of rather 
 suspicious character and a cold knuckle of ham. 
 were set forth upon a drum, covered with a 
 white napkin ; and there, as if at the most con- 
 venient round table in all the world, sat this 
 roving lady, taking her tea and enjoying the 
 prospect. 
 
 It happened that at that moment the lady of 
 the caravan had her cup (which, that everything 
 about her might be of a stout and comfortable 
 kind, was a breakfast-cup) to her lips, and that 
 having her eyes lifted to the sky in her enjoy- 
 ment of the full flavour of the tea, not unmingled 
 possibly with just the slightest dash or gleam of 
 something out of the suspicious bottle— but this 
 is mere speculation, and not distinct matter of 
 history — it happened that being thus agreeably 
 engaged, she did not see the travellers when 
 they first came up. It was not until she was in 
 the act of setting down the cup, and drawing a 
 long breath after the exertion of causing its con- 
 tents to disappear, that the lady of the caravan 
 beheld an old man and a young child walking 
 slowly by, and glancing at her proceedings with 
 eyes of modest but hungry admiration. 
 
 " Hey ? " cried the lady of the caravan, scoop- 
 ing the crumbs out of her lap, and swallowing 
 the same before wiping her lips. " Yes, to be 
 sure. — Who won the Helter-Skelter Plate, child?" 
 
 " Won what, ma'am ?" asked Nell. 
 
 " The Helter-Skelter Plate at the races, child 
 — the plate that was run for on the second day. " 
 
 " On the second day, ma'am ? " 
 
 " Second day ! Yes, second day," repeated 
 the lady with an air of impatience. " Can't you 
 say who won the Helter-Skelter Plate when 
 you're asked the question civilly ? " 
 
THE LADY OF THE CARAVAN. 
 
 97 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am." 
 
 '' Don't know ! " repeated the lady of the 
 caravan; "why, you were there. I saw you 
 with my own eyes." 
 
 Nell was not a little alarmed to hear this, sup- 
 posing that the lady might be intimately ac- 
 (]uainted with the firm of Short and Codlin ; but 
 what followed tended to reassure her. 
 
 " And very sorry I was," said the lady of the 
 caravan, " to see you in company with a Punch ; 
 a low, practical, wulgar wretch, that people 
 should scorn to look at." 
 
 " I was not there by choice," returned the 
 c'lild ; " we didn't know our way, and the two 
 men were very kind to us, and let us travel with 
 ihem. Do you — do you know them, ma'am ? " 
 
 " Know 'em, child ! " cried the lady of the 
 caravan in a sort of shriek. " Know them ! 
 But you're young and inexperienced, and that's 
 your excuse for asking ; ich a question. Do I 
 look as if I knowed 'em, does the caravan look 
 as if // knowed 'em ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am, no," said the child, fearing she 
 had committed some grievous fault. " I beg 
 your pardon." 
 
 It was granted immediately, though the lady 
 still appeared much ruffled and discomposed by 
 the degrading supposition. The child then ex- 
 plained that they had left the races on the first 
 tlay, and were traveUing to the next town on 
 that road, where they purposed to spend the 
 night. As the countenance of the stout lady 
 began to clear up, she ventured to inquire how 
 far it was. The reply — which the stout lady did 
 not come to until she had thoroughly explained 
 that she went to the races on the first day in a 
 gig, and as an expedition of pleasure, and that 
 her presence there had no connection with any 
 matters of business or profit — was, that the town 
 was eight miles off. 
 
 This discouraging information a little dashed 
 the child, who could scarcely repress a tear as 
 she glanced along the darkening road. Her 
 grandfather made no complaint, but he sighed 
 heavily as he leaned upon his staff, and vainly 
 tried to pierce the dusty distance. 
 
 The lady of the caravan was in the act of 
 gathering her tea equipage together preparatory 
 to clearing the table, but, noting the child's 
 anxious manner, she hesitated and stopped. The 
 child curtsied, thanked her for her information, 
 and giving her hand to the old man, had already 
 got some fifty yards or so away, when the lady 
 of the caravan called to her to return. 
 
 " Come nearer, nearer still," said she, beckon- 
 ing to her to ascend the steps. " Are you 
 hungry, child ? " 
 
 " Not very, but we are tired, and it's — it is a 
 long way " 
 
 " Well, hungry or not, you had better have 
 some tea," rejoined her new acquaintance. " I 
 suppose you are agreeable to that, old gentle- 
 man ? " 
 
 The grandfather humbly pulled off his hat and 
 thanked her. The lady of the caravan then bade 
 him come up the steps likewise, but the drum 
 proving an inconvenient table for two, they 
 descended again, and sat upon the grass, where 
 she handed down to them the tea-tray, the bread 
 and butter, the knuckle of ham, and, in short, 
 everything of which she had partaken herself, 
 except the bottle, which she had already em- 
 braced an opportunity of shpping into her 
 pocket. 
 
 " Set 'em out near the hind wheels, child, that's 
 the best place," said their friend, superintending 
 the arrangements from above. " Now hand up 
 the teapot for a little more hot water, and a 
 pinch of fresh tea, and then both of you eat and 
 drink as much as you can, and don't spare any- 
 thing ; that's all I ask of you." 
 
 They might, perhaps, have carried out the 
 lady's wish, if it had been less freely expressed, 
 or even if it had not been expressed at all. But 
 as this direction relieved them from any shadow 
 of delicacy or uneasiness, they made a hearty 
 meal, and enjoyed it to the utmost. 
 
 While they were thus engaged, the lady of the 
 caravan alighted on the earth, and with her 
 hands clasped behind her, and her large bonnet 
 trembling excessively, walked up and down in a 
 measured tread and very stately manner, survey- 
 ing the caravan from time to time with an air of 
 calm delight, and deriving particular gratification 
 from the red panels and the brass knocker. 
 When she had taken this gentle exercise for some 
 time, she sat down upon the steps and called 
 " George ; " whereupon a man in a carter's frock, 
 who had been so shrouded in a hedge up to this 
 time as to see everything that passed without 
 being seen himself, parted the twigs that con- 
 cealed him, and appeared in a sitting altitude, 
 supporting on his legs a baking-dish and a half- 
 gallon stone bottle, and bearing in his right hand 
 a knife, and in his left a fork. 
 
 " Yes, missus," said George. 
 
 " How did you find the cold pie, George ? " 
 
 " It warn't amiss, mum." 
 
 " And the beer," said the lady of the caravan, 
 with an appearance of being more interested in 
 this question than the last ; " is it passable, 
 George ? " 
 
 " It's more flatterer than it might be," George 
 returned, " but it ain't so bad for all that." 
 
98 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 To set the mind of his mistress at rest, he 
 took a sip (amounting in quantity to a pint or 
 thereabouts) from the stone bottle, and then 
 smacked his lips, winked his eye, and nodded 
 his head. No doubt with the same amiable de- 
 sire, he immediately resumed his knife and fork, 
 as a practical assurance that the beer had 
 wrought no bad effect upon his appetite. 
 
 The lady of the caravan looked on approvingly 
 for some time, and then said : 
 
 " Have you nearly finished ? " 
 
 " Wery nigh, mum." And indeed, after scrap- 
 ing the dish all round with his knife, and carrying 
 the choice brown morsels to his mouth, and after 
 taking such a scientific pull at the stone bottle 
 that, by degrees almost imperceptible to the 
 sight, his head went further and further back 
 until he lay nearly at his full length upon the 
 ground, this gentleman declared himself quite 
 disengaged, and came forth from his retreat. 
 
 " I hope I haven't hurried you, George," said 
 his mistress, who appeared to have a great sym- 
 pathy with his late pursuit. 
 
 " If you have," returned the follower, wisely 
 reserving himself for any favourable contingency 
 that might occur, " we must make up for it next 
 time, that's all." 
 
 " We are not a heavy load, George ? " 
 
 "That's always what the ladies say," replied 
 the man, looking a long way round, as if he 
 were appealing to Nature in general against such 
 snonstrous propositions. " If you see a woman 
 a driving, you'll always perceive that she never 
 will keep her whip still ; the horse can't go fast 
 enough for her. If cattle have got their proper 
 load, you never can persuade a woman diat 
 they'll not bear something more. What is the 
 cause of this here ? " 
 
 " Would these two travellers make much dif- 
 ference to the horses, if we took them with us ? " 
 asked his mistress, offering no reply to the philo- 
 sophical inquiry, and pointing to Nell and the 
 old man, who were painfully preparing to resume 
 their journey on foot. 
 
 "They'd make a difference, in course," said 
 George doggedly. 
 
 " Would they make much difference ? " re- 
 peated his mistress. " They can't be very 
 heavy." 
 
 " The weight o' the pair, mum," said George, 
 eyeing them with the look of a man who was 
 calculating within half an ounce or so, " would 
 be a trifle under that of Oliver Cromwell." 
 
 Nell was very much surprised that the man 
 should be so accurately acquainted with the 
 weight of one whom she had read of in books as 
 having lived considerably before their time, but 
 
 speedily forgot the subject in the joy of hearing 
 that they were to go forward in the caravan, for 
 which she thanked its lady with unaffected ear- 
 nestness. She helped with great readiness and 
 alacrity to put away the tea-things and other 
 matters that were lying about, and, the horses 
 being by that time harnessed, mounted into the 
 vehicle, followed by her delighted grandfather. 
 Their patroness then shut the door, and sat her- 
 self down by her drum at an open window ; and, 
 the steps being struck by George and stowed 
 under the carriage, away they went, with a great 
 noise of flapping and creaking and straining ; 
 and the bright brass knocker, which nobody 
 ever knocked at, knocking one perpetual double 
 knock of its own accord as they jolted heavily 
 along. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 ;[-IEN they had travelled slowly for- 
 ward for some short distance, Nell 
 ventured to steal a look round the 
 caravan, and observe it more 
 closely. One half of it — that 
 moiety in which the comfortable 
 proprietress was then seated — was car- 
 peted, and so partitioned off at the further 
 end as to accommodate a sleeping-place, 
 constructed after the fashion of a berth on board 
 ship, which was shaded, like the little windows, 
 with fair white curtains, and looked comfortable 
 enough, though by what kind of gymnastic exer- 
 cise the lady of the caravan ever contrived to 
 get into it was an unfathomable mystery. .. The 
 other half served for a kitchen, and was fitted 
 up with a stove whose small chimney passed 
 through the roof. It held also a closet or larder, 
 several chests, a great pitcher of water, and a 
 few cooking utensils and articles of crockery. 
 These latter necessaries hung upon the walls, 
 which, in that portion of the establishment de- 
 voted to the lady of the caravan, were orna- 
 mented with such gayer and lighter decorations 
 as a triangle and a couple of well-thumbed 
 tambourines. 
 
 The lady of the caravan sat at one window in 
 all the pride and poetry of the musical instru- 
 ments, and little Nell and her grandfather sat at 
 .the other in all the humility of the kettle and 
 saucepans, while the machine jogged on and 
 shifted the darkening prospect very slowly. At 
 first the two travellers spoke little, and only in 
 whispers, but, as they grew more familiar with 
 the place, they ventured to converse with greater 
 freedom, and talked about the country through 
 
THE GLORIES OF /ALLEY'S WAX- WORK. 
 
 99 
 
 which they were passing, and the different ob- 
 jects that presented themselves, until the old 
 man fell asleep ; which the lady of the caravan 
 observing, invited Nell to come and sit beside 
 her. 
 
 "Well, child," she said, "how do you like 
 this way of travelling?" 
 
 Nell replied that she thought it was very plea- 
 sant indeed, to which the lady assented in the 
 case of people who had their spirits. For her- 
 ;s:lf, she said, she was troubled with a lowness in 
 that respect which required a constant stimulant; 
 though whether the aforesaid stimulant was de- 
 rived from the suspicious bottle of which mention 
 has been already made, or from other sources, 
 she did not say. 
 
 " That's the happiness of you young people," 
 she continued. '" You don't know what it is to 
 be low in your feelings. You always have your 
 appetites, too, and what a comfort that is ! " 
 
 Nell thought that she could sometimes dis- 
 pense, with her own appetite very conveniently; 
 and thought, moreover, that there was nothing, 
 either in the lady's personal appearance or in 
 her manner of taking tea, to lead to the conclu- 
 sion that her natural relish for meat and drink 
 had at all failed her. She silently assented, 
 however, as in duty bound, to what the lady 
 had said, and waited until she should speak 
 again. 
 
 Instead of speaking, however, she sat looking 
 at the child for a long time in silence, and then 
 getting up, brouglit out from a corner a large 
 roll of canvas about a yard in width, which she 
 laid upon the floor and spread open with her 
 foot, until it nearly reached from one end of the 
 caravan to the other. 
 
 " There, child," she said, '' read that." 
 
 Nell walked down it, and read aloud, in enor- 
 mous black letters, the inscription, " Jarley's 
 Wax-Work." 
 
 " Read it again," said the lady complacently. 
 
 " Jarley's Wax- Work," repeated Nell. 
 
 "That's me," said the lady. " I am Mrs. 
 Jarley." 
 
 Giving the child an encouraging look, in- 
 tended to reassure her and let her know that, 
 although she stood in the presence of the ori- 
 ginal Jarley, she must not allow herself to be 
 utterly overwhelmed and borne down, the lady 
 of the caravan unfolded another scroll, whereon 
 was the inscription, " One hundred figures the 
 full size of life," and then another scroll, on 
 which was written, "The only stupendous col- 
 lection of real wax-work in the world," and then 
 several smaller scrolls with such inscriptions as, 
 " Now exhibiting within " — " The genuine and 
 
 only Jarley " — " Jarley's unrivalled collection " 
 — "Jarley is the delight of the Nobility and 
 Gentry " — " The Royal Family are the patrons 
 of Jarley." When she had exhibited these levia- 
 thans of public announcement to the astonished 
 child, she brought forth specimens of the lesser 
 fry in the shape of handbills, some of which 
 were couched in the form of parodies on popular 
 melodies, as, " Believe me if all Jarley's wax- 
 work so rare " — " I saw thy show in youthful 
 prime " — " Over the water to Jarley ;" while, to 
 consult all tastes, others were composed with a 
 view to the lighter and more facetious spirits, as 
 a parody on the favourite air of "If I had a 
 donkey," beginning : 
 
 " If I know'd a donlcey wot wouldn't go 
 To see Mrs. Jarley's wax-work show 
 Do you think I'd acknowledge him } 
 Oh no no ! 
 
 Then run to Jarley's " — 
 
 — besides several compositions in prose, pur- 
 porting to be dialogues between the Emperor of 
 China and an oyster, or the Archbishop of Can- 
 terbury and a Dissenter on the subject of church 
 rates, but all having the same moral, namely, 
 that the reader must make haste to Jarley's, and 
 that children and servants were admitted at half- 
 price. When she had brought all these testi- 
 monials of her important position in society to 
 bear upon her young companion, Mrs. Jarley 
 rolled them up, and having put them carefully 
 away, sat down again, and looked at the child 
 in triumph. 
 
 " Never go into the company of a filthy Punch 
 any more," said Mrs. Jarley, " after this." 
 
 " I never saw any wax-work, ma'am," said Nell. 
 " Is it funnier than Punch ?" 
 
 " Funnier !" said Mrs. Jarley in a shrill voice. 
 " It is not funny at all." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Nell with all possible humiUty. 
 
 " It isn't funny at all," repeated Mrs. Jarley. 
 " It's calm and — what's that word again — cri- 
 tical? — no — classical, that's it — it's calm and 
 classical. No low beatings and knockings about, 
 no jokings and squeakings like your precious 
 Punches, but always the same, with a constantly 
 unchanging air of coldness and gentility ; and 
 so like life, that if wax-work only spoke and 
 walked about, you'd hardly know the differ- 
 ence. I won't go so far as to say that, as it is, 
 I've seen wax-work quite like life, but I've 
 certainly seen some life that was exactly like 
 wax-work." 
 
 "Is it here, ma'am?" asked Nell, whose curi- 
 osity was awakened by this description. 
 
 " Is what here, child ?" 
 
'IHE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " The wax-work, ma'am." 
 
 " Why, bless you, child, what are you thinking 
 of? How could such a collection be here, where 
 you see everything except the inside of one 
 little cupboard and a few boxes ? It's gone on 
 
 in the other wans to the assembly-rooms, and 
 there it'll be exhibited the day after to-morrow. 
 You are going to the same town, and you'll see it, 
 I dare say. It's natural to expect that you'll see 
 it, and I've no doubt you will. I suppose you 
 
 'SHE HANDED DOWN TO THEM THE TEA-TRAY, THE BREAD AND BUTTER, THE KNUCKLE OF HAM, AND, IN 
 SHORT, EVERYTHING OF WHICH SHE HAD PARTAKEN HERSELF." 
 
 couldn't Stop away if you was to try ever so 
 much." 
 
 " I shall not be in the town, I think, ma'am," 
 said the child. 
 
 " Not there ! " cried Mrs, Jarley. " Then 
 where will you be?" 
 
 " I — I — don't quite know. I am not certain." 
 ** You don't mean to say that you're travelling 
 about the country without knowing where you're 
 going to ? " saicj the lady of the caravan. " What 
 curious people you are ! What line are you in ? 
 You looked to me at the races, child, as if you 
 
MRS. JARLEY MAKES A PROPOSAL. 
 
 were quite out of your element, and had got 
 there by accident." 
 
 " We were there quite by accident," returned 
 Nell, confused by this abrupt questioning. " We 
 are poor people, ma'am, and are only wandering 
 about. We have nothing to do ; — I wish we 
 had." 
 
 " You amaze me more and more," said Mrs. 
 Jarley after remaining for some time as mute as 
 one of her own figures. " Why, what do you 
 call yourselves ? Not beggars ? " 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am, I don't know what else we 
 are," returned the child. 
 
 " Lord bless me ! " said tlie lady of the cara- 
 van. " I never heard of such a thing. Who'd 
 have thought it ? " 
 
 She remained so long silent after this ex- 
 clamation, that Nell feared she felt her having 
 been induced to bestow her protection and con- 
 versation upon one so poor, to be an outrage 
 upon her dignity that nothing could repair. 
 This persuasion was rather confirmed than 
 otherwise by the tone in which she at length 
 broke silence and said : 
 
 *' And yet you can read. And write too, I 
 shouldn't wonder ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said the child, fearful of giv- 
 ing new offence by the confession. 
 
 " Well, and what a thing that is ! " returned 
 Mrs. Jarley. " / can't ! " 
 
 Neil said '• Indeed !" in a tone which might 
 imply, either tliat she was reasonably surprised 
 to find the genuine and only Jarley, who was 
 the delight of the Nobility and Gentry, and the 
 peculiar pet of the Royal Family, destitute of 
 these familiar arts ; or that she presumed so 
 great a lady could scarcely stand in need of 
 such ordinary accomplishments. In whatever 
 way Mrs. Jarley received the response, it did 
 not provoke her to further questioning, or tempt 
 her into any more remarks at the time, for she 
 relapsed into a thoughtful silence, and remained 
 in that state so long that Nell withdrew to the 
 other window and rejoined her grandfather, who 
 was now awake. 
 
 At length the lady of the caravan shook off 
 her fit of meditation, and, summoning the driver 
 to come under the window at which she was 
 seated, held a long conversation with him in a 
 low tone of voice, as if she were asking his 
 advice on an important point, and discussing 
 the pros and cons of some very weighty matter. 
 This conference at length concluded, she drew 
 in her head again, and beckoned Nell to ap- 
 proach. 
 
 " And the old gentleman too," said Mrs. 
 Jarley ; " for I want to have a word with him. 
 
 Do you want a good situation for your grand- 
 daughter, master ? If you do, I can put her in 
 the way of getting one. What do you say? " 
 
 " I can't leave her," answered the old man. 
 " We can't separate. What would become of me 
 without her ? " 
 
 " I should have thought you were old enough 
 to take care of yourself, if you ever will be," re- 
 torted Mrs. Jarley sharply. 
 
 " But he never will be," said the child in an 
 earnest whisper. *' I fear he never will be again. 
 Pray do not speak harshly to him. We are very 
 thankful to you," she added aloud ; " but neither 
 of us could part from the other, if all the wealth 
 of the world were halved between us." 
 
 Mrs. Jarley was a little disconcerted by this 
 reception of her proposal, and looked at the old 
 man, who tenderly took Nell's hand^ and de- 
 tained it in his own, as if she could have very 
 well dispensed with his company, or even his 
 earthly existence. After an awkward pause, she 
 thrust her head out of the window again, and 
 had another conference with the driver upon 
 some point on which they did not seem to 
 agree quite so readily as on their former topic 
 of discussion ; but they concluded at last, and 
 she addressed the grandfather again. 
 
 " If you're really disposed to employ your- 
 self," said Mrs. Jarley, " there would be plenty 
 for you to do in the way of helping to dust the 
 figures, and take the checks, and so forth. 
 What I want your grand-daughter for is to point 
 'em out to the company : they would be soon 
 learnt, and she has a way with her that people 
 wouldn't think unpleasant, though she does 
 come after me ; for I've been always accus- 
 tomed to go round with visitors myself, which I 
 should keep on doing now, only that my spirits 
 make a little ease absolutely necessary. It's not 
 a common oft'er, bear in mind," said the lady, 
 rising into the tone and manner in which she 
 was accustomed to address her audiences ; " it's 
 Jarley's wax-work, remember. The duty's very- 
 light and genteel, the company particular select, 
 the exhibition takes place in assembly-rooms, 
 town-halls, large rooms at inns, or auction gal- 
 leries. There is none of your open-air wagrancy 
 at Jarley's, recollect ; there is no tarpaulin and 
 sawdust at Jarley's, remember. Every expecta- 
 tion held out in the handbills is realised to the 
 utmost, and the whole forms an effect of im- 
 posing brilliancy hitherto unrivalled in this king- 
 dom. Remember that the price of admission is 
 only sixpence, and that this is an opportunity 
 which may never occur again ! " 
 
 Descending from the sublime, when she had 
 reached this point, to the details of common 
 
102 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 life, Mrs. Jarley remarked that with reference to 
 salary she could pledge herself to no specific 
 sum until she had sufficiently tested Nell's 
 abilities, and narrowly watched her in the per- 
 formance of her duties. But board and lodging, 
 both for her and her grandfather, she bound her- 
 self to provide, and she furthermore passed her 
 word that the board should always be good in 
 quality, and in quantity plentiful. 
 
 Nell and her grandfather consulted together, 
 and while they were so engaged, Mrs. Jarley, 
 with her hands behind her, walked up and down 
 the caravan, as she had walked after tea on the 
 dull earth, with uncommon dignity and self- 
 esteem. Nor will this appear so slight a circum- 
 stance as to be unworthy of mention, when it is 
 remembered that the caravan was in uneasy 
 motion all the time, and that none but a person 
 of great natural stateliness and acquired grace 
 could have forborne to stagger. 
 
 " Now, child ? " cried Mrs. Jarley, coming to 
 a halt as Nell turned towards her. 
 
 ''We are very much obliged to you, ma'am," 
 said Nell, " and thankfully accept your offer." 
 
 " And you'll never be sorry for it," returned 
 Mrs. Jarley. " I'm pretty sure of that. So, as 
 that's all settled, let us have a bit of supper." 
 
 In the meanwhile, the caravan blundered on 
 as if it too had been drinking strong beer and 
 was drowsy, and came at last upon the paved 
 streets of a town which were clear of passengers, 
 and quiet, for it was by this time near midnight, 
 and the townspeople were all abed. As it was 
 too late an hour to repair to the exhibition- 
 room, they turned aside into a piece of waste 
 ground that lay just within the old town-gate, 
 and drew up there for the night near to another 
 caravan, which, notwithstanding that it bore on 
 the lawful panel the great name of Jarley, and 
 was employed, besides, in conveying from place 
 to place the wax-work which was its country's 
 pride, was designated by a grovelling Stamp 
 Office as a '•' Common Stage Waggon," and 
 numbered too — seven thousand odd hundred 
 — as though its precious freight were mere flour 
 or coals. 
 
 This ill-used machine being empty (for it had 
 deposited its burden at the place of exhibition, 
 and lingered here until its services were again 
 required) was assigned to the old man as his 
 sleeping-place for the night; and within its 
 wooden walls Nell made him up the best bed 
 she could from the materials at hand. For her- 
 self, she was to sleep in Mrs. Jarley's own 
 travelling carriage, as a signal mark of that 
 lady's favour and confidence. 
 
 She had taken leave of her grandfather, and 
 
 was returning to the other waggon, when she 
 was tempted by the pleasant coolness of the 
 night to linger for a little while in the air. The 
 moon was shining down upon the old gateway 
 of the town, leaving the low archway very black 
 and dark ; and with a mingled sensation of curi- 
 osity and fear, she slowly approached the gate, 
 and stood still to look up at it, wondering to see 
 how dark, and grim, and old, and cold it 
 looked. 
 
 There was an empty niche from which some 
 old statue had fallen or been carried away hun- 
 dreds of years ago, and slie was thinking what 
 strange people it must have looked down upon 
 when it stood there, and how many hard 
 struggles might have taken place, and how 
 many murders might have been done, upon that 
 silent spot, when there suddenly emerged, from 
 the black shade of the arch, a man. The in- 
 stant he appeared, she recognised him. Who 
 could have failed to recognise, in that instant, 
 the ugly misshapen Quilp ? 
 
 The street beyond was so narrow, and the 
 shadow of the houses on one side of the way 
 so deep, that he seemed to have risen out of the 
 earth. But there he was. The child withdrew 
 into a dark corner, and saw him pass close to 
 her. He had a stick in his hand, and, when he 
 had got clear of the shadow of the gateway, 
 he leant upon it, looked back — directly, as it 
 seemed, towards where she stood — and beckoned. 
 
 To her ? Oh no, thank God, not to her ! for 
 as she stood, in an extremity of fear, hesitating 
 whether to scream for help, or come from her 
 hiding-place and fly, before he should draw 
 nearer, there issued slowly forth from the arch 
 another figure — that of a boy — who carried on 
 his back a trunk. 
 
 "Faster, sirrah!" said Quilp, looking up at 
 the old gateway, and showii-;g in the moonlight 
 like some monstrous image that had come down 
 from its niche, and was casting a backward 
 glance at its old house, " faster ! " 
 
 " It's a dreadful heavy load, sir," the boy 
 pleaded. " I've come on very fast, consider- 
 ing." 
 
 " You have come fast, considering ! " retorted 
 Quilp ; " you creep, you dog, you crawl, you 
 measure distance like a worm. There are the 
 chimes now, half-past twelve." 
 
 He stopped to listen, and then, turning upon 
 the boy with a suddenness and ferocity that 
 made him start, asked at what hour the London 
 coach passed the corner of the road. The boy 
 replied, at one. 
 
 " Come on, then," said Quilp, " or I shall be 
 too late. Faster — do you hear me ? Faster." 
 
MRS. /ALLEY'S PROGRESS. 
 
 103 
 
 The boy made all the speed he could, and 
 Qiiilp led onward, constantly turning back to 
 threaten him, and -urge him to greater haste. 
 Nell did not dare to move until they were out 
 of sight and hearing, and then hurried to where 
 she had left her grandfather, feeling as if the 
 very passing of the dwarf so near him must have 
 filled him with alarm and terror. But he was 
 sleeping soundly, and she softly withdrew. 
 
 As she was making her way to her own bed, 
 she determined to say nothing of this adventure, 
 ns, upon whatever errand the dwarf had come 
 (and she feared it must have been in search of 
 them), it was clear, by his inquiry about the 
 London coach, that he was on his way home- 
 ward, and, as he had passed through that place, 
 it was but reasonable to suppose that they were 
 safer from his inquiries there than they could be 
 elsewhere. These reflections did not remove 
 her own alarm, for she had been too much 
 terrified to be easily composed, and felt as if 
 she were hemmed in by a legion of Quilps, and 
 the very air itself were filled with them. '.- 
 
 The delight of the Nobility and Gentry and 
 the patronised of Royalty had, by some process 
 of self-abridgment known only to herself, got 
 into her travelling bed, where she was snoring 
 peacefully, while the large bonnet, carefully dis- 
 posed upon the drum, was revealing its glories 
 by the light of a dim lamp that svvung from the 
 roof. The child's bed was already made upon 
 the floor, and it was a great comfort to her to 
 hear the steps removed as soon as she had 
 entered, and to know that all easy communica- 
 tion between persons outside and the brass 
 knocker was by this means eff'ectually pre- 
 vented. Certain guttural sounds, too, which 
 from time to time ascended through the floor of 
 the caravan, and a rustling of straw in the same 
 direction, apprised her that the driver was 
 couched upon the ground beneath, and gave 
 her an additional feeling of security. 
 
 Notwithstanding these protections, she could 
 get none but broken sleep by fits and starts all 
 night, for fear of Quilp, who throughout her un- 
 easy dreams was somehow connected with the 
 wax-work, or was wax-work himself, or was Mrs. 
 Jarley and wax-work too, or was himself, Mrs. 
 Jajley, wax-work, and a barrel-organ all in one, 
 and yet not exactly any of them either. At 
 length, towards break of day, that deep sleep 
 came upon her which succeeds to weariness and 
 overwatching, and which has no consciousness 
 but one of overpowering and irresistible enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 late 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 LEEP hung upon the eyelids of the 
 child so long, that, when she awoke, 
 Mrs. Jarley was already decorated 
 with her large bonnet, and actively 
 engaged in preparing breakfast. She 
 received Nell's apology for being so 
 with perfect good-humour, and said 
 that she should not have roused her if 
 she had slept on until noon. 
 
 " Because it does you good," said the lady of 
 the caravan, " when you're tired, to sleep as 
 long as ever you can, and get the fatigue quite 
 off, and that's another blessing of your time of 
 life — you can sleep so very sound." 
 
 " Have you had a bad night, ma'am ? " asked 
 Nell. 
 
 " I seldom have anything else, child," replied 
 Mrs. Jarley with the air of a martyr. " I some- 
 times wonder how I bear it." 
 
 Remembering the snores which had pro- 
 ceeded from that cleft in the caravan in which 
 the proprietress of the wax-work passed the 
 night, Nell rather thought she must have been 
 dreaming of lying awake. However, she ex- 
 pressed herself very sorry to hear such a dismal 
 account of her state of health, and shortly after- 
 wards sat down with her grandfather and Mrs. 
 Jarley to breakfast. The meal finished, Nell 
 assisted to wash the cups and saucers, and put 
 them in their proper places, and these house- 
 hold duties performed, Mrs. Jarley arrayed her- 
 self in an exceedingly bright shawl for the pur- 
 pose of making a progress through the streets of 
 the town. 
 
 " The wan will come on to bring the boxes," 
 said JVIrs. Jarley, " and you had better come in 
 it, child. I am obliged to walk, very much 
 against my will : but the people expect it of me, 
 and public characters can't be their own masters 
 and mistresses in such matters as these. How 
 do Hook, child ?^' 
 
 Nell returned a satisfactory reply, and Mrs. 
 Jarley, after sticking a great many pins into 
 various parts of her figure, and making several 
 abortive attempts to obtain a full view of her 
 own back, was at last satisfied with her appear- 
 ance, and went forth majestically. 
 
 The caravan followed at no great distance. 
 As it went jolting through the streets, Nell 
 peeped from the window, curious to see in what 
 kind of place they were, and yet fearful of en- 
 countering at every turn the dreaded face of 
 Quilp. It was a pretty large town, with an open 
 square which they were crawling slowly across, 
 and in the middle of which was the Town-hall, 
 
/04 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 with a clock tower and a weather-cock. There 
 were houses of stone, houses of red brick, houses 
 of yellow brick, houses of lath and plaster ; and 
 houses of wood, many of them very old, with 
 withered faces carved upon the beams, and 
 staring down into the street. These had very 
 little winking windows, and low arched doors, 
 and, in some of the narrower ways, quite over- 
 hung the pavement. The streets were very 
 clean, very sunny, very empty, and very dull. 
 A few idle men lounged about the two inns, and 
 the empty market-place, and the tradesmen's 
 doors, and some old people were dozing in 
 chairs outside an almshouse wall ; but scarcely 
 any passengers who seemed bent on going any- 
 where, or to have any object in view, went by ; 
 and if perchance some straggler did, his foot- 
 steps echoed on the hot bright pavement for 
 minutes afterwards. Nothing seemed to be 
 going on but the clocks, and they had such 
 drowsy faces, such heavy lazy hands, and such 
 cracked voices, that they surely must have been 
 too slow. The very dogs were all asleep, and 
 the flies, drunk with moist sugar in the grocer's 
 shop, forgot their wings and briskness, and baked 
 to death in dusty corners of the window. 
 
 Rumbling along with most unwonted noise, 
 the caravan stopped at last at the place of exhi- 
 bition, where Nell dismounted amidst an ad- 
 miring group of children, who evidently sup- 
 posed her to be an important item of the curi- 
 osities, and were fully impressed with the belief 
 that her grandfather was a cunning device in 
 wax. The chests were taken out with all con- 
 venient dispatch, and taken in to be unlocked 
 by Mrs. Jarley, who, attended by George and 
 another man in velveteen shorts and a drab hat 
 ornamented with turnpike tickets, were waiting 
 to dispose their contents (consisting of red fes- 
 toons and other ornamental devices in upholstery 
 work) to the best advantage in the decoration 
 of the room. 
 
 They all got to work without loss of time, and 
 very busy they were. As the stupendous col- 
 lection were yet concealed by cloths, lest the 
 envious dust should injure their complexions, 
 Nell bestirred herself to assist in the embellish- 
 ment of the room, in which her grandfather also 
 was of great service. The two men, being well 
 used to it, did a great deal in a short time ; and 
 Mrs. Jarley served out the tin tacks from a linen 
 pocket like a toll-collector's which she wore for 
 the purpose, and encouraged her assistants to 
 renewed exertion. 
 
 While they were thus employed, a talHsh gen- 
 tleman with a hook nose and black hair, dressed 
 in a military surtout very short and tight in the 
 
 sleeves, and which had once been frogged and 
 braided all over, but was now sadly shorn of 
 its garniture and quite threadbare — dressed, too, 
 in ancient grey pantaloons fitting tight to the 
 leg, and a pair of pumps in the winter of their 
 existence — looked in at the door, and smiled 
 affably. Mrs. Jarley's back being then towards 
 him, the military gentleman shook his forefinger 
 as a sign that her myrmidons were not to ap- 
 prise her of his presence, and stealing up close 
 behind her, tapped her on the neck, and cried 
 playfully "Eoh!" 
 
 " What, Mr. Slum ! " cried the lady of the 
 wax-work. " Lor ! who'd have thought of seeing 
 you here ?" 
 
 "'Pon my soul and honour," said Mr. Slum, 
 " that's a good remark. 'Pon my soul and 
 honour that's a wise remark. Who would have 
 thought it ? George, my faithful feller, how are 
 you?" 
 
 George received this advance with a surly 
 indifterence, observing that he was well enough 
 for the matter of that, and hammering lustily all 
 the time. 
 
 "I came here," said the miUtary gentleman, 
 turning to Mrs. Jarley, — " 'pon my soul and 
 honour I hardly know what I came here for. It 
 would puzzle me to tell you, it would by Gad. 
 I wanted a Httle inspiration, a little freshening up, 
 
 a little change of ideas, and 'Pon my soul 
 
 and honour," said the miHtary gentleman, check- 
 ing himself and looking round the room, " what 
 a devilish classical thing this is ! By Gad, it's 
 quite Minervian ! " 
 
 " It'll look well enough when it comes to be 
 finished," observed Mrs. Jarley. 
 
 " Well enough ! " said Mr, Slum. " Will you 
 beheve me when I say it's the delight of my 
 life to have dabbled in poetry, when I think I've 
 exercised my pen upon this charming theme ? 
 By the way — any orders? Is there any little 
 thing I can do for you ?" 
 
 " It comes so very expensive, sir," replied 
 Mrs. Jarley, " and I really don't think it does 
 much good." 
 
 " Hush ! No, no ! " returned Mr. Slum, ele- 
 vating his hand. " No fibs. I'll not hear it. 
 Don't say it don't do good. Don't say it. I 
 know better !" 
 
 " I don't think it does," said Mrs. Jarley. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" cried Mr. Slum, "you're giving 
 way, you're coming down. Ask the perfumers, 
 ask the blacking-makers, ask the hatters, ask 
 the old lottery-office keepers — ask any man 
 among 'em what my poetry has done for him, 
 and mark my words, he blesses the name of 
 Slum. If he's an honest man, he raises his eyes 
 

MRS, JARLEY'S POET. 
 
 to heaven, and blesses the name of Slum — mark 
 that ! You are acquainted with Westminster 
 Abbey, Mrs. Jarley?" 
 
 '• Yes, surely." 
 
 " Then upon my soul and honour, ma'am, 
 you will find in a certain angle of that dreary 
 pile, called Poet's Corner, a few smaller names 
 than Slum," retorted that gentleman, tapping 
 himself expressively on tlie forehead to imply 
 that there was some slight quantity of brains 
 behind it. " I've got a little trifle here now," 
 said Mr. Slum, taking off his hat, which was full 
 of scraps of paper, " a little trifle here, thrown off 
 in the heat of the moment, which I should say 
 was exactly the thing you wanted to set this 
 place on fire with. It's an acrostic — the name 
 at this moment is Warren, but the idea's a con- 
 vertible one, and a positive inspiration for Jarley. 
 Have the acrostic." 
 
 " I suppose it's very dear," said Mrs. Jarley. 
 
 '' Five shillings," returned Mr. Slum, using his 
 pencil as a toothpick. " Cheaper than any 
 prose." 
 
 " 1 couldn't give more than three," said Mrs. 
 Jarley. 
 
 " — And six," retorted Slum. " Come. Three- 
 and-six." 
 
 Mrs. Jarley was not proof against the poet's 
 insinuating manner, and Mr. Slum entered the 
 order in a small note-book as a three-and-six- 
 penny one. Mr. Slum then withdrew to alter 
 the acrostic, jifter taking the most aftectionate 
 leave of his patroness, and promising to return 
 as soon as he possibly could with a fair copy 
 for the printer. 
 
 As his presence had not interfered with or in- 
 terrupted the preparations, they were now far 
 advanced, and were completed shortly after his 
 departure. When the festoons were all put up 
 as tastily as they might be, the stupendous col- 
 lection was uncovered, and there were displayed 
 on a raised platform some two feet from the floor, 
 running round the room and parted from the 
 rude public by a crimson rope breast high, divers 
 sprightly effigies of celebrated characters, singly 
 and in groups, clad in glittering dresses of 
 various climes and times, and standing more or 
 less unsteadily upon their legs, with their eyes 
 very wide open, and their nostrils very much 
 inflated, and the muscles of their legs and arms 
 very strongly developed, and all their counte- 
 nances expressing great surprise. All the gentle- 
 men were very pigeon-breasted and very blue 
 about the beards ; and all the ladies were mira- 
 culous figures; and all the ladies and all the 
 gentlemen were looking intensely nowhere, and 
 staring with extraordinary earnestness at nothing. 
 
 When Nell had exhausted her first raptures at 
 this glorious sight, Mrs. Jarley ordered the room 
 to be cleared of all but herself and the child, and, 
 sitting herself down in an arm-chair in the centre, 
 formally invested Nell with a willow wand, long 
 used by herself for pointing out the characters, 
 and was at great pains to instruct her in her 
 duty. 
 
 " That," said Mrs. Jarley in her exhibition 
 tone, as Nell touched a figure at the beginning 
 of the platform, "is an unfortunate Maid of 
 Honour, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who 
 died from pricking her finger in consequence of 
 working upon a Sunday. Observe the blood 
 which is trickling from her finger ; also the gold- 
 eyed needle of the period, with which she is at 
 work." 
 
 All this Nell repeated twice or thrice : point- 
 ing to the finger and the needle at the right 
 times : and then passed on to the next. 
 
 " That, ladies and gentlemen," said Mrs. 
 Jarley, " is Jasper Packlemerton of atrocious 
 memory, who courted and married fourteen 
 wives, and destroyed them all, by tickling the 
 soles of their feet when they were sleeping in 
 the consciousness of innocence and virtue. On 
 being brought to the scaffold and asked if he 
 was sorry for what he had done, he replied yes, 
 he was sorry for having let 'em off so easy, and 
 hoped all Christian husbands would pardon him 
 the offence. Let this be a warning to all young 
 ladies to be particular in the character of the 
 gentlemen of their choice. Observe that his 
 fingers are curled as if in the act of tickling, and 
 that his face is represented with a wink, as he 
 appeared when committing his barbarous mur- 
 ders." 
 
 When Nell knew all about l\Ir. Packlemerton, 
 and could say it without faltering, Mrs. Jarley 
 passed on to the fat man, and then to the thin 
 man, the tall man, the short man, the old lady 
 who died of dancing at a hundred and thirty- 
 two, the wild boy of the woods, the woman who 
 poisoned fourteen families with pickled walnuts, 
 and other historical characters and interesting 
 but misguided individuals. And so well did 
 Nell profit by her instructions, and so apt was 
 she to remember them, that, by the time they 
 had been shut up together for a couple of hours, 
 she was in full possession of the history of the 
 whole establishment, and perfectly competent to 
 the enlightenment of visitors. 
 
 Mrs. Jarley was not slow to express her admi- 
 ration at this happy result, and carried her young 
 friend and pupil to inspect the remaining arrange- 
 ments within doors, by virtue of which the pas- 
 sage had been already converted into a grove of 
 
io6 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 green baize hung with the inscriptions she had 
 already seen (Mr. Slum's productions), and a 
 highly-ornamented table placed at the upper end 
 for Mrs. Jarley herself, at which she was to pre- 
 side and take the money, in company with his 
 Majesty King George the Third, Mr. Grimaldi 
 as clown, Mary Queen of Scots, an anonymous 
 gentleman of the Quaker persuasion, and Mr. 
 Pitt holding in his hand a correct model of the 
 bill for the imposition of the window duty. The 
 preparations without doors had not been ne- 
 glected either ; a nun of great personal attractions 
 was telling her beads on the little portico over 
 the door ; and a brigand with the blackest pos- 
 sible head of hair, and the clearest possible com- 
 plexion, was at that moment going round the 
 town in a cart, consulting the miniature of a 
 lady. 
 
 It now only remained that Mr. Slum's com- 
 positions should be judiciously distributed ; that 
 the pathetic effusions should find their way to 
 all private houses and tradespeople ; and that 
 the parody commencing " If I know'd a donkey," 
 should be confined to the taverns, and circulated 
 only among the lawyers' clerks and choice spirits 
 of the place. When this had been done, and 
 Mrs. Jarley had waited upon the boarding-schools 
 in person, with a handbill composed expressly 
 for them, in which it was distinctly proved that 
 wax-work refined the mind, cultivated the taste, 
 and enlarged the sphere of human understand- 
 ing, that indefatigable lady sat down to dinner, 
 and drank out of the suspicious bottle to a 
 flourishing campaign. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 N QUESTIONABLY Mrs. Jarley had 
 an inventive genius. In the midst 
 of the various devices for attracting 
 visitors to the exhibition, little Nell 
 was not forgotten. The light cart 
 in which the Brigand usually made 
 his perambulations being gaily dressed 
 with flags and streamers, and the Brigand 
 placed therein, contemplating the miniature of 
 his beloved as usual, Nell was accommodated 
 with a seat beside him, decorated with artificial 
 flowers, and in this state and ceremony rode 
 slowly through the town every morning, dis- 
 persing handbills from a basket, to the sound 
 of drum and trumpet. The beauty of the 
 child, coupled with her gentle and timid bear- 
 ing, produced quite a sensation in the little 
 country place. The Brigand, heretofore a source 
 
 of exclusive interest in the streets, became a 
 mere secondary consideration, and to be im- 
 portant only as a part of the show of which she 
 was the chief attraction. Grown-up folks began 
 to be interested in the bright-eyed girl, and 
 some score of little boys fell desperately in love, 
 and constantly left enclosures of nuts and 
 apples, directed in small-text, at the wax-work 
 door. 
 
 This desirable impression was not lost on 
 Mrs. Jarley, who, lest Nell should become too 
 cheap, soon sent the Brigand out alone again, 
 and kept her in the exhibition-room, where she 
 described the figures every half-hour to the great 
 satisfaction of admiring audiences. And these 
 audiences were of a very superior description, 
 including a great many young ladies' boarding- 
 schools, whose favour Mrs. Jarley had been at 
 great pains to conciliate, by altering the face and 
 costume of Mr. Grimaldi as clown to represent 
 Mr. Lindley Murray as he appeared when en- 
 gaged in the composition of his English Gram- 
 mar, and turning a murderess of great renown 
 into Mrs. Hannah More — both of which like- 
 nesses were admitted by Miss Monflathers, who 
 was at the head of the head Boarding and Day 
 Establishment in the town, and who conde- 
 scended to take a Private View with eight chosen 
 young ladies, to be quite startling from their ex- 
 treme correctness. Mr. Pitt in a nightcap and 
 bedgown, and without his boots, represented the 
 poet Cowper with perfect exactness ; and Mary 
 Queen of Scots in a dark wig, white shirt collar, 
 and male attire, was such a complete image of 
 Lord Byron that the young ladies quite screamed 
 when they saw it. Miss Monflathers, however, 
 rebuked this enthusiasm, and took occasion to 
 reprove Mrs. Jarley for not keeping her collec- 
 tion more select : observing that his Lordship 
 had held certain opinions quite incompatible 
 with wax-work honours, and adding something 
 about a Dean and Chapter, which Mrs. Jarley 
 did not understand. 
 
 Although her duties were sufficiently laborious, 
 Nell found in the lady of the caravan a very 
 kind and considerate person, who had not only 
 a peculiar relish for being comfortable herself, 
 but for making everybody about her comfortable 
 also ; which latter taste, it may be remarked, is, 
 even in persons who live in much finer places 
 than caravans, a far more rare and uncommon 
 one than the first, and is not by any means its 
 necessary consequence. As her popularity pro- 
 cured her various little fees from the visitors on 
 which her patroness never demanded any toll, 
 and as her grandfather too was well treated and 
 useful, she had no cause of anxiety in connection 
 
CA UGHT IN A STORM. 
 
 107 
 
 with the wax-work, beyond that which sprung 
 from her recollection of Quilp, and her fears that 
 he might return, and one day suddenly encounter 
 them, 
 
 Quilp, indeed, was a perpetual nightmare to 
 the child, who was constantly haunted by a 
 vision of his ugly face arnd stunted figure. She 
 slept, for their better security, in the room where 
 the wax-work figures were, and she never retired 
 to this place at night but she tortured herself — 
 she could not help it — with imagining a resem- 
 blance, in some one or other of their death-like 
 faces, to the dwarf, and this fancy would some- 
 times so gain upon her that she would almost 
 believe he had removed the figure and stood 
 within the clothes. Then there were so many 
 of them with their great glassy eyes — and, as 
 they stood one behind the other all about her 
 bed, they looked so like living creatures, and 
 yet so unlike in their grim stillness and silence, 
 that she had a kind of terror of them for their 
 own sakes, and would often lie watching their 
 dusky figures until she was obliged to rise and 
 light a candle, or go and sit at the open window, 
 and feel a companionship in the bright stars. 
 At these times she would recall the old house, 
 and the window at which she used to sit alone ; 
 and then she would think of poor Kit .and all 
 his kindness, until the tears came into her eyes, 
 and she would weep and smile together. 
 
 Often and anxiously, at this silent hour, her 
 thoughts reverted to her grandfather, and she 
 would wonder how much he remembered of their 
 former life, and whether he was ever really 
 mindful of the change in their condition, and of 
 their late helplessness and destitution. When 
 they were wandering about, she seldom thought 
 of this, but now she could not help considering 
 what would become of them if he fell sick, or 
 her own strength were to fail her. He was very 
 patient and willing, happy to execute any little 
 task, and glad to be of use ; but he was in the 
 same listless state, with no prospect of improve- 
 • ment — a mere child — a poor, thoughtless, vacant 
 creature — a harmless, fond old man, susceptible 
 of tender love and regard for her, and of pleasant 
 and painful impressions, but alive to nothing 
 more. It made her very sad to know that this 
 was so — so sad to see it, that sometimes when 
 he sat idly by, smiling and nodding to her when 
 she looked round, or when he caressed some 
 little child and carried it to and fro, as he was 
 fond of doing by the hour together, perplexed 
 by its simple questions, yet patient under his 
 own infirmity, and seeming almost conscious of 
 it too, and humbled even before the mind of an 
 infant — so sad it made her to see him thus, that 
 
 she would burst into tears, and, withdrawing 
 into some secret place, fall down upon her knees 
 and pray that he might be restored. 
 
 But, the bitterness of her grief was not in 
 beholding him in this condition, when he was at 
 least content and tranquil, nor in her solitary 
 meditations on his altered state, though these 
 were trials for a young heart. Cause for deeper 
 and heavier sorrow was yet to come. 
 
 One evening, a holiday night with them, Nell 
 and her grandfather went out to walk. They 
 had been rather closely confined for some days, 
 and the weather being warm, they strolled a 
 long distance. Clear of the town, they took a 
 footpath which struck through some pleasant 
 fields, judging that it would terminate in the 
 road they quitted, and enable them to return 
 that way. It made, however, a much wider cir- 
 cuit than they had supposed, and thus they were 
 tempted onward until sunset, when they reached 
 the track of which they were in search, and 
 stopped to rest. 
 
 It had been gradually getting overcast, and 
 now the sky was dark and lowering, save where 
 the glory of the departing sun piled up masses 
 of gold and burning fire, decaying embers of 
 which gleamed here and there through the black 
 veil, and shone redly down upon the earth. The 
 wind began to moan in hollow murmurs, as the 
 sun went down carrying glad day elsewhere ; 
 and a train of dull clouds, coming up against it, 
 menaced thunder and lightning. Large drops 
 of rain soon began to fall, and, as the storm 
 clouds came sailing onward, others supplied the 
 void they left behind, and spread over all the 
 sky. Then was heard the low rumbling of dis- 
 tant thunder, then the lightning quivered, and 
 then the darkness of an hour seemed to have 
 gathered in an instant. 
 
 Fearful of taking shelter beneath a tree or 
 hedge, the old man and the child hurried along 
 the high-road, hoping to find some house in 
 which they could seek a refuge from the storm, 
 which had now burst forth in earnest, and every 
 moment increased in violence. Drenched with 
 the pelting rain, confused by the deafening 
 thunder, and bewildered by the glare of the 
 forked lightning, they would have passed a soli- 
 tary house without being aware of its vicinity, 
 had not a man, who was standing at the door, 
 called lustily to them to enter. 
 
 " Your ears ought to be better than other 
 folks', at any rate, if you make so little of the 
 chance of being struck blind," he said, retreating 
 from the door and shading his eyes with his 
 hands as the jagged lightning came again. 
 "What were you going past for, eh ? " he added. 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 as he closed the door and led the way along a 
 passage to a room behind. 
 
 " We didn't see the house, sir, till we heard 
 you calling," Nell replied. 
 
 " No wonder," said the man, " with this 
 lightning in one's eyes, by-the-bye. You had 
 better stand by the fire here, and dry yourselves 
 a bit. You can call for what you like if you 
 want anything. If you don't want anything, 
 you're not obliged to give an order. Don't be 
 afraid of that. This is a public-house, that's all. 
 
 The Valiant Soldier is pretty well known here- 
 abouts." 
 
 " Is this house called the Valiant Soldier, sir ?" 
 asked Nell. 
 
 " I thought everybody knew that," replied the 
 landlord. " Where have you come from, if you 
 don't know the Valiant Soldier as well as the 
 Church Catechism ? This is the Valiant Soldier 
 by James Groves, — Jem Groves — honest Jem 
 Groves, as is a man of unblemished moral 
 character, and has a good dry skittle-ground. If 
 
 " AND IN THIS STATE AND CEREMONY RODE SLOWLY THROUGH THE TOWN EVERY MORNING." 
 
 any man has got anything to say again Jem 
 Groves, let him say it to Jem Groves, and Jem 
 Groves can accommodate him with a customer 
 on any terms from four pound a side to forty." 
 
 With these words, the speaker tapped himself 
 on the waistcoat, to intimate that he was the 
 Jem Groves so highly eulogised ; sparred scien- 
 tifically at a counterfeit Jem Groves, who was 
 sparring at society in general from a black frame 
 over the chimney-piece ; and, applying a half- 
 emptied glass of spirits-and-water to his lips, 
 drank Jem Groves's health. 
 
 The niglit being warm, there was a large screen 
 
 drawn across the room, for a barrier against the 
 heat of the fire. It seemed as if somebody on 
 the other side of this screen had been insinuating 
 doubts of Mr. Groves's prowess, and had thereby 
 given rise to these egotistical expressions, for 
 Mr. Groves wound up his defiance by giving a 
 loud knock upon it with his knuckles, and 
 pausing for a reply from the other side. 
 
 "There ain't many men," said Mr. Groves, 
 no answer being returned, " who would ventur 
 to cross Jem Groves under his own roof. There's 
 only one man, I know, that has nerve enough 
 for that, and that man's not a hundred mile from 
 
THE OLD TEMPTATION. 
 
 109 
 
 here neither. But he's worth a dozen men, and 
 I let him say of me whatever he hkes in conse- 
 quence, — he knows that." 
 
 In return for this comphmentary address, a 
 very gruff hoarse voice bade Mr. Groves " hold 
 his nise and light a candle." And the same 
 voice remarked that the same gentleman "needn't 
 waste his breath in brag, for most people knew 
 pretty well what sort of stuff he was made of" 
 
 " Nell, they're — they're playing cards," whis- 
 pered the old man, suddenly interested. " Don't 
 you hear them ? " 
 
 " Look sharp with that candle," said the voice ; 
 *' it's as much as I can do to see the pips on the 
 cards as it is ; and get this shutter closed as quick 
 as you can, will you ? Your beer will be the 
 worse for to-night's thunder I expect. — Game ! 
 Seven-and-sixpence to me, old Isaac. Hand 
 over." 
 
 "jDo you hear, Nell, do you hear them ? " 
 whispered the old man again, with increased 
 earnestness, as the money chinked upon the 
 table. 
 
 " I haven't seen such a storm as this," said a 
 sharp cracked voice of most disagreeable quality, 
 when a tremendous peal of thunder had died away, 
 " since the night when old Luke Withers won 
 thirteen times running on the red. We all said 
 he had the Devil's luck and his own, and, as it 
 was the kind of night for the Devil to be out and 
 busy, I suppose he was looking over his shoulder, 
 if anybody could have seen him." 
 
 " Ah ! " returned the gruff voice, " for all old 
 Luke's winning through thick and thin of late 
 years, I remember the time when he was the 
 unluckiest and unfortunatest of men. He never 
 took a dice-box in his hand, or held a card, but 
 he was plucked, pigeoned, and cleaned out 
 completely." 
 
 "Do you hear what he says?" whispered the 
 old man. " Do you hear that, Nell ? " 
 
 The child saw with astonishment and alarm 
 that his whole appearance had undergone a com- 
 plete change. His face was flushed and eager, 
 his eyes were strained, his teeth set, his breath 
 came short and thick, and the hand he laid upon 
 her arm trembled so violently that she shook 
 beneath its grasp. 
 
 " Bear witness," he muttered, looking upward, 
 " that I always said it ; that I knew it, dreamed 
 of it, felt it was the truth, and that it must 
 be so ! What money have we, Nell ? Come ! 
 I saw you with money yesterday. What money 
 have we ? Give it to me." 
 
 " No, no, let me keep it, grandfather," said the 
 frightened child. " Let us go away from here. 
 Do not mind the rain. Pray let us go." 
 The Old Cx?riosity Shop, 8. 
 
 " Give it to me, I say," returned the old man 
 fiercely. " Hush, hush, don't cry, Nell. If I 
 spoke sharply, dear, I didn't mean it. It's for 
 thy good. I have wronged thee, Nell, but I will 
 right thee yet, I will indeed. Where is the 
 money ? " 
 
 " Do not take it," said the child. " Pray do 
 not take it, dear. For both our sakes let me 
 keep it, or let me throw it away — better let me 
 throw it away, than you take it now. Let us go ; 
 do let us go." 
 
 " Give me the money," returned the old man ; 
 " I must have it. There — there — that's my dear 
 Nell. I'll right thee one day, child, I'll right 
 thee, never fear ! " 
 
 She took from her pocket a little purse. He 
 seized it with the same rapid impatience which 
 had characterised his speech, and hastily made 
 his way to the other side of the screen. It was 
 impossible to restrain him, and the trembling 
 child followed close behind. 
 
 The landlord had placed a light upon the table, 
 and was engaged in drawing the curtain of the 
 window. The speakers whom they had heard 
 were two men, who had a pack of cards and some 
 silver money between them, while upon the screen 
 itself the games they had played were scored in 
 chalk. The man with the rough voice was a 
 burly fellow of middle age, with large black 
 whiskers, broad cheeks, a coarse wide mouth, 
 and bull neck, which was pretty freely displayed, 
 as his shirt collar was only confined by a loose 
 red neckerchief He wore his hat, which was of 
 a brownish white, and had beside him a thick 
 knotted stick. The other man, whom his com- 
 panion had called Isaac, was of a more slender 
 figure — stooping, and high in the shoulders — 
 with a very ill-favoured face, and a most sinister 
 and villainous squint. 
 
 " Now, old gentleman," said Isaac, looking 
 round. " Do you know either of us ? This side 
 of the screen is private, sir." 
 
 " No offence, I hope," returned the old man. 
 
 " But by G — , sir, there is offence," said the 
 other, interrupting him, " when you intrude your- 
 self upon a couple of gentlemen who are par- 
 ticularly engaged." 
 
 " I had no intention to offend," said the old 
 man, looking anxiously at the cards. " I thought 
 that " 
 
 " But you had no right to think, sir," retorted 
 the other. " What the devil has a man at your 
 time of life to do with thinking ? " 
 
 " Now, bully boy," said the stout man, raising 
 his eyes from his cards for the first time, " can't 
 you let him speak ? " 
 
 The landlord, who had apparently resolved to 
 
 2c;6 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 remain neutral until he knew which side of the 
 question the stout man would espouse, chimed 
 in at this place with " Ah, to be sure, can't you 
 let him speak, Isaac List? " 
 
 " Can't I let him speak ? " sneered Isaac in 
 reply, mimicking as nearly as he could, in his 
 shrill voice, the tones of the landlord. " Yes, I 
 can let him speak, Jemmy Groves." 
 
 "Well, then, do it, will you?" said the land- 
 lord. 
 
 Mr. List's squint assumed a" portentous cha- 
 racter, which seemed to threaten a prolongation 
 of this controversy, when his companion, who 
 had been looking sharply at the old man, put a 
 timely stop to it. 
 
 " Who knows," said he with a cunning look, 
 " but the gentleman may have civilly meant to 
 ask if he might have the honour to take a hand 
 with us ? " 
 
 " I did mean it," cried the old man. " That 
 is what I mean. That is what I want now ! " 
 
 " I thought so," returned the same man. 
 "Then who knows but the gentleman, antici- 
 pating our objection to play for love, civilly 
 desired to play for money ? " 
 
 The old man replied by shaking the little 
 purse in .his eager hand, and then throwing it 
 down upon the table, and gathering up the cards 
 as a miser would clutch at gold. 
 
 ''Oh! That indeed " said Isaac. "If 
 
 that's what the gentleman meant, I beg the 
 gentleman's pardon. Is this the gentleman's 
 little purse ? A very pretty little purse. Rather 
 a light purse," added Isaac, throwing it into the 
 air and catching it dexterously, " but enough to 
 amuse a gentleman for half an hour or so." 
 
 "We'll make a four-handed game of it, and 
 take in Groves," said the stout man. " Come, 
 Jemmy." 
 
 The landlord, who conducted himself like 
 one who was well used to such little parties, 
 approached the table and took his seat. The 
 child, in a perfect agony, drew her grandfather 
 aside, and implored him, even then, to come 
 away. 
 
 " Come ; and we may be so happy," said the 
 child. 
 
 "We will be happy," replied the old man 
 hastily. " Let me go, Nell. The means of 
 happiness are on the cards and in the dice. 
 We must rise from little winnings to great. 
 There's little to be won here ; but great will 
 come in time. I shall but win back my own, 
 and it's all for thee, my darling." 
 
 " God help us ! " cried the child. " Oh ! 
 what hard fortune brought us here ? " 
 
 " Hush ! " rejoined the old man, laying his 
 
 hand upon her mouth. " Fortune will not bear 
 chiding. We must not reproach her, or she 
 shuns us ; I have found that out." 
 
 " Now, mister," said the stout man. " If 
 you're not coming yourself, give us the cards, 
 will you ? " 
 
 "I am coming," cried the old man. "Sit 
 thee down, Nell, sit thee down and look on. 
 Be of good heart, it's all for thee — all — every 
 penny. I don't tell them, no, no, or else they 
 wouldn't play, dreading the chance that such a 
 cause must give me. Look at them, see what 
 they are, and what thou art. Who doubts that 
 we must win ? " 
 
 " The gentleman has thought better of it, and 
 isn't coming," said Isaac, making as though he 
 would rise from the table. " I'm sorry the 
 gentleman's daunted — nothing venture, nothing 
 have — but the gentleman knows best." 
 
 " Why, I am ready. You have all been slow 
 but me," said the old man. " I wonder who's 
 more anxious to begin than I." 
 
 As he spoke he drew a chair to the table ; and 
 the other three closing round it at the same time, 
 the game commenced. 
 
 The child sat by, and watched its progress 
 with a troubled mind. Regardless of the run of 
 luck, and mindful only of the desperate passion 
 which had its hold upon her grandfather, losses 
 and gains were to her alike. Exulting in some 
 brief triumph, or cast down by a defeat, there he 
 sat so wild and restless, so feverishly and in- 
 tens.e3y anxious, so terribly eager, so ravenous 
 for the paltry stakes, that she could have almost 
 better borne to see him dead. And yet she was 
 the innocent cause of all this torture, and he, 
 gambling with such a savage thirst for gain as the 
 most insatiable gambler never felt, had not one 
 selfish thought ! 
 
 On the contrary, the other three — knaves and 
 gamesters by their trade — while intent upon their 
 game, were yet as cool and quiet as if every 
 virtue had been centred in their breasts. Some- 
 times one would look up to smile to another, or 
 to- snuff the feeble candle, or to glance at the 
 lightning as it shot through the open window 
 and fluttering curtain, or to listen to some louder 
 peal of thunder than the rest, with a kind of 
 momentary impatience, as if it put him out ; but 
 there they sat, with a calm indifference to every- 
 thing but their cards, perfect philosophers in 
 appearance, and with no greater show of passion 
 or excitement than if they had been made of 
 stone. 
 
 The storm had raged for full three hours ; the 
 lightning had grown fainter and less frequent ; 
 the thunder, from seeming to roll and break above 
 
NELL'S PIECE OF GOLD. 
 
 Ill 
 
 their heads, had gradually died away into a deep 
 hoarse distance ; and still the game went on, 
 and still the anxious child was quite forgotten. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 T length the play came to an end, 
 and Mr. Isaac List rose the only 
 winner. Mat and the landlord bore 
 their losses with professional forti- 
 tude. Isaac pocketed his gains with 
 the air of a man who had quite 
 made up his mind to win all along, 
 id was neither surprised nor pleased. 
 
 Nell's little purse was exhausted ; but, although 
 it lay empty by his side, and the other players 
 had now risen from the table, the old man sat 
 poring over the cards, dealing them as they had 
 been dealt before, and turning up the different 
 hands to see what each man would have held if 
 they had still been playing. He was quite 
 absorbed in this occupation, when the child drew 
 near and laid her hand upon his shoulder, telling 
 him it was near midnight. 
 
 "See the curse of poverty, Nell," he said, 
 pointing to the packs he had spread out upon the 
 table. " If I could have gone on a little longer, 
 only a little longer, the luck would have turned 
 on my side. Yes, it's as plain as the marks upon 
 the cards. See here — and there — and here again." 
 
 " Put them away," urged the child. " Try to 
 forget them." 
 
 " Try to forget them!" he rejoined, raising his 
 haggard face to hers, and regarding her with an 
 incredulous stare. " To forget them ! How are 
 we ever to grow rich if I forget them ? " 
 
 The child could only shake her head. 
 
 " No, no, Nell," said the old man, patting her 
 cheek; " they must not be forgotten. We must 
 make amends for this as soon as we can. 
 Patience— patience, and we'll right thee yet, I 
 promise thee. Lose to-day, win to-morrow. 
 And nothing can be won without anxiety and 
 care — nothing. Come, I am ready." 
 
 " Do you know what the time is?" said Mr. 
 Groves, who was smoking with his friends. 
 " Past twelve o'clock " 
 
 " — And a rainy night," added the stout man. 
 
 "The Valiant Soldier, by James Groves. 
 Good Beds. Cheap entertainment for man and 
 beast," said Mr. Groves, quoting his sign-board. 
 " Half-past twelve o'clock." 
 
 " It's very late," said the uneasy child. " I 
 wish we had gone before. What will they think 
 of us ? It will be two o'clock by the time we get 
 back. What would it cost, sir, if we stopped here?" 
 
 " Two good beds, one-and-sixpence ; supjjcr 
 and beer, one shilling ; total, two shillings and 
 sixpence," replied the Valiant Soldier. 
 
 Now, Nell had still the piece of gold sewn in 
 her dress ; and when she came to consider the 
 lateness of the hour, and the somnolent habits of 
 Mrs. Jarley, and to imagine the state of conster- 
 nation in which they would certainly throw that 
 good lady by knocking her up in the middle of 
 the night — and when she reflected, on the other 
 hand, that if they remained where they were, 
 and rose early in the morning, they might get back 
 before she awoke, and could plead the violence 
 of the storm by which they had been overtaken 
 as a good apology for their absence — she 
 decided, after a great deal of hesitation, to 
 remain. She therefore took her grandfather 
 aside, and telling him that she had still enough 
 left to defray the cost of their lodging, proposed 
 that they should stay there for the night. 
 
 " If I had had but that money before ! If I 
 had only known of it a few minutes ago ! " mut- 
 tered the old man. 
 
 "We will decide to stop here if you please," 
 said Nell, turning hastily to the landlord. 
 
 " I think that's prudent," returned Mr. Groves. 
 " You shall have your suppers directly." 
 
 Accordingly, when Mr. Groves had smoked 
 his pipe out, knocked out the ashes, and placed 
 it carefully in a corner of the fire-place, with the 
 bowl downwards, he brought in the bread and 
 cheese, and beer, with many high encomiums 
 upon their excellence, and bade his guests fall 
 to, and make themselves at home. Nell and her | 
 grandfather ate sparingly, for both were occupied 
 with their own reflections : the other gentlemen, 
 for whose constitutions beer was too weak and 
 tame a liquid, consoled themselves with spirits 
 and tobacco. 
 
 As they would leave the house very early in the 
 morning, the child was anxious to pay for their 
 entertainment before they retired to bed. But 
 as she felt the necessity of concealing her little 
 hoard from her grandfather, and had to change 
 the piece of gold, she took it secretly from its 
 place of concealment, and embraced an oppor- 
 tunity of following the landlord when he went out 
 of the room,and tendered it to him in the litdebar. 
 
 " Will you give me the change here, if you 
 please ? " said the child. 
 
 Mr. James Groves was evidently surprised, and 
 looked at the money, and rung it, and looked at 
 the child, and at the money again, as though he 
 had a mind to inquire how she came by it. The 
 coin being genuine, however, and changed 
 at his house, he probably felt, like a wise land- 
 lord, that it was no business of his. At any 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 rate, he counted out the change, and gave it her. 
 The child was returning to the room where they 
 had passed the evening, when she fancied she 
 saw a figure just ghding in at the door. There 
 was nothing but a long dark passage between this 
 door and the place where she had changed the 
 money, and, being very certain that no person 
 had passed in or out while she stood there, the 
 thought struck her that she had been watched. 
 
 But by whom ? When she re-entered the 
 room, she found its inmates exactly as she had 
 left them. The stout fellow lay upon two chairs, 
 resting his head on his hand, and the squinting 
 man reposed in a similar attitude on the opposite 
 side of the table. Between them sat her grand- 
 fether, looking intently at the winner with a kind 
 of hungry admiration, and hanging upon his 
 words as if he were some superior being. She 
 was puzzled for a moment, and looked round to 
 see if any one else was there. No. Then she 
 asked her grandfather in a whisper whether any- 
 body had left the room while she was absent. 
 " No," he said, " nobody." 
 
 It must have been her fancy, then ; and yet it 
 was strange that, without anything in her pre- 
 vious thoughts to lead to it, she should have 
 imagined this figure so very distinctly. She was 
 still wondering and thinking of it, when a girl 
 came to light her to bed. 
 
 The old man took leave of the company at 
 the same time, and they went up-stairs together. 
 It was a great rambling house, with dull corri- 
 dors and wide staircases, which the flaring 
 candles seemed to make more gloomy. She left 
 her grandfather in his chamber, and followed her 
 guide to another, which was at the end of a 
 passage, and approached by some half-dozen 
 crazy steps. This was prepared for her. The 
 girl lingered a little while to talk, and tell her 
 grievances. She had not a good place, she said ; 
 the wages were low, and the work was hard. 
 She was going to leave it in a fortnight ; the 
 child couldn't recommend her to another, she 
 supposed ? Indeed, she was afraid another 
 would be difficult to get after living there, for the 
 house had a very indifferent character ; there was 
 far too much card-playing, and such-like. She 
 was very much mistaken if some of the people 
 who came there oftenest were quite as honest as 
 they might be, but she wouldn't have it known 
 that she had said so, for the world. Then there 
 were some rambling allusions to a rejected sweet- 
 heart, who had threatened to go a soldiering — a 
 final promise of knocking at the door early in the 
 morning — and " Good night." 
 
 The child did not feel comfortable when she 
 was left alone. She could not help thinking of 
 
 the figure stealing through the passage down- 
 stairs ; and what the girl had said did not tend 
 to reassure her. The men were very ill-looking. 
 They might get their living by robbing and mur- 
 dering travellers. Who could tell ? 
 
 Reasoning herself out of these fears, or losing 
 sight of them for a little while, there came the 
 anxiety to which the adventures of the night gave 
 rise. Here was the old passion awakened again 
 in her grandfather's breast, and to what further 
 distraction it might tempt him Heaven only 
 knew. What fears their absence might havj 
 occasioned already ! Persons might be seeking 
 for them even then. Would they be forgiven in 
 the morning, or turned adrift again ? Oh ! why 
 had they stopped in that strange place? It 
 would have been better, under any circumstances, 
 to have gone on ! 
 
 At last, sleep gradually stole upon her — a 
 broken, fitful sleep, troubled by dreams of falling 
 from high towers, and waking with a start and in 
 great terror. A deeper slumber followed this — 
 and then What ? That figure in the room ! 
 
 A figure was there. Yes, she had drawn up 
 the blind to admit the light when it should dawn, 
 and there, between the foot of the bed and the 
 dark casement, it crouched and slunk along, 
 groping its way with noiseless hands, and stealin;^- 
 round the bed. She had no voice to cry for 
 help, no power to move, but lay still, watching it. 
 
 On it came — on, silently and stealthily, to the 
 bed's head. The breath so near her pillow, that 
 she shrunk back into it, lest those wandering 
 hands should light upon her face. Back again 
 it stole to the window — then turned its head 
 towards her. 
 
 The dark form was a mere blot upon the lighter 
 darkness of the room, but she saw the turning of 
 the head, and felt and knew how the eyes looked 
 and the ears listened. There it remained, 
 motionless as she. At length, still keeping the 
 face towards her, it busied its hands in something, 
 and she heard the chink of money. 
 
 Then, on it came again, silent and stealthy as 
 before, and replacing the garments it had taken 
 from the bedside, dropped upon its hands and 
 knees, and crawled away. How slowly it seemed 
 to move, now that she could hear but not see it, 
 creeping along the floor ! It reached the door at 
 last, and stood upon its feet. The steps creaked 
 beneath its noiseless tread, and it was gone. 
 
 The first impulse of the child was to fly from 
 the terror of being by herself in that room — to 
 have somebody by — not to be alone — and then 
 her power of speech would be restored. With 
 no consciousness of having moved, she gained 
 the door. 
 
THE ROBBER. 
 
 "3 
 
 There was the dreadful shadow, pausing at the 
 bottom of the steps. 
 
 She could not pass it ; she might have done so, 
 perhaps, in the darkness, without being seized, 
 but her blood curdled at the thought. The figure 
 stood quite still, and so did she ; not boldly, but 
 of necessity ; for going back into the room was 
 hardly less terrible than going on. 
 
 The rain beat fast and furiously without, and 
 ran down in plashing streams from the thatched 
 roof Some summer insect, with no escape into 
 the air, flew blindly to and fro, beating its body 
 against the walls and ceiling, and filling the silent 
 place with murmurs. The figure moved again. 
 The child involuntarily did the same. Once in 
 her grandfather's room, she would be safe. 
 
 It crept along the passage until it came to the 
 very door she longed so ardently to reach. The 
 child, in the agony of being so near, had almost 
 darted forward with the design of bursting into 
 the room and closing it behind her, when the 
 figure stopped again. 
 
 The idea flashed suddenly upon her — what if 
 it entered there, and had a design upon the old 
 man's life ? She turned faint and sick. It did. 
 It went in. There was a light inside. The 
 figure was now within the chamber, and she, still 
 dumb — quite dumb, and almost senseless — stood 
 looking on. 
 
 The door was partly open. Not knowing what 
 she meant to do, but meaning to preserve him 
 or be killed herself, she staggered forward and 
 looked in. 
 
 What sight was that which met her view ? 
 
 The bed had not been lain on, but was smooth 
 and empty. And at a table sat the old man 
 himself; the only living creature there ; his white 
 face pinched and sharpened by the greediness 
 which made his eyes unnaturally bright — count- 
 ing the money of which his hands had robbed 
 her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 jITH steps more faltering and un- 
 steady than those with which she 
 had approached the room, the child 
 withdrew from the door, and groped 
 her way back to her own chamber. 
 The terror she had lately felt was 
 lothing compared with that which now 
 oppressed her. No strange robber, no 
 treacherous host conniving at the plunder of his 
 guests, or stealing to their beds to kill them in 
 their sleep, no nightly prowler, however terrible 
 and cruel, could have awakened in her bosom 
 
 half the dread which the recognition of her silent 
 visitor inspired. The grey-headed old man 
 gliding like a ghost into her room and acting the 
 thief while he supposed her fast asleep, then 
 bearing off his prize and hanging over it with the 
 ghastly exultation she had witnessed, was worse 
 — immeasurably worse, and far more dreadful, 
 for the moment, to reflect upon — than anything 
 her wildest fancy could have suggested. If he 
 should return — there was no lock or bolt upon 
 the door, and if, distrustful of having left some 
 money yet behind, he should come back to seek 
 for more — a vague awe and horror surrounded 
 the idea of his slinking in again with stealthy 
 tread, and turning his face toward the empty 
 bed, while she shrank down close at his feet to 
 avoid his touch, which was almost insupportable. 
 She sat and listened. Hark ! A footstep on the 
 stairs, and now the door was slowly opening. 
 It was but imagination, yet imagination had all 
 the terrors of reality ; nay, it was worse, for the 
 reality would have come and gone, and there an 
 end, but in imagination it was always coming, 
 and never went away. 
 
 The feeling which beset the child was one of 
 dim uncertain horror. She had no fear of the 
 dear old grandfather, in whose love for her this 
 disease of the brain had been engendered ; but 
 the man she had seen that night, wrapped in the 
 game of chance, lurking in her room, and 
 counting the money by the glimmering light, 
 seemed like another creature in his shape, a 
 monstrous distortion of his image, a something 
 to recoil from, and be the more afraid of, because 
 it bore a likeness to him, and kept close about 
 her, as he did. She could scarcely connect her 
 own affectionate companion, save by his loss, 
 with this old man, so like, yet so unlike him. 
 She had wept to see him dull and quiet. How 
 much greater cause she had for weeping now ! 
 
 The child sat watching and thinking of these 
 things, until the phantom in her mind so in- 
 creased in gloom and terror, that she felt it would 
 be a relief to hear the old man's voice, or, if he 
 were asleep, even to see him, and banish some 
 of the fears that clustered round his image. She 
 stole down the stairs and passage again. The 
 door was still ajar as she had left it, and the 
 candle burning as before. 
 
 She had her own candle in her hand, prepared 
 to say, if he were waking, that she was uneasy 
 and could not rest, and had come to see if his 
 were still alight. Looking into the room, she 
 saw him lying calmly on his bed, and so took 
 courage to enter. 
 
 Fast asleep — no passion in the face, no avarice, 
 no anxiety, no wild desire ; all gentle, tranquil. 
 
114 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 and at peace. This was not the gambler, or the 
 shadow in her room; this was not even the worn 
 and jaded man whose face had so often met her 
 own in the grey morning light ; this was her dear 
 old friend, her harmless fellow-traveller, her good, 
 kind grandfather. 
 
 She had no. fear as she looked upon his 
 slumbering features, but she had a deep and 
 weighty sorrow, and it found its relief in tears. 
 
 " God bless him ! " said the child, stooping 
 softly to kiss his placid cheek. " I see too well 
 now that they would indeed part us if they found 
 us out, and shut him up from the light of the sun 
 and sky. He has only me to help him. God 
 bless us both ! " 
 
 Lighting her candle, she retreated as silently 
 as she had come, and gaining her own room 
 once more, sat up during the remainder of that 
 long, long, miserable night. 
 
 At last the day turned her waning candle pale, 
 and she fell asleep. She was quickly roused by 
 the girl who had shown her up to bed ; and, as 
 soon as she was dressed, prepared to go down to 
 her grandfather. But first she searched her 
 pocket, and found that her money was all gone 
 — not a sixpence remained. 
 
 The old man was ready, and in a few seconds 
 they were on their road. The child thought he 
 rather avoided her eye, and appeared to expect 
 that she would tell him of her loss. She felt she 
 must do that, or he might suspect the truth. 
 
 "Grandfather," she said in a tremulous voice, 
 after they had walked about a mile in silence, 
 "do you think they are honest people at the 
 house yonder?" 
 
 " Why ? " returned the old man, trembhng. 
 " Do I think them honest ? Yes, they played 
 honestly." 
 
 " I'll tell you why I ask," rejoined Nell. " I 
 lost some money last night — out of my bedroom 
 I am sure. Unless it was taken by somebody in 
 jest — only in jest, dear grandfather, which would 
 make me laugh heartily if I could but know 
 it " 
 
 "Who would take money in jest?" returned 
 the old man in a hurried manner. " Those who 
 take money, take it to keep. Don't talk of 
 jest." 
 
 " Then it was stolen out of my room, dear," 
 said the child, whose last hope was destroyed 
 by the manner of this reply. 
 
 " But is there no more, Nell ? " said the old 
 man ; " no more anywhere ? Was it all taken — 
 every farthing of it — was there nothing left ? " 
 
 " Nothing," replied the child. 
 
 " We must get more," said the old man, " we 
 must earn it, Nell, hoard it up, scrape it together, 
 
 come by it somehow. Never mind this loss. 
 Tell nobody of it, and perhaps we may regain it. 
 Don't ask how ; — we may regain it, and a great 
 deal more ; but tell nobody, or trouble may come 
 of it. And so they took it out of thy room, when 
 thou wert asleep !" he added in a compassionate 
 tone, very different from the secret, cunning way 
 in which he had spoken until now. " Poor Nell, 
 poor little Nell ! " 
 
 The child hung down her head and wept. The 
 sympathising tone in which he spoke was quite 
 sincere ; she was sure of that. It was not the 
 lightest part of her sorrow to know that this was 
 done for her. 
 
 " Not a word about it to any one but me," 
 said the old man ; " no, not even to me," he 
 added hastily, " for it can do no good. All the 
 losses that ever were are not worth tears from 
 thy eyes, darling. Why should they, be, when 
 we will win them back ? " 
 
 " Let them go," said the child, looking up. 
 " Let them go, once and for ever, and I would 
 never shed another tear if every penny had been 
 a thousand pounds." 
 
 " Well, well," returned the old man, checking 
 himself as some impetuous answer rose to his 
 lips, " she knows no better. I should be thank- 
 ful for it." 
 
 " But hsten to me," said the child earnestly. 
 " Will you listen to me ? " 
 
 "Ay, ay, I'll listen," returned the old man, 
 still without looking at her ; " a pretty voice ! It 
 has always a sweet sound to me. It always 
 had when it was her mother's, poor child ! " 
 
 " Let me persuade you, then — oh ! do let me 
 persuade you," said the child, " to think no more 
 of gains or losses, and to try no fortune but the 
 fortune we pursue together." 
 
 " We pursue this aim together," retorted her 
 grandfather, still looking away, and seeming to 
 confer v.'ith himself " Whose image sanctifies 
 the game ? " 
 
 " Have we been worse off," resumed the child, 
 " since you forgot these cares, and we have been 
 travelling on together ? Have we not been 
 much better and happier without a home to 
 shelter us than ever we were in that unhappy 
 house, when they were on your mind ? " 
 
 " She speaks the truth," murmured the old 
 man in the same tone as before. " It must not 
 turn me, but it is the truth — no doubt it is." 
 
 " Only remember what we have been since 
 that bright morning when we turned our backs 
 upon it for the last time," said Nell, "only 
 remember what we have been since we have 
 been free of all those miseries — what peaceful 
 days and quiet nights we have had — what plea- 
 
AN EXPEDITION TO MISS MONFLATHERS'S. 
 
 115 
 
 sant times we have known — what happiness we 
 have enjoyed. If we have been tired or hungry, 
 we have been soon refreshed, and slept the 
 sounder for it. Think what beautiful things we 
 have seen, and how contented we have felt. 
 And why was this blessed change ? " 
 
 He stopped her with a motion of his hand, 
 and bade her talk to him no more just then, for 
 he was busy. After a time he kissed her cheek, 
 still motioning her to silence, and walked ojti 
 looking far before him, and sometimes stopping 
 and gazing with a puckered brow upon the 
 ground, as if he were painfully trying to collect 
 his disordered thoughts. Once she saw tears in 
 his eyes. When he had gone on thus for some 
 time, he took her hand in his as he was accus- 
 tomed to do, with nothing of the violence or 
 animation of his late manner ; and so, by degrees 
 so fine that the. child could not trace them, 
 settled down into his usual quiet way, and suf- 
 fered her to lead him where she would. 
 
 When they presented themselves in the midst 
 of the stupendous collection, they found, as Nell 
 had anticipated, that Mrs. Jarley was not yet 
 out of bed, and that, although she had suffered 
 some uneasiness on their account overnight, and 
 had, indeed, sat up for them until past eleven 
 o'clock, she had retired in the persuasion that, 
 being overtaken by storm at some distance from 
 home, they had sought the nearest shelter, and 
 would not return before morning. Nell imme- 
 diately applied herself with great assiduity to 
 the decoration and preparation of the room, and 
 had the satisfaction of completing her task, and 
 dressing herself neatly, before the beloved of the 
 Royal Family came down to breakfast. 
 
 " We haven't had," said Mrs. Jarley when the 
 meal was over, "jnore than eight of Miss Mon- 
 flathers's young ladies all the time we've been 
 here, and there's twenty-six of 'em, as I was told 
 by the cook when I asked her a question or two, 
 and put her on the free-list. We must try 'em 
 with a parcel of new bills, and you shall take it, 
 my dear, and see what effect that has upon 'em." 
 
 The proposed expedition being one of para- 
 mount importance, Mrs. Jarley adjusted Nell's 
 bonnet with her own hands, and declaring that 
 she certainly did look very pretty, and reflected 
 credit on the establishment, dismissed her with 
 many commendations, and certain needful direc- 
 tions as to the turnings on the right which she 
 was to take, and the turnings on the left which 
 she was to avoid. Thus instructed, Nell had no 
 difficulty in finding out Miss Monflathers's 
 Boarding and Day Establishment, which was a 
 large house, with a high wall, and a large garden- 
 gate with a large brass plate, and a small grating 
 
 through which Miss Monflathers's parlour-maid 
 inspected all visitors before admitting them ; for 
 nothing in the shape of a man — no, not even a 
 milkman — was suffered, without special licence, 
 to pass that gate. Even the tax-gatherer, who 
 was stout, and wore spectacles and a broad- 
 brimmed hat, had the taxes handed through the 
 grating. More obdurate than gate of adamant 
 or brass, this gate of Miss Monflathers's frowned 
 on all mankind. The very butcher respected it 
 as a gate of mystery, and left off whistling when 
 he rang the bell. 
 
 As Nell approached the awful door, it turned 
 slowly upon its hinges with a creaking noise, 
 and, forth from the solemn grove beyond, came 
 a long file of young ladies, two and two, all with 
 open books in their hands, and some with 
 parasols likewise. And last of the goodly pro- 
 cession came Miss Monflathers, bearing herself 
 a parasol of lilac silk, and supported by two 
 smiling teachers, each mortally envious of the 
 other, and devoted unto Miss Monflathers. 
 
 Confused by the looks and whispers of the 
 girls, Nell stood with downcast eyes and suffered 
 the procession to pass on, until Miss Monflathers, 
 bringing up the rear, approached her, when she 
 curtsied and presented her little packet; on 
 receipt whereof Miss Monflathers commanded 
 that the line should halt. 
 
 "You're the wax -work child, are you not?" 
 said Miss Monflathers. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," replied Nell, colouring deeply, 
 for the young ladies had collected about her, and 
 she was the centre on which all eyes were fixed. 
 
 " And don't you think you must be a very 
 Avicked little child," said Miss Monflathers, who 
 was of rather uncertain temper, and lost no 
 opportunity of impressing moral truths upon 
 the tender minds of the young ladies, ". to be a 
 wax- work child at all?" 
 
 Poor Nell had never viewed her position in 
 this light, and not knowing what to say, re- 
 mained silent, blushing more deeply than before. 
 
 " Don't you know," said Miss Monflathers, 
 " that it's very naughty and unfeminine, and a 
 perversion of the properties wisely and be- 
 nignantly transmitted to us, with expansive 
 powers to be roused from their dormant state 
 through the medium of cultivation ?" 
 
 The two teachers murmured their respectful 
 approval of this home-thrust, and looked at Nell 
 as though they would have said that there indeed 
 Miss Monflathers had hit her very hard. Then 
 they smiled and glanced at Miss Monflathers, 
 and then, their eyes meeting, they exchanged 
 looks which plainly said that each considered 
 herself smiler in ordinary to Miss Monflathers, 
 
ii6 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 and regarded the other as having no right to 
 smile, and that her so doing was an act of pre- 
 sumption and impertinence. 
 
 " Don't you feel how naughty it is of you," 
 resumed Miss Monflathers, "to be a wax-work 
 child, when you might have the proud con- 
 
 sciousness of assisting, to the extent of your 
 infant powers, the manufactures of your country ; 
 of improving your mind by the constant contem- 
 plation of the steam-engine ; and of earning a 
 comfortable and independent subsistence of 
 from two-and-ninepence to three shillings per 
 
 you're the wax-work child, are you not ? " 
 
 week ? Don't you know that the harder you are 
 at work, the happier you are?" 
 
 " ' How doth the little ' " murmured one 
 
 of the teachers, in quotation from Doctor Watts. 
 
 " Eh ?" said Miss Monflathers, turning smartly 
 round. " Who said that ?" 
 
 Of course the teacher who had not said it 
 indicated the rival who had, whom Miss Mon- 
 flathers frowningly requested to hold her peace ; 
 by that means throwing the informing teacher 
 into raptures of joy. 
 
 " The little busy bee," said Miss Monflathers, 
 
MISS MONFLATHERS'S MORAL AXIOMS. 
 
 117 
 
 drawing herself up, " is applicable only to gen- 
 teel children. 
 
 ' In books, or work, or healthful play,' 
 
 is quite right as far as they are concerned ; and 
 the work means painting on velvet, fancy needle- 
 work, or embroidery. In such cases as these," 
 pointing to Nell with her parasol, " and in the 
 case of all poor people's children, we should 
 read it thus : 
 
 ' In work, work, work. In work alway 
 Let my first years be past. 
 That I may give for ev'ry day 
 Some good account at last.' " 
 
 A deep hum of applause rose not only from 
 the two teachers, but from all the pupils, who 
 were equally agtonished to hear Miss Mon- 
 flathers improvising after this brilliant style ; for 
 although she had been long known as a poli- 
 tician, she had never appeared before as an 
 original poet. Just then somebody happened to 
 discover that Nell was crying, and all eyes were 
 again turned towards her. 
 
 There were indeed tears in her eyes, and 
 drawing out her handkerchief to brush them 
 away, she happened to let it fall. Before she 
 could stoop to pick it up, one young lady of 
 about fifteen or sixteen, who had been standing 
 a little apart from the others, as though she had 
 no recognised place among them, sprang for- 
 ward and put it in her hand. She was gliding 
 timidly away again, when she was arrested by 
 the governess. 
 
 " It was Miss Edwards who did that, I JaiowJ'' 
 said Miss Monflathers predictively. " Now I 
 am sure that was Miss Edwards." 
 
 It was Miss .Edwards, and everybody said it 
 was Miss Edwards, and Miss Edwards herself 
 admitted that it was. 
 
 " Is it not," said Miss Monflathers, putting 
 down her parasol to take a severer view of the 
 offender, " a most remarkable thing, Miss Ed- 
 wards, that you have an attachment to the lower 
 classes which always draws you to their sides ; 
 or rather, is it not a most extraordinary thing 
 that all I say and do will not wean you from 
 propensities which your original station in life 
 has unhappily rendered habitual to you, you 
 extremely vulgar-minded girl ?" 
 
 " I really intended no harm, ma'am," said a 
 sweet voice. " It was a momentary impulse, 
 indeed." 
 
 "An impulse!" repeated Miss Monflathers 
 scornfully. " I wonder that you presume to 
 speak of impulses to me " — both the teachers 
 assented — " I am astonished" — both the teach- 
 
 ers were astonished — " I suppose it is an impulse 
 which induces you to take the part of every 
 grovelling and debased person that comes in 
 your way " — both the teachers supposed so too. 
 
 " But I would have you know, Miss Edwards," 
 resumed the governess in a tone of increased 
 severity, " that you cannot be permitted — if it be 
 only for the sake of preserving a proper example 
 and decorum in this establishment — that you 
 cannot be permitted, and that you shall not be 
 permitted, to fly in the face of your superiors in 
 this exceedingly gross manner. If you have no 
 reason to feel a becoming pride before wax- 
 work children, there are young ladies here who 
 have, and you must either defer to those young 
 ladies or leave the establishment, Miss Ed- 
 wards." 
 
 This young lady, being motherless and poor, 
 was apprenticed at the school — taught for nothing 
 — teaching others what she learnt, for nothing — 
 boarded for nothing — lodged for nothing — and 
 set down and rated as something immeasurably 
 less than nothing by all the dwellers in the 
 house. The servant-maids felt her inferiority, 
 for they were better treated, free to come and 
 go, and regarded in their stations with much 
 more respect. The teachers were infinitely 
 superior, for they had paid to go to school in 
 their time, and were paid now. The pupils 
 cared little for a companion who had no grand 
 stories to tell about home ; no friends to come 
 with post-horses, and be received in all humility, 
 with cake and wine, by the governess ; no de- 
 ferential servant to attend and bear her home 
 for the holidays ; nothing genteel to talk about,, 
 and nothing to display. But why was Miss 
 Monflathers always vexed and irritated with the 
 poor apprentice ? How did that come to pass ? 
 
 Why, the gayest feather in Miss Monflathers's 
 cap, and the brightest glory of Miss Monflathers's 
 school, was a baronet's daughter — the real live 
 daughter of a real live baronet — who, by some 
 extraordinary reversal of the Laws of Nature, 
 was not only plain in features, but dull in intel- 
 lect, while the poor apprentice had both a ready 
 wit, and a handsome face and figure. It seems 
 incredible. Here was Miss Edwards, who only 
 paid a small premium which had been spent long 
 ago, every day outshining and excelling the baro- 
 net's daughter, who learned all the extras (or 
 was taught them all), and whose half-yearly bill 
 came to double that of any other young lady's 
 in the school, making no account of the honour 
 and reputation of her pupilage. Therefore, and 
 because she was a dependant, Miss Monflathers 
 had a great dislike to Miss Edwards, and was 
 spiteful to her, and aggravated by her, and, when 
 
ii8 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 she had compassion on httle Nell, verbally fell 
 upon and maltreated her as we have already- 
 seen. 
 
 "You will not take the air to-day, Miss Ed- 
 wards," said Miss Monflathers. " Have the 
 goodness to retire to your own room, and not 
 to leave it without permission." 
 
 The poor girl was moving hastily away, when 
 she was suddenly, in nautical phrase, " brought 
 to " by a subdued shriek from Miss Monflathers. 
 
 " She has passed me without any salute ! " 
 cried the governess, raising her eyes to the sky. 
 '•'She has actually passed me without the slightest 
 acknowledgment of my presence ! " 
 
 The young lady turned and curtsied. Nell 
 could see that she raised her dark eyes to the 
 face of her superior, and that their expression, 
 and that of her whole attitude for the instant, 
 was one of mute but most touching appeal against 
 this ungenerous usage. Miss Monflathers only 
 tossed her head in reply, and the great gate 
 closed upon a bursting heart. 
 
 "As for you, you wicked child," said Miss 
 Monflathers, turning to Nell, " tell your mistress 
 that if she presumes to take the liberty of sending 
 to me any more, I will write to the legislative 
 authorities, and have her put in the stocks, or 
 compelled to do penance in a white sheet ; and 
 you may depend upon it that you shall certainly 
 experience the treadmill if you dare to come here 
 again. Now, ladies, on." 
 
 The procession filed off", two and two, with the 
 books and parasols, and Miss Monflathers, call- 
 ing the baronet's daughter to walk with her and 
 smooth her ruffled feelings, discarded the two 
 teachers — who by this time had exchanged their 
 smiles for looks of sympathy — and left them to 
 bring up the rear, and hate each other a little 
 more for being obliged to walk together. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXn. 
 
 'RS. JARLEY'S wrath, on first learn- 
 ing that she had been threatened 
 with the indignity of Stocks and 
 Penance, passed all description. The 
 genuine and only Jarley exposed to 
 public scorn, jeered by children, and 
 flouted by beadles ! The delight of the 
 Nobility and Gentry shorn of a bonnet 
 which a Lady Mayoress might have sighed to 
 wear, and arrayed in a white sheet as a spectacle 
 of mortification and humility ! And Miss Mon- 
 flathers, the audacious creature, who presumed, 
 
 even in the dimmest and remotest distance of 
 her imagination, to conjure up the degrading 
 picture, " I am a'most inclined," said Mrs. Jarley, 
 bursting with the fulness of her anger and the 
 weakness of her means of revenge, "to turn 
 atheist when I think of it ! " 
 
 But, instead of adopting this course of retalia- 
 tion, Mrs. Jarley, on second thoughts, brought 
 out the suspicious bottle, and ordering glasses to 
 be set forth upon her favourite drum, and sinking 
 into a chair behind it, called her satellites about 
 her, and to them several times recounted, word 
 for word, the affronts she had received. This 
 done, she begged them in a kind of deep despair 
 to drink ; then laughed, then cried, then took a 
 little sip herself, then laughed and cried again, 
 and took a little more ; and so, by degrees, the 
 worthy lady went on, increasing in smiles and 
 decreasing in tears, until at last she could not 
 laugh enough at Miss Monflathers, who, from 
 being an object of dire vexation, became one of 
 sheer ridicule and absurdity. 
 
 " For which of us is best off, I wonder," quoth 
 Mrs. Jarley, " she or me? It's only talking, when 
 all is said and done, and if she talks of me in 
 the stocks, why I can talk of her in the stocks, 
 which is a good deal funnier if we come to that. 
 Lord, what does it matter, after all ? " 
 
 Having arrived at this comfortable frame of 
 mind (to which she had been greatly assisted by 
 certain short interjectional remarks of the philo- 
 sophic George), Mrs. Jarley consoled Nell with 
 many kind words, and requested as a personal 
 favour that, whenever she thought of Miss Mon- 
 flathers, she would do nothing else but laugh at 
 her all the days of her life. 
 
 So ended Mrs. Jarley's wrath, which subsided 
 long before the going down of the sun. Nell's 
 anxieties, however, were of a deeper kind, and 
 the checks they imposed upon her cheerfulness 
 were not so easily removed. 
 
 That evening, as she had dreaded, her grand- 
 father stole away, and did not come back until 
 the night was far spent. Worn out as she was, 
 and fatigued in mind and body, she sat up alone, 
 counting the minutes, until he returned — penni- 
 less, broken-spirited, and wretched, but still hotly 
 bent upon his infatuation. 
 
 " Get me money," he said wildly as they parted 
 for the night. " I must have money, Nell. It 
 shall be paid thee back with gallant interest one 
 day, but all the money that comes into thy hands 
 must be mine — not for myself, but to use for 
 thee. Remember, Nell, to use for thee ! " 
 
 What could the child do, with the knowledge 
 she had, but give him every penny that came 
 into her hands, lest he should be tempted on to 
 
THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 T19 
 
 rob their benefactress ? If she told the truth (so 
 thought the child), he would be treated as a 
 madman ; if she did not supply him with money, 
 he would supply himself; supplying him, she fed 
 the fire that burnt him up, and put him perhaps 
 beyond recovery. Distracted by these thoughts, 
 borne down by the weight of the sorrow which 
 she dared not tell, tortured by a crowd of appre- 
 hensions whenever the old man was absent, and 
 dreading alike his stay and his return, the colour 
 forsook her cheek, her eye grew dim, and her 
 heart was oppressed and heavy. All her old 
 sorrows had come back upon her, augmented 
 by new fears and doubts ; by day they were 
 ever present to her mind ; by night they hovered 
 round her pillow, and haunted her in dreams. 
 
 It was natural that, in the midst of her afflic- 
 tion, she should often revert to that sweet young 
 lady of whom she had only caught a hasty glance, 
 but whose sympathy, expressed in one slight brief 
 action, dwelt in her memory like the kindnesses 
 of years. She would often think, if she had such 
 a friend as that to whom to tell her griefs, how 
 much lighter her heart would be — that if she 
 were but free to hear that voice, she would be 
 happier. Then she would wish that she were 
 something better, that she were not quite so 
 poor and humble, that she dared address her 
 without fearing a repulse; and then feel that 
 there was an immeasurable distance between 
 them, and have no hope that the young lady 
 thought of her any more. 
 
 It was now holiday-time at the schools, and 
 the young ladies had gone home, and Miss 
 Monflathers was reported to be flourishing in 
 London, and damaging the hearts of middle- 
 aged gentlemen, but nobody said anything about 
 Miss Edwards, whether she had gone home, or 
 whether she had any home to go to, whether she 
 was still at the school, or anything about her. 
 But one evening, as Nell was returning from a 
 lonely walk, she happened to pass the inn where 
 the stage-coaches stopped, just as one drove up, 
 and there was the beautiful girl she so well re- 
 membered, pressing forward to embrace a young 
 child whom they were helping down from the 
 roof. 
 
 Well, this was her sister, her little sister, much 
 younger than Nell, whom she had not seen (so 
 the story went afterwards) for five years, and to 
 bring whom to that place on a short visit, she 
 had been saving her poor means all that time. 
 Nell felt as if her heart would break when she 
 saw them meet. They went a little apart from 
 the knot of people who had congregated about 
 the coach, and fell upon each other's neck, and 
 sobbed, and wept with joy. Their plain and 
 
 simple dress, the distance which the child had 
 come alone, their agitation and delight, and the 
 tears they shed, would have told their history 
 by themselves. 
 
 They became a little more composed in a 
 short time, and went away, not so much hand- 
 in-hand as clinging to each other. "Are you 
 sure you're happy, sister?" said the child as they 
 passed where Nell was standing. " Quite happy 
 now," she answered. " But always ? " said the 
 child. " Ah, sister, why do you turn away your 
 face ? " 
 
 Nell could not help following at a little dis- 
 tance. They went to the house of an old nurse, 
 where the elder sister had engaged a bedroom 
 for the child. " I shall come to you early every 
 morning," she said, " and we can be together all 
 the day." — " Why not at night-time too ? Dear 
 sister, would they be angry with you for that ? " 
 
 Why were the eyes of little Nell wet, that 
 night, with tears like those of the two sisters ? 
 Why did she bear a grateful heart because they 
 had met, and feel it pain to think that they would 
 shortly part ? Let us not believe that any selfish 
 reference — unconscious though it might have 
 been — to her own trials awoke this sympathy, 
 but thank God that the innocent joys of others 
 can strongly move us, and that we, even in our 
 fallen nature, have one source of pure emotion 
 which must be prized in Heaven ! 
 
 By morning's cheerful glow, but oftener still 
 by evening's gentle light, the child, with a respect 
 for the short and happy intercourse of these two 
 sisters which forbade her to approach and say a 
 thankful word, although she yearned to do so, 
 followed them at a distance in their walks and 
 rambles, stopping when they stopped, sitting on 
 the grass when they sat down, rising when they 
 went on, and feeling it a companionship and 
 delight to be so near them. Their evening walk 
 was by a river's side. Here, every night, the 
 child was too, unseen by them, unthought of, 
 unregarded ; but feeling as if they were her 
 friends, as if they had confidences and trusts 
 together, as if her load were lightened and less 
 hard to bear ; as if they mingled their sorrows, 
 and found mutual consolation. It was a weak 
 fancy perhaps, the childish fancy of a young and 
 lonely creature ; but, night after night, and still 
 the sisters loitered in the same place, and still 
 the child followed with a mild and softened 
 heart. 
 
 She was much startled, on returning home one 
 night, to find that Mrs. Jarley had commanded 
 an announcement to be prepared, to the effect 
 that the stupendous collection would only remain 
 in its present quarters one day longer ; in fulfil- 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 ment of which threat (for all announcements 
 connected with public amusements are well 
 known to be irrevocable and most exact), the 
 stupendous collection shut up next day. 
 
 "Are we going from this place directly, 
 ma'am?" said Nell. 
 
 "Look here, child," returned Mrs. Jarley. 
 " That'll inform you." And so saying, Mrs. Jar- 
 ley produced another announcement, wherein it 
 was stated that, in consequence of numerous 
 inquiries at the wax-work door, and in conse- 
 quence of crowds having been disappointed in 
 obtaining admission, the Exhibition would be 
 continued for one week longer, and would re- 
 open next day. 
 
 " For now that the schools are gone, and the 
 regular sight-seers exhausted," said Mrs. Jarley, 
 " we come to the General Public, and they want 
 stimulating." 
 
 Upon the following day, at noon, Mrs. Jarley 
 established herself behind the highly-ornamented 
 table, attended by the distinguished effigies before 
 mentioned, and ordered the doors to be thrown 
 open for the readmission of a discerning and en- 
 lightened public. But the first day's operations 
 were by no means of a successful character, 
 inasmuch as the general public, though they 
 manifested a lively interest in Mrs. Jarley per- 
 sonally, and such of her waxen sateUites as were 
 to be seen for nothing, were not affected by any 
 impulses moving them to the payment of six- 
 pence a head. Thus, notwithstanding that a 
 great many people continued to stare at the entry 
 and the figures therein displayed ; and remained 
 there with great perseverance, by the hour at a 
 time, to hear the barrel-organ played and to read 
 the bills ; and notwithstanding that they were 
 kind enough to recommend their friends to pa- 
 tronise the exhibition in the like manner, until 
 the doorway was regularly blockaded by half the 
 population of the town, who, when they went off 
 duty, were relieved by the other half; it was not 
 found that the treasury was any the richer, or 
 that the prospects of the establishment were at 
 all encouraging. 
 
 In this depressed state of the classical market, 
 Mrs. Jarley made extraordinary efforts to stimu- 
 late the popular taste, and whet the popular 
 curiosity. Certain machinery in the body of the 
 nun on the leads over the door was cleaned up 
 and put in motion, so that the figure shook its 
 head paralytically all day long, to the great ad- 
 miration of a drunken, but very Protestant, 
 barber over the way, who looked upon the said 
 paralytic motion as typical of the degrading 
 effect wrought upon the human mind by the 
 ceremonies of the Romish Church, and dis- 
 
 coursed upon that theme with great eloquence 
 and morality. The two carters constantly passed 
 in and out of the exhibition-room, under various 
 disguises, protesting aloud that the sight was 
 better worth the money than anything they had 
 beheld in all their lives, and urging the by- 
 standers, with tears in their eyes, not to neglect 
 such a brilliant gratification. Mrs. Jarley sat in 
 the pay-place, chinking silver moneys from noon 
 till night, and solemnly calling upon the crowd 
 to take notice that the price of admission was 
 only sixpence, and that the departure of the 
 whole collection, on a short tour among the 
 Crowned Heads of Europe, was positively fixed 
 for that day week. 
 
 " So be in time, be in time, be in time," said 
 Mrs. Jarley at the close of every such address. 
 " Remember that this is Jarley's stupendous col- 
 lection of upwards of one Hundred Figures, and 
 that it is the only collection in the world ; all 
 others being impostors and deceptions. Be in 
 time, be in time, be in time ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXHI. 
 
 ^S the course of this tale requires that 
 we should become acquainted, some- 
 where hereabouts, with a i&N parti- 
 culars connected with the domestic 
 economy of Mr. Sampson Brass, and 
 as a more convenient place than the 
 present is not likely to occur for that 
 purpose, the historian takes the friendly 
 reader by the hand, and springing with him into 
 the air, and cleaving the same at a greater rate 
 than ever Don Cleophas Leandro Perez Zam- 
 bullo and his familiar travelled through that 
 pleasant region in company, alights with him 
 upon the pavement of Bevis Marks. 
 
 The intrepid aeronauts alight before a small 
 dark house, once the residence of Mr. Sampson 
 Brass. 
 
 In the parlour window of this little habitation, 
 which is so close upon the footway that the pas- 
 senger who takes the wall brushes the dim glass 
 with his coat-sleeve — much to its improvement, 
 for it is very dirty — in this parlour window, in 
 the days of its occupation by Sampson Brass, 
 there hung, all awry and slack, and discoloured 
 by the sun, a curtain of faded green, so thread- 
 bare from long service as by no means to inter- 
 cept the view of the httle dark room, but rather 
 to afford a favourable medium through which to 
 observe it accurately. There was not much to 
 look at. A rickety table, with spare bundles of 
 
MISS SALLY BRASS. 
 
 121 
 
 papers, yellow and ragged from long carriage in 
 the pocket, ostentatiously displayed upon its 
 top ; a couple of stools set face to face on oppo- 
 site sides of this crazy piece of furniture ; a 
 treacherous old chair by the fire-place, whose 
 withered arms had hugged full many a client and 
 helped to squeeze him dry ; a second-hand wig- 
 box, used as a depository for blank writs and 
 declarations and other small forms of law, once 
 the sole contents of the head which belonged to 
 the wig which belonged to the box, as they were 
 now of the box itself; two or three common 
 books of practice ; a jar of ink, a pounce box, 
 a stunted hearth-broom, a carpet trodden to 
 shreds, but still clinging with the tightness of 
 desperation to its tacks — these, with the yellow 
 wainscot of the walls, the smoke - discoloured 
 ceiling, the dust and cobwebs, were among the 
 most prominent decorations of the office of Mr. 
 Sampson Brass. 
 
 But this was mere still-life, of no greater im- 
 portance than the plate, " Brass, Solicitor," 
 upon the door, and the bill, " First floor to let 
 to a single gentleman," which was tied to the 
 knocker. The office commonly held two ex- 
 amples of animated nature, more to the purpose 
 of this history, and in whom it has a stronger 
 interest and more particular concern. 
 
 Of these, one was Mr. Brass himself, who has 
 already appeared in these pages. The other was 
 his clerk, assistant, housekeeper, secretary, con- 
 fidential plotter, adviser, intriguer, and bill-of- 
 cost increaser. Miss Brass — a kind of Amazon at 
 common law, of whom it may be desirable to 
 offer a brief description. 
 
 Miss Sally Brass, then, was a lady of thirty- 
 five or thereabouts, of a gaunt and bony figure, 
 and a resolute bearing, which, if it repressed the 
 softer emotions of love, and kept admirers at a 
 distance, certainly inspired a feeling akin to awe 
 in the breasts of those male strangers who had 
 the happiness to approach her. In face she bore 
 a striking resemblance to her brother Sampson 
 — so exact, indeed, was the likeness between 
 them, that had it consorted with Miss Brass's 
 maiden modesty and gentle womanhood to have 
 assumed her brother's clothes in a frolic, and sat 
 down beside him, it would have been difficult 
 for the oldest friend of the family to determine 
 which was Sampson and which Sally, especially 
 as the lady carried upon her upper lip certain 
 reddish demonstrations, which, if the imagina- 
 tion had been assisted by her attire, might have 
 been mistaken for a beard. These were, how- 
 ever, in all probability, nothing more than eye- 
 lashes in a wrong place, as the eyes of Miss Brass 
 were quite free from any such natural imperti- 
 
 nences. In complexion Miss Brass was sallow 
 — rather a dirty sallow, so to speak — but this 
 hue was agreeably relieved by the healthy glow 
 which mantled in the extreme tip of her laughing 
 nose. Her voice was exceedingly impressive — 
 deep and rich in quality, and, once heard, not 
 easily forgotten. Her usual dress was a green 
 gown, in colour not unlike the curtain of the 
 office window, made tight to the figure, and ter- 
 minating at the throat, where it was fastened 
 behind by a peculiarly large and massive button. 
 Feeling, no doubt, that simplicity and plainness 
 are the soul of elegance. Miss Brass wore no 
 collar or kerchief except upon her head, which 
 was invariably ornamented with a brown gauze 
 scarf, hke the wing of the fabled vampire, and 
 which, twisted into any form that happened to 
 suggest itself, formed an easy and graceful head- 
 dress. 
 
 Such was Miss Brass in person. In mind, 
 she was of a strong and vigorous turn, having 
 from her earUest youth devoted herself with un- 
 common ardour to the study of the law; not 
 wasting her speculations upon its eagle flights, 
 which are rare, but tracing it attentively through 
 all the slippery and eel-like crawlings in which it 
 commonly pursues its way. Nor had she, like 
 many persons of great intellect, confined herself 
 to theory, or stopped short where practical use- 
 fulness begins ; inasmuch as she could engross, 
 fair-copy, fill up printed forms with perfect accu- 
 racy, and, in short, transact any ordinary duty of 
 the office down to pouncing a skin of parchment 
 or mending a pen. It is difficult to understand 
 how, possessed of these combined attractions, 
 she should remain Miss Brass ; but whether she 
 had steeled her heart against mankind, or whe4;her 
 those who might have wooed and won her were 
 deterred by fears that, being learned in the law, she 
 might have too near her fingers' ends those par- 
 ticular statutes which regulate what are familiarly 
 termed actions for breach, certain it is that she 
 was still in a state of celibacy, and still in daily 
 occupation of her old stool opposite to that of 
 her brother Sampson. And equally certain it is, 
 by the way, that between these two stools a great 
 many people had come to the ground. 
 
 One morning Mr. Sampson Brass sat upon his 
 stool copying some legal process, and viciously 
 digging his pen deep into the paper, as if he 
 were writing upon the very heart of the party 
 against whom it was directed ; and Miss Sally 
 Brass sat upon her stool making a new pen pre- 
 paratory to drawing out a little bill, which was 
 her favourite occupation; and so they sat in 
 silence for a long time, until Miss Brass broke 
 silence. 
 
122 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " Have you nearly done, Sammy?" said Miss 
 Brass ; for in her mild and feminine lips Samp- 
 son became Sammy, and all things were softened 
 down. 
 
 " No," returned her brother. " It would have 
 been all done, though, if you had helped at the 
 right time." 
 
 " Oh yes, indeed," cried Miss Sally ; " you 
 want my help, don't you.?— you, too, that are 
 going to keep a clerk !" 
 
 " Am I going to keep a clerk for my own 
 pleasure, or because of my own wish, you pro- 
 voking rascal?" said Mr. Brass, putting his pen 
 in his mouth, and grinning spitefully at his 
 sister. " What do you taunt me about going to 
 keep a clerk for ?" 
 
 It may be observed in this place, lest the fact 
 of Mr. Brass calling a lady a rascal should occa- 
 sion any wonderment or surprise, that he was so 
 habituated to having her near him in a man's 
 capacity, that he had gradually accustomed him- 
 self to talk to her as though she were really a 
 man. And this feeling was so perfectly reci- 
 procal, that not only did Mr. Brass often call 
 Miss Brass a rascal, or even put an adjective 
 before the rascal, but Miss Brass looked upon it 
 as quite a matter of course, and was as little 
 moved as any other lady would be by being 
 called an angel. 
 
 "What do you taunt me, after three hours' 
 talk last night, with going to keep a clerk for ? '■' 
 repeated Mr. Brass, grinning again with the pen 
 in his mouth, like some nobleman's or gentle- 
 man's crest. " Is it my fault?" 
 
 " All I know is," said Miss Sally, smiling 
 drily, for she delighted in nothing so much as 
 irritating her brother, " that if every one of your 
 clients is to force us to keep a clerk, whether 
 we want to or not, you had better leave off 
 business, strike yourself off the roll, and get 
 taken in execution as soon as you can." 
 
 " Have we got any other client like him ? " 
 said Brass. " Have we got another client like 
 him, now — will you answer me that ?" 
 
 " Do you mean in the face?" said his sister. 
 
 " Do I mean in the face?" sneered Sampson 
 Brass, reaching over to take up the bill book, 
 and fluttering its leaves rapidly. " Look here — 
 Daniel Quilp, Esquire — Daniel Quilp, Esquire 
 —Daniel Quilp, Esquire — all through. Whether 
 should I take a clerk that he recommends, and 
 says, * This is the man for you,' ox lose all this 
 —eh ?" 
 
 Miss Sally deigned to make no reply, but 
 smiled again, and went on with her work. 
 
 " But I know what it is," resumed Brass after 
 a short silence. " You're afraid vou won't have 
 
 as long a finger in the business as you've been 
 used to have. Do you think I don't see through 
 that ?" 
 
 " The business wouldn't go on very long, I 
 expect, without me," returned his sister com- 
 posedly. "Don't you be a fool and provoke 
 me, Sammy, but mind what you're doing, and 
 do it." 
 
 Sampson Brass, who was at heart in great fear 
 of his sister, sulkily bent over his writing again, 
 and listened as she said : 
 
 " If I determined that the clerk ought not to 
 come, of course he wouldn't be allowed to come. 
 You know that well enough, so don't talk non- 
 sense." 
 
 Mr. Brass received this observation with in- 
 creased meekness, merely remarking, under his 
 breath, that he didn't like that kind of joking, 
 and that Miss Sally would be " a much better 
 fellow " if she forbore to aggravate him. To this 
 compHment Miss Sally replied that she had a 
 relish for the amusement, and had no intention 
 to forego its gratification. Mr. Brass not caring, 
 as it seemed, to pursue the subject any further, 
 they both plied their pens at a great pace, and 
 there the discussion ended. 
 
 While they were thus employed, the window 
 was suddenly darkened, as by some person stand- 
 ing close against it. As Mr. Brass and Miss 
 Sally looked up to ascertain the cause, the top 
 sash was nimbly lowered from without, and 
 Quilp thrust in his head. 
 
 " Hallo !" he said, standing on tiptoe on the 
 window-sill, and looking down into the room. 
 " Is there anybody at home ? Is there any of 
 the devil's ware here ? Is Brass at a premium, 
 eh?" 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the lawyer in an 
 affected ecstasy. " Oh, very good, sir ! Oh, 
 very good indeed ! Quite eccentric ! Dear me, 
 what humour he has !" 
 
 " Is that my Sally ?" croaked the dwarf, ogling 
 the fair Miss Brass. " Is it Justice with the 
 bandage off her eyes, and without the sword 
 and scales ? Is it the Strong Arm of the Law ? 
 Is it the Virgin of Bevis ?" 
 
 " What an amazing flow of spirits ! " cried 
 Brass. " Upon my word, it's quite extraordi- 
 nary ! " 
 
 " Open the door," said Quilp. " I've got 
 him here. Such a clerk for you, Brass, such a 
 prize, such an ace of frumps. Be quick and 
 open the door, or, if there's another lawyer near 
 and he should happen to look out of window, 
 he'll snap him up before your eyes, he will." 
 
 It is probable that the loss of the phoenix of 
 clerks, even to a rival practitioner, would not 
 
A COLLEAGUE FOR MLSS SALLY BRASS. 
 
 123 
 
 have broken Mr. Brass's heart ; but, j^retending 
 great alacrity, he rose from his seat, and going 
 to the door, returned, introducing his cHent, who 
 led by the hand no less a person than Mr. 
 Richard Swiveller. 
 
 " There she is," said Quilp, stopping short at 
 the door, and wrinkling up his eyebrows as he 
 looked towards Miss Sally ; *' there is the woman 
 I ought to have married — there is the beautiful 
 Sarah — there is the female who has all the 
 charms of her sex, and none of their weaknesses. 
 Oh, Sally, Sally!" 
 
 To this amorous address Miss Brass briefly 
 responded '* Bother ! " 
 
 " Hard-hearted as the metal from which she 
 takes her name," said Quilp. " Why don't she 
 change it — melt down the brass, and take another 
 name ? " 
 
 " Hold your nonsense, Mr. Quilp, do," re- 
 turned Miss Sally with a grim smile. " I 
 wonder you'ae not ashamed of yourself before a 
 strange young man." 
 
 " The strange young man," said Quilp, hand- 
 ing Dick Swiveller forward, " is too susceptible 
 himself, not to understand me well. This is 
 Mr. Swiveller, my intimate friend — a gentleman 
 of good family and great expectations, but who, 
 having rather involved himself by youthful indis- 
 cretion, is content for a time to fill the humble 
 station of a clerk — humble, but here most envi- 
 able. What a delicious atmosphere !" 
 
 If Mr. Quilp spoke figuratively, and meant to 
 imply that the air breathed by Miss Sally Brass was 
 sweetened and rarefied by that dainty creature, 
 he had doubtless good reason for what he said. 
 But if he spoke of the delights of the atmo- 
 sphere of Mr. Brass's oflice in a literal sense, he 
 had certainly a peculiar taste, as it was of a close 
 and earthy kind, and, besides being frequently 
 impregnated with strong whiffs of the second- 
 hand wearing apparel exposed for sale in Duke's 
 Place and Houndsditch, had a decided flavour 
 of rats and mice, and a taint of mouldiness. 
 Perhaps some doubts of its pure delighjt pre- 
 sented themselves to Mr. Swiveller, as he gave 
 vent to one or two short abrupt sniffs, and looked 
 incredulously at the grinning dwarf. 
 
 " Mr. Swiveller," said Quilp, " being pretty 
 well accustomed to the agricultural pursuits of 
 sowing wild oats, Miss Sally, prudently con- 
 siders that half a loaf is better than no bread. 
 To be out of harm's way he prudently thinks 
 is something too, and therefore he accepts 
 your brother's offer. Brass, Mr. Swiveller is 
 yours." 
 
 " I am very glad, sir," said Mr. Brass, "very 
 glad indeed. Mr. Swiveller, sir, is fortunate to 
 
 have your friendship. You may be very proud, 
 sir, to have the friendship of Mr. Quilp." 
 
 Dick murmured something about never want- 
 ing a friend or a bottle to give him, and also 
 gasped forth his favourite allusion to the wing of 
 friendship and its never moulting a feather ; but 
 his faculties appeared to be absorbed in the 
 contemplation of Miss Sally Brass, at whom he 
 stared with blank and rueful looks, which de- 
 lighted the watchful dwarf beyond measure. As 
 to the divine Miss Sally herself, she rubbed her 
 hands as men of business do, and took a few 
 turns up and down the office with her pen be- 
 hind her ear. 
 
 " I suppose," said the dwarf, turning briskly 
 
 to his legal friend, "that Mr. Swiveller enters 
 
 upon his duties at once ? It's Monday morning." 
 
 " At once, if you please, sir, by all means," 
 
 returned Brass. 
 
 " Miss Sally will teach him law, the delightful 
 study of the law," said Quilp ; " she'll be his 
 guide, his friend, his companion, his Blackstone, 
 his Coke upon Littleton, his Young Lawyer's 
 Best Companion." 
 
 " He is exceedingly eloquent," said Brass, 
 like a mart abstracted, and looking at the roofs 
 of the opposite houses, with his hands in his 
 pockets : " he has an extraordinary flow of 
 language. Beautiful, really." 
 
 '' With Miss Sally," Quilp went on, " and the 
 beautiful fictions of the law, his days will pass 
 like minutes. Those charming creations of the 
 poet, John Doe and Richard Roe, when they 
 first dawn upon him, will open a new world for 
 the enlargement of his mind and the improve- 
 ment of his heart." 
 
 "Oh, beautiful, beautiful ! Beau-ti-ful indeed ! " 
 cried Brass. " It's a treat to hear him ! " 
 
 "Where will Mr. Swiveller sit?" said Quilp, 
 looking round. 
 
 " Why, we'll buy another stool, sir," returned 
 Brass. " We hadn't any thoughts of having a 
 gentleman with us, sir, until you were kind 
 enough to suggest it, and our accommodation's 
 not extensive. We'll look about for a second- 
 hand stool, sir. In the meantime, if Mr. 
 Swiveller will take my seat, and try his hand at 
 a fair copy of this ejectment, as I shall be out 
 
 pretty well all the morning " 
 
 " Walk with me," said Quilp. " I have a 
 word or two to say to you on points of business. 
 Can you spare the time ?" 
 
 " Can I spare the time to walk with you, sir ? 
 You're joking, sir, you're joking with me," re- 
 plied the lawyer, putting on his hat. " I'm 
 ready, sir, quite ready. My time must be fully 
 occupied indeed, sir, not to leave me time to 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 walk with you. It's not everybody, sir, who has 
 an opportunity of improving himself by the con- 
 versation of Mr. Quilp." 
 
 The dwarf glanced sarcastically at his brazen 
 friend, and, with a short dry cough, turned upon 
 his heel to bid .adieu to Miss Sally. After a 
 very gallant parting on his side, and a very cool 
 and gentlemanly sort of one on hers, he nodded 
 to Dick Swiveller, and withdrew with the attor- 
 ney. 
 
 Dick stood at the desk in a state of utter 
 stupefaction, staring with all his might at the 
 beauteous Sally, as if she had been some curious 
 animal whose hke had never lived. When the 
 dwarf got into the street, he mounted again 
 upon the window-sill, and looked into the office 
 for a moment with a grinning face, as a man 
 might peep into a cage. Dick glanced upward 
 at him, but without any token of recognition ; 
 and long after he had disappeared, still stood 
 gazing upon Miss Sally Brass, seeing or think- 
 ing of nothing else, and rooted to the spot. 
 
 Miss Brass, being by this time deep in the 
 bill of costs, took no notice whatever of Dick, 
 but went scratching on, with a noisy pen, scor- 
 ing down the figures with evident delight, and 
 working like a steam-engine. There stood Dick, 
 gazing now at the green gown, now at the brown 
 head-dress, now at the face, and now at the 
 rapid pen, in a state of stupid perplexity, won- 
 dering how he got into the company of that 
 strange monster, and whether it was a dream 
 and he would ever wake. At last he heaved a 
 deep sigh, and began slowly pulling off his coat. 
 
 Mr. Swiveller pulled off his coat, and folded 
 it up wdth great elaboration, staring at Miss 
 Sally all the time ; then put on a blue jacket 
 with a double row of gilt buttons, which he had 
 originally ordered for aquatic expeditions, but 
 had brought with him that morning for office 
 purposes ; and still keeping his eye upon her, 
 suffered himself to drop down silently upon Mr. 
 Brass's stool. Then he underwent a relapse, 
 and becoming powerless again, rested his chin 
 upon his hand, and opened his eyes so wide, 
 that it appeared quite out of the question that 
 he could ever close them any more. 
 
 When he had looked so long that he could 
 see nothing, Dick took his eyes off the fair 
 object of his amazement, turned over the leaves 
 of the draft he was to copy, dipped his pen into 
 the inkstand, and at last, and by slow ap- 
 proaches, began to write. But he had not 
 written half-a-dozen words when, reaching over 
 to the inkstand to take a fresh dip, he happened 
 to raise his eyes. There was the intolerable 
 brown head-dress — there was the green gown — 
 
 there, in short, was Miss Sally Brass, arrayed 
 in all her charms, and more tremendous than 
 ever. 
 
 This happened so often, that Mr. Swiveller 
 by degrees began to feel strange influences 
 creeping over him — horrible desires to anni- 
 hilate this Sally Brass — mysterious promptings 
 to knock her head-dress off, and try how she 
 looked without it. There was a very large ruler 
 on the table — a large, black, shining ruler. Mr. 
 Swiveller took it up and began to rub his nose 
 with it. 
 
 From rubbing his nose with the ruler, to 
 poising it in his hand and giving it an occa- 
 sional flourish after the tomaha\v4c manner, the 
 transition was easy and natural. In some of 
 these flourishes it went close to Miss Sally's 
 head ; the ragged edges of the head-dress flut- 
 tered with the wind it raised ; advance it but an 
 inch, and that great brown knot was on the 
 ground : yet still the unconscious maiden 
 worked away, and never raised her eyes. 
 
 Well, this was a great relief. It was a good 
 thing to write doggedly and obstinately until he 
 was desperate, and then snatch up the ruler and 
 whirl it about the brown head-dress with the 
 consciousness that he could have it off if he 
 liked. It was a good thing to draw it back, and 
 rub his nose very hard with it, if he thought 
 Miss Sally was going to look up, and to recom- 
 pense himself with more hardy flourishes when 
 he found she was still absorbed. By these 
 means Mr. Swiveller calmed the agitation of his 
 feelings, until his applications to the ruler be- 
 came less fierce and frequent, and he could even 
 write as many as half-a-dozen consecutive lines 
 without having recourse to it — which was a great 
 victory. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 ; N course of time, that is to say, after 
 a couple of hours or so of diligent 
 application, Miss Brass arrived at 
 the conclusion of her task, and re- 
 corded the fact by wiping her pen 
 upon the green gown, and taking a 
 pinch of snuff from a litde round tin box 
 which she carried in her pocket. Hav- 
 ing disposed of this temperate refreshment, she 
 arose from her stool, tied her papers into a 
 formal packet with red tape, and taking them 
 under her arm, marched out of the office. 
 
 Mr. Swiveller had scarcely sprung off his seat 
 and commenced the performance ^f a maniac 
 
WHAT NEXT? 
 
 125 
 
 hornpipe, when he was interrupted in the fulness 
 of his joy at being again alone, by the opening 
 of the door, and the reappearance of Miss 
 Sally's head. 
 
 " I am going out," said Miss Brass. 
 
 " Very good, ma'am," returned Dick. " And 
 don't hurry yourself on my account to come 
 back, ma'am," he added inwardly. 
 
 " If anybody comes on office business, take 
 their messages, and say that the gentleman who 
 attends to that matter isn't in at present, will 
 you ? " said Miss Brass. 
 
 " I will, ma'am," replied Dick. 
 
 " I shan't be very long," said Miss Brass, re- 
 tiring. 
 
 " I'm sorry to hear it, ma'am," rejoined Dick 
 when she had shut the door. '* I hope you may 
 be unexpectedly detained, ma'am. If you could 
 manage to be run over, ma'am, but not seri- 
 ously, so much the better." 
 
 Uttering these expressions of good-will with 
 extreme gravity, Mr. Swiveller sat down in the 
 client's chair and pondered; then took a few 
 turns up and down the room, and fell into the 
 chair again. 
 
 " So I'm Brass's clerk, am I ? " said Dick. 
 
 '• IN SOME OF THESE FLOURISHES IT WENT CLOSE TO MISS SALLY'S HEAD." 
 
 " Brass's clerk, eh ? And the clerk of Brass's 
 sister — clerk to a female Dragon. Very good, 
 very good ! What shall I be next ? Shall I be 
 a convict in a felt hat and a grey suit, trotting 
 about a dockyard with my number neatly em- 
 broidered on my uniform, and the order of the 
 garter on my leg, restrained from chafing my 
 ankle by a twisted Belcher handkerchief? Shall 
 I be that ? Will that do, or is it too genteel ? 
 Whatever you please, have it your own way of 
 course." 
 
 As he was entirely alone, it may be presumed 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 9. 
 
 that, in these remarks, Mr. Swiveller addressed 
 himself to his fate or destiny, whom, as we learn 
 by the precedents, it is the custom of heroes to 
 taunt in a very bitter and ironical manner when 
 they find themselves in situations of an unplea- 
 sant nature. This is the more probable from 
 the circumstance of Mr. Swiveller directing his 
 observations to the ceiling, which these bodiless 
 personages are usually supposed to inhabit — ex- 
 cept in theatrical cases, when they live in the 
 heart of the great chandelier. 
 
 *' Quilp offers me this place, which he says he 
 
 257 
 
126 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 can insure me," resumed Dick after a thoughtful 
 silence, and telling off the circumstances of his 
 position, one by one, upon his fingers ; " Fred, 
 who, I could have taken my affidavit, would not 
 have heard of such a thing, backs Quilp to my 
 astonishment, and urges me to take it also — 
 staggerer number one ! My aunt in the country 
 stops the supplies, and writes an affectionate note 
 to say that she has made a new will, and left me 
 out of it — staggerer number two ! No money ; 
 no credit ; no support from Fred, who seems to 
 turn steady all at once ; notice to quit the old 
 lodgings — staggerers three, four, five, and six ! 
 Under an accumulation of staggerers, no man 
 can be considered a free agent. No man knocks 
 himself down ; if his destiny knocks him down, 
 his destiny must pick him up again. Then I'm 
 very glad that mine has brought all this upon 
 itself, and I shall be as careless as I can, and 
 make myself quite at home to spite it. So go on, 
 my buck," said Mr. Swiveller, taking his leave of 
 the ceiling with a significant nod, " and let us 
 see which of us will be tired first ! " 
 
 Dismissing the subject of his downfall with 
 these reflections, which were no doubt very pro- 
 found, and are indeed not altogether unknown 
 in certain systems of moral philosophy, Mr. 
 Swiveller shook off his despondency and as- 
 sumed the cheerful ease of an irresponsible 
 clerk. 
 
 As a means towards his composure and self- 
 possession, he entered into a more minute ex- 
 amination of the ofifice than he had yet had time 
 to make ; looked into the wig-box, the books, 
 and ink-bottle ; untied and inspected all the 
 papers ; carved a few devices on the table with 
 the sharp blade of Mr. Brass's penknife; and 
 wrote his name on the inside of the wooden 
 coal-scuttle. Having, as it were, taken formal 
 possession of his clerkship in virtue of these 
 proceedings, he opened the window and leaned 
 negligently out of it until a beer-boy happened 
 to pass, whom he commanded to set down his 
 tray and to serve him with a pint of mild porter, 
 which he drank upon the spot and promptly 
 paid for, with the view of breaking ground for a 
 system of future credit, and opening a corre- 
 spondence tending thereto, without loss of time. 
 Then, three or four little boys dropped in, on 
 legal errands from three or four attorneys of the 
 Brass grade : whom Mr. Swiveller received and 
 dismissed with about as professional a manner, 
 and as correct and comprehensive an under- 
 standing of their business, as would have been 
 shown by a clown in a pantomime under similar 
 circumstances. These things done and over, 
 he got upon his stool again, and tried his hand 
 
 at drawing caricatures of Miss Brass wath a 
 pen and ink, whistling very cheerfully all the 
 time. 
 
 He was occupied in this diversion when a 
 coach stopped near the door, and presently 
 afterwards there was a loud double knock. As 
 this was no business of Mr. Swiveller's, the per- 
 son not ringing the office bell, he pursued his 
 diversion with perfect composure, notwithstand- 
 ing that he rather thought there was nobody else 
 in the house. 
 
 In this, however, he was mistaken ; for, after 
 the knock had been repeated with increased im- 
 patience, the door was opened, and somebody 
 with a very heavy tread went up the stairs and 
 into the room above. Mr. Swiveller was won- 
 dering whether this might be another Miss 
 Brass, twin sister to the Dragon, when there 
 came a rapping of knuckles at the office door. 
 
 " Come in ! " said Dick. " Don't stand upon 
 ceremony. The business will get rather compli- 
 cated if I've many more customers. Come 
 in!" 
 
 " Oh, please," said a little voice very low 
 down in the doorway, "will you come and show 
 the lodgings ? " 
 
 Dick leant over the table, and descried a 
 small slipshod girl in a dirty coarse apron and 
 bib, which left nothing of her visible but her 
 face and feet. She might as well have been 
 dressed in a violin case. 
 
 " Why, who are you ? " said Dick. 
 
 To which the only reply was, " Oh, please 
 will you come and show the lodgings ? " 
 
 There never was such an old-fashioned child 
 in her looks and manner. She must have been 
 at work from her cradle. She seemed as much 
 afraid of Dick as Dick was amazed at her. 
 
 " I haven't got anything to do with the lodg- 
 ings," said Dick. " Tell 'em to call again." 
 
 " Oh, but please will you come and show the 
 lodgings?" returned the girl. "It's eighteen 
 shillings a week, and us finding plate and linen. 
 Boots and clothes is extra, and fires in winter- 
 time is eightpence a day." 
 
 "Why don't you show 'em yourself? You 
 seem to know all about 'em," said Dick. 
 
 " Miss Sally said I wasn't to, because people 
 wouldn't believe the attendance was good if they 
 saw how small I was first." 
 
 " Well, but they'll see how small you are after- 
 wards, won't they?" said Dick. 
 
 " Ah ! But then they'll have taken 'em for a 
 fortnight certain," replied the child with a shrewd 
 look ; " and people don't like moving when 
 they're once settled." 
 
 "This is a queer sort of thing," muttered 
 
THE LODGINGS TAKEN BY A SINGLE GENTLEMAN. 
 
 127 
 
 Dick, rising. " What do you mean to say you 
 are — the cook?" 
 
 " Yes, I do plain cooking," replied the child. 
 " I'm housemaid too ; I do all the work of the 
 house." 
 
 " I suppose Brass and the Dragon and I do 
 the dirtiest part of it," thought Dick. And he 
 might have thought much more, being in a 
 doubtful and hesitating mood, but that the girl 
 again urged her request, and certain mysterious 
 bumping sounds on the passage and staircase 
 seemed to give note of the applicant's impa- 
 tience. Richard Swiveller, therefore, sticking a 
 pen behind each ear, and carrying another in 
 his mouth as a token of his great importance 
 and devotion to business, hurried out to meet 
 and treat with the single gentleman. 
 
 He was a little surprised to perceive that the 
 bumping sounds were occasioned by the pro- 
 gress up-stairs of the single gentleman's trunk, 
 which, being nearly twice as wide as the stair- 
 case, and exceedingly heavy withal, it was no 
 easy matter for the united exertions of the single 
 gentleman and the coachman to convey up the 
 steep ascent. But there they were, crushing each 
 other, and pushing and pulling with all their 
 might, and getting the trunk tight and fast in all 
 kinds of impossible angles, and to pass them was 
 out of the question ; for which sufficient reason, 
 Mr. Swiveller followed slowly behind, entering a 
 new protest on every stair against the house of 
 Mr. Sampson Brass being thus taken by storm. 
 
 To these remonstrances the single gentleman 
 answered not a word, but, when the trunk was at 
 last got into the bedroom, sat down upon it, 
 and wiped his bald head and face with his hand- 
 kerchief. He was very warm, and well he might 
 be ; for, not to mention the exertion of getting 
 the trunk up-stairs, he was closely muffled in 
 winter garments, though the thermometer had 
 stood all day at eighty- one in the shade. 
 
 " I believe, sir," said Richard Swiveller, taking 
 his pen out of his mouth, " that you desire to 
 look at these apartments. They are very charm- 
 ing apartments, sir. They command an unin- 
 terrupted view of — of over the way, and they are 
 within one minute's walk of — of the corner of 
 the street. There is exceedingly mild porter, 
 sir, in the immediate vicinity, and the contingent 
 advantages are extraordinary." 
 
 "What's the rent?" said the single gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " One pound per week," replied Dick, im- 
 proving on the terms. 
 
 " I'll take 'em." 
 
 " The boots and clothes are extras," said 
 Dick; " and the fires in the winter-time are " 
 
 " All agreed to," answered the single gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " Two weeks certain," said Dick, "are the " 
 
 " Two weeks ! " cried the single gentleman 
 gruffly, eyeing him from top to toe. " Two 
 years. I shall live here for two years. Here. 
 Ten pound down. The bargain's made." 
 
 " Why, you see," said Dick, " my name's not 
 Brass, and " 
 
 " Who said it was ? My name's not Brass. 
 What then?" 
 
 "The name of the master of the house is," 
 said Dick. 
 
 " I'm glad of it," returned the single gentle- 
 man ; " it's a good name for a lawyer. Coach- 
 man, you may go. So may you, sir." 
 
 Mr. Swiveller was so much confounded by the 
 single gentleman riding rough-shod over him at 
 this rate, that he stood looking at him almost as 
 hard as he had looked at Miss Sally. The single 
 gentleman, however, was not in the slightest 
 degree affected by this circumstance, but pro- 
 ceeded with perfect composure to unwind the 
 shawl which was tied round his neck, and then 
 to pull off his boots. Freed of these encum- 
 brances, he went on to divest himself of his 
 other clothing, which he folded up, piece by 
 piece, and ranged in order on the trurik. Then, 
 he pulled down the window blinds, drew the 
 curtains, wound up his watch, and, quite leisurely 
 and methodically, got into bed. 
 
 "Take down the bill," were his parting 
 words as he looked out from between the cur- 
 tains ; " and let nobody call me till I ring the 
 bell." 
 
 With that the curtains closed, and he seemed 
 to snore immediately. 
 
 " This is a most remarkable and supernatural 
 sort of house ! " said Mr. Swiveller as he walked 
 into the office with the bill in his hand. " She- 
 dragons in the business, conducting themselves 
 like professional gentlemen ; plain cooks of three 
 feet high appearing mysteriously from under- 
 ground ; strangers walking in and going to bed 
 without leave or licence in the middle of the 
 day! If he should be one of the miraculous 
 fellows that turn up now and then, and has gone 
 to sleep for two years, I shall be in a pleasant 
 situation. It's my destiny, however, and I hope 
 Brass may like it. I shall be sorry if he don't. 
 But it's no business of mine — I have nothing 
 whatever to do with it !" 
 
128 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV, 
 
 MR. BRASS, on returning home, received 
 the report of his clerk with much com- 
 placency and satisfaction, and was particular 
 in inquiring after the ten-pound note, which, 
 proving on examination to be a good and law- 
 ful note of the Governor and Company of 
 the Bank of England, increased his good- 
 humour considerably. Indeed, he so over- 
 
 flowed with liberality and condescension, that, 
 in the fulness of his heart, he invited Mr, 
 Swiveller to partake of a bowl of punch with 
 him at that remote and indefinite period which 
 is currently denominated " one of these days," 
 and paid him many handsome compliments on 
 the uncommon aptitude for business which his 
 conduct on the first day of his devotion to it had 
 so plainly evinced. 
 
 It was a maxim with Mr. Brass that the habit 
 
 "OH, PLEASE," SAID A LITTLE VOICE VERY LOW DOWN IN THE DOURWAY, 
 
 THE LODGINGS ? " 
 
 " WILL YOU COME AND SHOW 
 
 of paying compliments kept a man's tongue oiled 
 without any expense ; and, as that useful mem- 
 ber ought never to grow rusty or creak in turning 
 on its hinges in the case of a practitioner of the 
 law, in whom it should be always glib and easy, 
 he lost few opportunities of improving himself by 
 the utterance of handsome speeches and eulo- 
 gistic expressions. And this had passed into 
 such a habit with him, that, if he could not be 
 correctly said to have his tongue at his fingers' 
 
 ends, he might certainly be said to have it any- 
 where but in his face : which being, as we have 
 already seen, of a harsh and repulsive character, 
 was not oiled so easily, but frowned above all 
 the smooth speeches — one of nature's beacons, 
 warning off those who navigated the shoals and 
 breakers of the World, or of that dangerous 
 strait the Law, and admonishing them to seek 
 less treacherous harbours, and try their fortune 
 elsewhere. 
 
UNACCOUNTABLE BEHAVIOUR OF THE LODGER. 
 
 129 
 
 While Mr. Brass by turns overwhelmed his 
 clerk with compliments, and inspected the ten- 
 pound note, Miss Sally showed little emotion, 
 and that of no pleasurable kind, for, as the 
 tendency of her legal practice had been to fix 
 her thoughts on small gains and gripings, and 
 to whet and sharpen her natural wisdom, she 
 was not a little disappointed that the single 
 gentleman had obtained the lodgings at such an 
 easy rate, arguing that when he was seen to have 
 set his mind upon them, he should have been 
 at the least charged double or treble the usual 
 terms, and that, in exact proportion as he pressed 
 forward, Mr. Swiveller should have hung back. 
 But neither the good opinion of Mr. Brass, nor 
 the dissatisfaction of Miss Sally, wrought any 
 impression upon that young gentleman, who, 
 throwing the responsibility of this and all other 
 acts and deeds thereafter to be done by him 
 upon his unlucky destiny, was quite resigned 
 and comfortable : fully prepared for the worst, 
 and philosophically indifferent to the best. 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Richard," said Brass oil 
 the second day of Mr. Swiveller's clerkship. 
 ^' Sally found you a second-hand stool, sir, yes- 
 terday evening, in Whitechapel. She's a rare 
 fellow at a bargain, I can tell you, Mr. Richard. 
 You'll find that a first-rate stool, sir, take my 
 word for it." 
 
 " It's rather a crazy one to look at," said 
 Dick. 
 
 " You'll find it a most amazing stool to sit 
 down upon, you may depend," returned Mr. 
 Brass. " It was bought in the open street just 
 opposite the hospital, and, as it has been stand- 
 ing there a month or two, it has got rather dusty 
 and a little brown from being in the sun, that's 
 all." 
 
 " I hope it hasn't got any fevers or anything 
 of that sort in it," said Dick, sitting himself 
 down discontentedly, between Mr. Sampson and 
 the chaste Sally. " One of the legs is longer 
 than the others." 
 
 " Then we get a bit of timber in, sir," re- 
 torted Brass. " Ha, ha, ha ! We get a bit of 
 timber in, sir, and that's another advantage of 
 my sister's going to market for us. Miss Brass, 
 Mr. Richard, is the " 
 
 " Will you keep quiet ? " interrupted the fair 
 subject of these remarks, looking up from her 
 papers. " How am I to work if you keep on 
 chattering ? " 
 
 " What an uncertain chap you are ! " returned 
 the lawyer. " Sometimes you're all for a chat. 
 At another time you're all for work. A man 
 never knows what humour he'll find you in." 
 
 " I'm in a working humour now," said Miss 
 
 Sally, " so don't disturb me, if you please. And 
 don't take him," Miss Sally pointed with the 
 feather of her pen to Richard, " off his business. 
 He won't do more than he can help, I dare 
 say." 
 
 Mr. Brass had evidently a strong inclination 
 to make an angry reply, but was deterred by 
 prudent or timid considerations, as he only mut- 
 tered something about aggravation and a vaga- 
 bond ; not associating the terms with any indi- 
 vidual, but mentioning them as connected with 
 some abstract ideas which happened to occur to 
 him. They went on writing for a long time in 
 silence after this — in such a dull silence that Mr. 
 Swiveller (who required excitement) had several 
 times fallen asleep, and written divers strange 
 words in an unknown character with his eyes 
 shut, when Miss Sally at length broke in upon 
 the monotony of the office by pulling out the 
 little tin box, taking a noisy pinch of snuff, and 
 then expressing her opinion that Mr. Richard 
 Swiveller had " done it." 
 
 " Done what, ma'am ? " said Richard. 
 
 " Do you know," returned Miss Brass, " that 
 the lodger isn't up yet — that nothing has been 
 seen or heard of him since he went to bed yes- 
 terday afternoon ? " 
 
 "Well, ma'am," said Dick, " I suppose he may 
 sleep his ten pound out in peace and quietness, 
 if he likes." 
 
 " Ah ! I begin to think he'll never wake," 
 observed Miss Sally. 
 
 " It's a very remarkable circumstance," said 
 Brass, laying down his pen ; "■ really, very 
 remarkable. Mr. Richard, you'll remember, if 
 this gentleman should be found to have hung 
 himself to the bed-post, or any unpleasant acci- 
 dent of that kind should happen — you'll remem- 
 ber, Mr. Richard, that this ten-pound note was 
 given to you in part payment of two years' rent? 
 You'll bear that in mind, Mr. Richard ; you had 
 better make a note of it, sir, in case you should 
 ever be called upon to give evidence." 
 
 Mr. Swiveller took a large sheet of foolscap, 
 and, with a countenance of profound gravity, 
 began to make a very small note in one corner. 
 
 "We can never be too cautious," said Mr. 
 Brass. "There is a deal of wickedness going 
 about the world, a deal of wickedness. Did the 
 
 gentleman happen to say, sir But never 
 
 mind that at present, sir; finish that little 
 memorandum first." 
 
 Dick did so, and handed it to Mr. Brass, who 
 had dismounted from his stool, and was walking 
 up and down the office. 
 
 "Oh, this is the memorandum, is it?" said 
 Brass, running his eye over the document. 
 
I30 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " Very good. Now, Mr. Richard, did the 
 gentleman say anything else ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Are you sure, Mr. Richard," said Brass 
 solemnly, " that the gentleman said nothing 
 else ? " 
 
 " Devil a word, sir," replied Dick. 
 
 " Think again, sir," said Brass ; " it's my duty, 
 sir, in the position in which I stand, and as an 
 honourable member of the legal profession — the 
 first profession in this country, sir, or in any 
 other country, or in any of the planets that shine 
 above us at night, and are supposed to be 
 inhabited — it's my duty, sir, as an honourable 
 member of that profession, not to put to you a 
 leading question in a matter of this delicacy and 
 importance. Did the gentleman, sir, who took 
 the first floor of you yesterday afternoon, and who 
 brought with him a box of property — a box of 
 property — say anything more than is set down 
 in this memorandum ? " 
 
 " Come, don't be a fool," said Miss Sally. 
 
 Dick looked at her, and then at Brass, and 
 then at Miss Sally again, and still said " No." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! Deuce take it, Mr. Richard, 
 how dull you are ! " cried Brass, relaxing into a 
 smile. " Did he say anything about his pro- 
 perty ? There ! " 
 
 " That's the way to put it," said Miss Sally, 
 nodding to her brother. 
 
 " Did he say, for instance," added Brass in a 
 kind of comfortable, cosy tone — " I don't assert 
 that he did say so, mind ; I only ask you to 
 refresh your memory — did he say, for instance, 
 that he was a stranger in London — that it v/as 
 not his humour or within his ability to give any 
 references — that he felt we had a right to require 
 them — and that, in case anything should happen 
 to him at any time, he particularly desired that 
 whatever property he had upon the premises 
 should be considered mine, as some slight recom- 
 pense for the trouble and annoyance I should 
 sustain — and were you, in short," added Brass, 
 still more comfortably and cosily than before, 
 " were you induced to accept him on my behalf, 
 as a tenant, upon those conditions?" 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Dick. 
 
 " Why, then, Mr. Richard," said Brass, dart- 
 ing at him a supercilious and reproachful look, 
 " it's my opinion that you've mistaken your 
 calling, and will never make a lawyer." 
 
 " Not if you live a thousand years," added 
 Miss Sally. Whereupon the brother and sister 
 took each a noisy pinch of snuff from the little 
 tin box, and fell into a gloomy thoughtfulness. 
 
 Nothing further passed up to Mr. Swiveller's 
 dinner-time, which was at three o'clock, and 
 
 seemed about three weeks in coming. " At the 
 first stroke of the hour, the new clerk disappeared. 
 At the last stroke of five he reappeared, and the 
 office, as if by magic, became fragrant with the 
 smell of gin-and-water, and lemon-peel. 
 
 " Mr. Richard," said Brass, " this man's not 
 up yet. Nothing will wake him, sir. What's to 
 be done?" 
 
 " I should let him have his sleep out," returned 
 Dick. 
 
 " Sleep out ! " cried Brass ; " why, he has 
 been asleep now six-and-twenty hours. We 
 have been moving chests of drawers over his 
 head, we have knocked double knocks at the 
 street-door, we have made the servant-girl fall 
 down-stairs several times, (she's a light weight, 
 and it don't hurt her much,) but nothing wakes 
 him." 
 
 " Perhaps a ladder," suggested Dick, " and 
 getting in at the first-floor window " 
 
 " But then there's a door between ; besides, 
 the neighbourhood would be up in arms," said 
 Brass. 
 
 " What do you say to getting on the roof of 
 the house through the trap-door, and dropping 
 down the chimney ? " suggested Dick. 
 
 " That would be an excellent plan," said 
 Brass, " if anybody would be " — and here he 
 looked very hard at Mr. Swiveller — " would be 
 kind, and friendly, and generous enough to 
 undertake it. I dare say it would not be any- 
 thing like as disagreeable as one supposes." 
 
 Dick had made the suggestion, thinking that 
 the duty might possibly fall within Miss Sally's 
 department. As he said nothing further, and 
 declined taking the hint, Mr. Brass was fain to 
 propose that they should go up-stairs together, 
 and make a last eff"ort to awaken the sleeper by 
 some less violent means, which, if they failed on 
 this last trial, must positively be succeeded by 
 stronger measures. Mr. Swiveller, assenting, 
 armed himself with his stool and the large ruler, 
 and repaired with his employer to the scene of 
 action, where Miss Brass was already ringing a 
 hand-bell with all her might, and yet without 
 producing the smallest effect upon their mys- 
 terious lodger. 
 
 " There are his boots, Mr. Richard ! " said 
 Brass. 
 
 " Very obstinate-looking articles they are too," 
 quoth Richard Swiveller. And truly they were 
 as sturdy and bluff a pair of boots as one would 
 wish to see ; as firmly planted on the ground as 
 if their owner's legs and feet had been in them ; 
 and seeming, with their broad soles and blunt 
 toes, to hold possession of their place by main 
 force. 
 
MR. SWIVELLER REASONS WITH THE LODGER. 
 
 13^ 
 
 " I can't see anything but the curtain of the 
 bed," said Brass, applying his eye to the keyhole 
 of the door. "Is he a strong man, Mr. 
 Richard?" 
 
 " Very," answered Dick. 
 
 " It would be an extremely unpleasant cir- 
 cumstance if he was to bounce out suddenly," 
 said Brass. " Keep the stairs clear. I should 
 be more than a match for him, of course, but I'm 
 the master of the house, and the laws of hospi- 
 tality must be respected. — Hallo there ! Hallo, 
 hallo!" 
 
 While Mr. Brass, with his eye curiously twisted 
 into the keyhole, uttered these sounds as a means 
 of attracting the lodger's attention, and while 
 Miss Brass plied the hand-bell, Mr. Swiveller put 
 his stool close against the wall by the side of the 
 door, and mounting on the top and standing 
 bolt upright, so that if the lodger did make a 
 rush, he would most probably pass him in its 
 onward fury, began a violent battery with the 
 ruler upon the upper panels of the door. Cap- 
 tivated with his own ingenuity, and confident in 
 the strength of his position, which he had taken 
 up after the method of those hardy individuals 
 who open the pit and gallery doors of theatres 
 on crowded nights, Mr. Swiveller rained down 
 such a shower of blows, that the noise of the bell 
 was drowned ; and the small servant, who lin- 
 gered on the stairs below, ready to fly at a 
 moment's notice, was obliged to hold her ears 
 lest she should be rendered deaf for life. 
 
 Suddenly the door was unlocked on the inside, 
 and flung violently open. The small servant fled 
 to the coal-cellar ; Miss Sally dived into her own 
 bedroom ; Mr. Brass, who was not remarkable 
 for personal courage, ran into the next street, 
 and finding that nobody followed him, armed 
 with a poker or other offensive weapon, put his 
 hands in his pockets, walked very slowly all at 
 once, and whistled. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Swiveller, on the top of the 
 stool, drew himself into as flat a shape as possible 
 against the wall, and looked, not unconcernedly, 
 down upon the single gentleman, who appeared 
 at the door growling and cursing in a very awful 
 manner, and, with the boots in his hand, seemed 
 to have an intention of hurling them down-stairs 
 on speculation. This idea, however, he aban- 
 doned. He was turning into his room again, 
 still growling vengefuUy, when his eyes met those 
 of the watchful Richard. 
 
 " Have yoji been making that horrible noise ? " 
 said the single gentleman. 
 
 " I have been helping, sir," returned Dick, 
 keeping his eye upon him, and waving the ruler 
 gently in his right hand, as an indication of what 
 
 the single gentleman had to expect if he 
 attempted any violence. 
 
 " How dare you, then," said the lodger, " eh ? " 
 
 To this Dick made no other reply than by 
 inquiring whether the lodger held it to be con- 
 sistent with the conduct and character of a gen- 
 tleman to go to sleep for six-and-twenty hours at 
 a stretch, and whether the peace of an amiable 
 and virtuous family was to weigh as nothing in 
 the balance. 
 
 " Is my peace nothing ? " said the single gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " Is their peace nothing, sir ? " returned Dick. 
 " I don't wish to hold out any threats, sir — in- 
 deed, the law does not allow of threats, for to 
 threaten is an indictable offence — but, if ever 
 you do that again, take care you're not sat upon 
 by the coroner and buried in a cross-road before 
 you wake. We have been distracted with fears 
 that you were dead, sir," said Dick, gently slid- 
 ing to the ground, " and the short and the long 
 of it is, that we cannot allow single gentlemen 
 to come into this establishment and sleep like 
 double gentlemen without paying extra for 
 it." 
 
 " Indeed ! " cried the lodger. 
 
 " Yes, sir, indeed," returned Dick, yielding to 
 his destiny, and saying whatever came upper- 
 most ; " an equal quantity of slumber was never 
 got out of one bed and bedstead, and, if you're 
 going to sleep in that way, you must pay for a 
 double-bedded room." 
 
 Instead of being thrown into a greater passion 
 by these remarks, the lodger lapsed into a broad 
 grin, and looked at Mr. Swiveller with twinkling 
 eyes. He was a brown-faced sunburnt man, and 
 appeared browner and more sunburnt from hav- 
 ing a white nightcap on. As it was clear that 
 he was a choleric fellow in some respects, Mr. 
 Swiveller was relieved to find him in such good- 
 humour, and, to encourage him in it, smiled 
 himself. 
 
 The lodger, in the testiness of being so rudely 
 roused, had pushed his nightcap very much on 
 one side of his bald head. This gave him a 
 rakish eccentric air which, now that he had 
 leisure to observe it, charmed Mr, Swiveller ex- 
 ceedingly ; therefore, by way of propitiation, he 
 expressed his hope that the gentleman was going 
 to get up, and further, that he would never do so 
 any more. 
 
 " Come here, you impudent rascal ! " Avas the 
 lodger's answer as he re-entered his room. 
 
 Mr. Swiveller followed him in, leaving the 
 stool outside, but reserving the ruler in case of a 
 surprise. He rather congratulated himself on 
 his prudence when the single gentleman, without 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 notice or explanation of any kind, double locked 
 the door. 
 
 " Can you drink anything ? " was his next 
 inquiry. 
 
 Mr. Swiveller replied that he had very recently 
 been assuaging the pangs of thirst, but that he 
 was still open to " a modest quencher," if the 
 materials were at hand. Without another word 
 spoken on either side, the lodger took from his 
 great trunk a kind of temple, shining as of 
 polished silver, and placed it carefully on the table. 
 
 Greatly interested in his proceedings, Mr. 
 Swiveller observed him closely. Into one little 
 chamber of this temple he dropped an &gg ; into 
 another some coffee ; into a third a compact 
 piece of raw steak from a neat tin case ; into a 
 fourth he poured some water. Then, with the 
 aid of a phosphorus box and some matches, he 
 procured a light and applied it to a spirit-lamp 
 which had a place of its own below the temple ; 
 then, he shut down the lids of all the little cham- 
 bers ; then he opened them ; and then, by some 
 wonderful and unseen agency, the steak was 
 done, the tgg was boiled, the coffee was accu- 
 rately prepared, and his breakfast was ready. 
 
 " Hot water " — said the lodger, handing it to 
 Mr. Swiveller with as much coolness as if he had 
 a kitchen fire before him — " extraordinary rum 
 — sugar — and a travelling glass. Mix for your- 
 self. And make haste." 
 
 Dick complied, his eyes wandering all the 
 time from the temple on the table, which seemed 
 to do everything, to the great trunk which seemed 
 to hold everything. The lodger took his break- 
 fast like a man who was used to work these 
 miracles, and thought nothing of them. 
 
 " The man of the house is a lawyer, is he 
 not ? " said the lodger. 
 
 Dick nodded. The rum was amazing, 
 
 " The woman of the house — what's she ? " 
 
 " A dragon," said Dick. 
 
 The single gentleman, perhaps because he had 
 met with such things in his travels, or perhaps 
 because he was a single gentleman, evinced no 
 surprise, but merely inquired " Wife or sister?" 
 " Sister," said Dick. — " So much the better," 
 said the single gentleman, " he can get rid of her 
 when he likes." 
 
 " I want to do as I like, young man," he 
 added after a short silence : " to go to bed when 
 I like, get up when I like, come in when I like, go 
 out when I like, — to be asked no questions, and 
 be surrounded by no spies. In this last respect 
 servants are the devil. There's only one here." 
 
 " And a very little one," said Dick. 
 
 " And a very little one," repeated the lodger. 
 " Well, the place will suit me, will it ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Dick. 
 
 " Sharks, I suppose ? " said the lodger. 
 
 Dick nodded assent, and drained his glass. 
 
 " Let them know my humour," said the single 
 gentleman, rising. " If they disturb me, they 
 lose a good tenant. If they know me to be that, 
 they know enough. If they try to know more, 
 it's a notice to quit. It's better to understand 
 these things at once. Good day." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Dick, halting in his 
 passage to the door, which the lodger prepared 
 to open. " When he who adores thee has left 
 but the name " 
 
 *' What do you mean ? " 
 
 " — But the name," said Dick—" has left but 
 the name — in case of letters or parcels " 
 
 " I never have any," returned the lodger. 
 
 " Or in case anybody should call." 
 
 " Nobody ever calls on me." 
 
 " If any mistake should arise from not having 
 the name, don't say it was my fault, sir," added 
 Dick, still lingering. — "Oh, blame not the 
 bard " 
 
 " I'll blame nobody," said the lodger with 
 such irascibility that in a moment Dick found 
 himself on the staircase, and the locked door 
 between them. 
 
 Mr. Brass and Miss Sally were lurking hard 
 by, having been, indeed, only routed from the 
 keyhole by Mr. Swiveller's abrupt exit. As their 
 utmost exertions had not enabled them to over- 
 hear a word of the interview, however, in conse- 
 quence of a quarrel for precedence, which, though 
 limited of necessity to pushes and pinches and 
 such quiet pantomime, had lasted the whole 
 time, they hurried him down to the office to hear 
 his account of the conversation. 
 
 This Mr. Swiveller gave them — faithfully as 
 regarded the wishes and character of the single 
 gentleman, and poetically as concerned the great 
 trunk, of which he gave a description more re- 
 markable for brilliancy of imagination than a 
 strict adherence to truth ; declaring, with many 
 strong asseverations, that it contained a speci- 
 men of every kind of rich food and wine known 
 in these times, and in particular that it was of a 
 self-acting kind, and served up whatever was 
 required, as he supposed by clockwork. He 
 also gave them to understand that the cooking 
 apparatus roasted a fine piece of sirloin of beef, 
 weighing about six pounds avoirdupois, in two 
 minutes and a quarter, as he had himself wit- 
 nessed, and proved by his sense of taste ; and 
 further, that, however the effect was produced, 
 he had distinctly seen water boil and bubble u ; 
 when the single gentleman winked ; from which 
 facts he (Mr. Swiveller) was led to infer that the 
 
MR. SWIVELLER IN OFFICE. 
 
 ^IZ 
 
 lodger was some great conjurer or chemist, or 
 both, whose residence under that roof could not 
 fail at some future day to shed a great credit 
 and distinction on the name of Brass, and add a 
 new interest to the history of Bevis Marks. 
 
 There was one point which Mr. Swiveller 
 deemed it unnecessary to enlarge upon, and that 
 was the fact of the modest quencher, which by 
 reason of its intrinsic strength and its coming 
 close upon the heels of the temperate beverage 
 he had discussed at dinner, awakened a slight 
 degree of fever, and rendered necessary two or 
 three other modest quenchers at the public-house 
 in the course of the evening. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 S the single gentleman, after some 
 weeks' occupation of his lodgings, 
 still declined to correspond, by word 
 or gesture, either with Mr. Brass or 
 his sister Sally, but invariably chose 
 Richard Swiveller as his channel of 
 communication ; and as he proved him- 
 self in all respects a highly desirable 
 inmate, paying for everything beforehand, giving 
 very little trouble, making no noise, and keeping 
 early hours ; Mr. Richard imperceptibly rose to 
 an important position in the family, as one who 
 had influence over this mysterious lodger, and 
 could negotiate with him, for good or evil, when 
 nobody else durst approach his person. 
 
 If the truth must be told, even Mr. Swiveller's 
 approaches to the single gentleman were of a 
 very distant kind, and met with small encourage- 
 ment ; but, as he never returned from a mono- 
 syllabic conference with the unknown without 
 quoting such expressions as " Swiveller, I know 
 I can rely upon you," — "I have no hesitation in 
 saying, Swiveller, that I entertain a regard for 
 you," — " Swiveller, you are my friend, and will 
 stand by me I am sure," with many other short 
 speeches of the same familiar and confiding kind, 
 purporting to have been addressed by the single 
 gentleman to himself, and to form the staple of 
 their ordinary discourse, neither Mr. Brass nor 
 Miss Sally for a moment questioned the extent 
 of his influence, but accorded to him their fullest 
 and most unqualified belief. 
 
 But quite apart from, and independent of, this 
 source of popularity, Mr. Swiveller had another, 
 which promised to be equally enduring, and to 
 lighten his position considerably. 
 
 He found favour in the eyes of Miss Sally 
 Brass. Let not the light scorners of female 
 
 fascination erect their ears to listen to a new tale 
 of love which shall serve them for a jest ; for 
 Miss Brass, however accurately formed to be 
 beloved, was not of the loving kind. That 
 amiable virgin, having clung to the skirts of the 
 Law from her earliest youth ; having sustained 
 herself by their aid, as it were, in her first running 
 alone, and maintained a firm grasp upon them 
 ever since ; had passed her Hfe in a kind of legal 
 childhood. She had been remarkable, when a 
 tender prattler, for an uncommon talent in coun- 
 terfeiting the walk and manner of a bailiff : in 
 which character she had learned to tap her little 
 playfellows on the shoulder, and to carry them 
 off to imaginary sponging-houses, with a correct- 
 ness of imitation which was the surprise and 
 delight of all who witnessed her performances, 
 and which was only to be exceeded by her ex- 
 quisite manner of putting an execution into her 
 doll's house, and taking an exact inventory of 
 the chairs and tables. These artless sports had 
 naturally soothed and cheered the decline of 
 her widowed father : a most exemplary gen- 
 tleman, (called " old Foxey " by his friends, from 
 his extreme sagacity,) who encouraged them to 
 the utmost, and whose chief regret, on finding 
 that he drew near to Houndsditch churchyard, 
 was, that his daughter could not take out an 
 attorney's certificate and hold a place upon the 
 roll. Filled with this affectionate and touching 
 sorrow, he had solemnly confided her to his son 
 Sampson as an invaluable auxiliary ; and from 
 the old gentleman's decease to the period of 
 which we treat. Miss Sally Brass had been the 
 prop and pillar of his business. 
 
 It is obvious that, having devoted herself 
 from infancy to this one pursuit and study, Miss 
 Brass could know but little of the world, other- 
 wise than in connection with the law ; and that 
 from a lady gifted with such high tastes, pro- 
 ficiency in those gentler and softer arts in which 
 women usually excel was scarcely to be looked 
 for. Miss Sally's accomplishments were all of a 
 masculine and strictly legal kind. They began 
 with the practice of an attorney, and they ended 
 with it. She was in a state of lawful innocence, 
 so to speak. The law had been her nurse. 
 And, as bandy legs or such physical deformities 
 in children are held to be the consequence of 
 bad nursing, so, if in a mind so beautiful any 
 moral twist or bandiness could be found, Miss 
 Sally Brass's nurse was alone to blame. 
 
 It was on this lady, then, that Mr. Swiveller 
 burst in full freshness as something new and 
 hitherto undreamed of, lighting up the office 
 with scraps of song and merriment, conjuring 
 with inkstands and boxes of wafers, catching 
 
134 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 three oranges in one hand, balancing stools upon 
 his chin and penknives on his nose, and con- 
 stantly performing a hundred other feats with 
 equal ingenuity ; for with such unbendings did 
 Richard, in Mr. Brass's absence, relieve the 
 tedium of his confinement. These social qua- 
 lities, which Miss Sally first discovered by acci- 
 dent, gradually made such an impression upon 
 her, that she would entreat Mr. Swiveller to 
 relax as though she were not by, which Mr. 
 Swiveller, nothing loath, would readily consent 
 to do. By these means a friendship sprung up 
 between them. Mr. Swiveller gradually came 
 to look upon her as her brother Sampson did, 
 and as he would have looked upon any other 
 clerk. He imparted to her the mystery of going 
 the odd man or plain Newmarket for fruit, ginger- 
 beer, baked potatoes, or even a modest quencher, 
 of which Miss Brass did not scruple to partake. 
 He would often persuade her to undertake his 
 share of writing in addition to her own ; nay, 
 he would sometimes reward her with a hearty slap 
 on the back, and protest that she was a devilish 
 good fellow, a jolly dog, and so forth : all of 
 which compliments Miss Sally would receive 
 in entire good part and with perfect satisfaction. 
 
 One circumstance troubled Mr. Swiveller's 
 mind very much, and that was that the small 
 servant always remained somewhere in the bowels 
 of the earth under Bevis Marks, and never came 
 to the surface unless the single gentleman rang 
 his bell, when she would answer it and imme- 
 diately disappear again. She never went out, or 
 came into the office, or had a clean face, or took 
 off the coarse apron, or looked out of any one of 
 the windows, or stood at the street-door for a 
 breath of air, or had any rest or enjoyment 
 whatever. Nobody ever came to see her, no- 
 body spoke of her, nobody cared about her. Mr. 
 Brass had said once that he believed she was 
 a " love-child," (which means anything but a 
 child of love,) and that was all the information 
 Richard Swiveller could obtain. 
 
 " It's of no use asking the dragon," thought 
 Dick one day as he sat contemplating the features 
 of Miss Sally Brass. " I suspect, if I asked any 
 questions on that head, our alliance would be at 
 an end. I wonder whether she is a dragon by- 
 the-bye, or something in the mermaid way. She 
 has rather a scaly appearance. But mermaids 
 are fond of looking at themselves in the glass, 
 which she can't be. And they have a habit of 
 combing their hair, which she hasn't. No, she's 
 a dragon." 
 
 " Where are you going, old fellow?" said Dick 
 aloud, as Miss Sally wiped her pen as usual on 
 the green dress, and uprose from her seat. 
 
 " To dinner," answered the dragon. 
 _ " To dinner ! " thought Dick ; " that's another 
 circumstance. I don't believe that small servant 
 ever has anything to eat." 
 
 " Sammy won't be home," said Miss Brass. 
 " Stop till I come back. I shan't be long." 
 
 _ Dick nodded, and followed Miss Brass — with 
 his eyes to the door, and with his ears to a little 
 back-parlour, where she and her brother took 
 their meals. 
 
 _ " Now, "said Dick, walking up and dov/n with 
 his hands in his pockets, " I'd give something — 
 if I had it — to know how they use that child, 
 and where they keep her. My mother must 
 have been a very inquisitive woman ; I have no 
 doubt I'm marked with a note of interrogation 
 somewhere. My feelings I smother, but thou 
 
 hast been the cause of this anguish my 
 
 Upon my word," said Mr. Swiveller, checking 
 himself and falling thoughtfully into the chent's 
 chair, " I should like to know how they use 
 her." 
 
 After running on in this way for some time, 
 Mr. Swiveller softly opened the office door, with 
 the intention of darting across the street for a glass 
 of the mild porter. At that moment he caught 
 a parting ghmpse of the brown head-dress of 
 Miss Brass flitting down the kitchen stairs. 
 " And, by Jove !" thought Dick, " she's going to 
 feed the Marchioness. Now or never ! " 
 
 First peeping over the handrail and allowing 
 the head-dress to disappear in the darkness be- 
 low, he groped his way down, and arrived at the 
 door of a back-kitchen immediately after Miss 
 Brass had entered the same, bearing in her hand 
 a cold leg of mutton. It was a very dark miser- 
 able place, very low, and very damp : the walls 
 disfigured by a thousand rents and blotches. 
 The water was trickling out of a leaky butt, and 
 a most wretched cat was lapping up the drops 
 Avith the sickly eagerness of starvation. The 
 grate, which was a wide one, was wound and 
 screwed up tight, so as to hold no more than a 
 little thin sandwich of fire. Everything was 
 locked up ; the coal-cellar, the candle-box, the 
 salt-box, the meat-safe, were all padlocked. 
 There was nothing that a beetle could have 
 lunched upon. The pinched and meagre aspect 
 of the place would have killed a chameleon : he 
 would have known, at the first mouthful, that 
 the air was not eatable, and must have given up 
 the ghost in despair. 
 
 The small servant stood with humility in pre- 
 sence of Miss Sally, and hung her head. 
 
 '' Are you there ?" said Miss Sally. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," was the answer in a weak 
 voice. 
 
PUNCH IN BE VIS MARKS. 
 
 135 
 
 " Go further away from the leg of mutton, or 
 you'll be picking it, I know," said Miss Sally. 
 
 The girl withdrew into a corner, while Miss 
 Brass took a key from her pocket, and, opening 
 the safe, brought from it a dreary waste of cold 
 potatoes, looking as eatable as Stonehenge. This 
 she placed before the small servant, ordering 
 her to sit down before it, and then, taking up a 
 great carving-knife, made a mighty show of 
 sharpening it upon the carving-fork. 
 
 "Do you see this?" said Miss Brass, slicing 
 off about two square inches of cold mutton, 
 after all this preparation, and holding it out on 
 the point of a fork. 
 
 The small servant looked hard enough at it 
 with her hungry eyes to see every shred of it, 
 small as it was, and answered, " Yes." 
 
 " Theu don't you ever go and say," retorted 
 Miss Sally, " that you hadn't meat here. There, 
 eat it up." 
 
 This was soon done. " Now, do you want 
 any more?" said Miss Sally. 
 
 The hungry creature answered with a faint 
 " No." They were evidently going through an 
 established form. 
 
 " You've been helped once to meat," said 
 Miss Brass, summing up the facts ; *' you have 
 had as much as you can eat, you're asked if 
 you want any more, and you answer, ' No ! ' 
 Then don't you ever go and say you were allow- 
 anced, mind that." 
 
 With those words. Miss Sally put the meat 
 away and locked the safe, and then, drawing 
 near to the small servant, overlooked her while 
 she finished the potatoes. 
 
 It was plain that some extraordinary grudge 
 was working in Miss Brass's gentle breast, and 
 that it was this which impelled her, without the 
 smallest present cause, to rap the child with 
 the blade of the knife, now on her hand, now 
 on her head, and now on her back, as if she 
 found it quite impossible to stand so close to 
 her without administering a few slight knocks. 
 But Mr. Swiveller was not a little surprised to 
 see his fellow-clerk, after walking slowly back- 
 wards towards the door, as if she were trying to 
 withdraw herself from the room, but could not 
 accomplish it, dart suddenly forward, and, fall- 
 ing on the small servant, give her some hard 
 blows with her clenched hand. The victim 
 cried, but in a subdued manner, as if she feared 
 to raise her voice, and Miss Sally, comforting 
 herself with a pinch of snuff, ascended the 
 stairs, just as Richard had safely reached the 
 office. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 HE single gentleman, among his 
 other peculiarities — and he had a 
 very plentiful stock, of which he 
 every day furnished some new speci- 
 men — took a most extraordinary and 
 remarkable interest in the exhibition of 
 Punch. If the sound of a Punch's voice, 
 W at ever so remote a distance, reached Bevis 
 Marks, the single gentleman, though in bed and 
 asleep, would start up, and, hurrying on his 
 clothes, make for the spot with all speed, and 
 presently return at the head of a long procession 
 of idlers, having in the midst the theatre and its 
 proprietors. Straightway the stage would be set 
 up in front of Mr. Brass's house ; the single gen- 
 tleman would establish himself at the first-floor 
 window; and the entertainment would proceed, 
 with all its exciting accompaniments of fife and 
 drum and shout, to the excessive consternation 
 of all sober votaries of business in that silent 
 thoroughfare. It might have been expected 
 that when the play was done, both players and 
 audience would have dispersed ; but the epilogue 
 was as bad as the play, for no sooner was the 
 Devil dead than the manager of the puppets and 
 his partner were summoned by the single gentle- 
 man to his chamber, where they were regaled 
 with strong waters from his private store, and 
 where they held with him long conversations, 
 the purport of which no human being could 
 fathom. But the secret of these discussions was 
 of little importance. It was sufficient to know 
 that, while they were proceeding, the concourse 
 without stiU lingered round the house; that boys 
 beat upon the drum with their fists, and imitated 
 Punch with their tender voices ; that the office 
 window was rendered opaque by flattened noses, 
 and the keyhole of the street-door luminous with 
 eyes; that every time the single gentleman or 
 either of his guests was seen at the upper window, 
 or so much as the end of one of their noses was 
 visible, there was a great shout of execration 
 from the excluded mob, who remained howhng 
 and yelling, and refusing consolation, until the 
 exhibitors were delivered up to them to be 
 attended elsewhere. It was sufficient, in short, 
 to know that Bevis Marks was revolutionised by 
 these popular movements, and that peace and 
 quietness fled from its precincts. 
 
 Nobody was rendered more indignant by these 
 proceedings than Mr. Sampson Brass, who, as 
 he could by no means afford to lose so profit- 
 able an inmate, deemed it prudent to pocket his 
 lodger's affront along with his cash, and to annoy 
 the audiences who clustered round his door bv 
 
136 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 such imperfect means of retaliation as were open 
 to him, and which were confined to the trickling 
 down of foul water on their heads from unseen 
 watering-pots, pelting them with fragments of tile 
 and mortar from the roof of the house, and brib- 
 ing the drivers of hackney cabriolets to come 
 suddenly round the corner, and dash in among 
 them precipitately. It may, at first sight, be 
 matter of surprise to the thoughtless few that 
 Mr. Brass, being a professional gentleman, should 
 not have legally indicted some party or parties, 
 active in the promotion of the nuisance; but 
 
 they will be good enough to remember, that as 
 Doctors seldom take their own prescriptions, 
 and Divines do not always practise what they 
 preach, so, lawyers are shy of meddling with the 
 Law on their own account : knowing it to be an 
 edged tool of uncertain application, very expen- 
 sive in the working, and rather remarkable for 
 its properties of close shaving, than for its always 
 shaving the right person. 
 
 " Come," said Mr. Brass one afternoon, " this 
 is two days without a Punch. I'm in hopes he 
 has run through 'em all, at last." 
 
 DO YOU SEE THIS ? " 
 
 " Why are you in hopes?" returned Miss Sally. 
 "What harm do they do ?" 
 
 " Here's a pretty sort of a fellow ! " cried Brass, 
 laying down his pen in despair. " Now here's 
 an aggravating animal ! " 
 
 "Well, what harm do they do?" retorted 
 Sally. 
 
 " What harm ? " cried Brass. " Is it no harm 
 to have a constant hallooing and hooting under 
 one's very nose, distracting one from business, 
 and making one grind one's teeth with vexa- 
 tion ? Is it no harm to be blinded and choked 
 up, and have the king's highway stopped with a 
 
 set of screamers and roarers whose throats must 
 be made of — of " 
 
 " Brass," suggested Mr. Swiveller. 
 
 " Ah ! of brass," said the lawyer, glancing at 
 his clerk, to assure himself that he had sug- 
 gested the word in good faith, and without any 
 sinister intention. " Is that no harm ? " 
 
 The lawyer stopped short in his invective, and 
 listening for a moment, and recognising the well- 
 known voice, rested his head upon his hand, 
 raised his eyes to the ceiling, and muttered 
 faintly : 
 
 " There's another ! " 
 
M£SSJ?S. CODLIN AND SHORT WITH THE LODGER. 
 
 137 
 
 Up went the single gentleman's window 
 directly. 
 
 " There's another," repeated Brass ; " and if I 
 could get a brake and four blood horses to cut 
 into the Marks when the crowd is at its thickest, 
 I'd give eightecn-pence and never grudge it ! " 
 
 The distant squeak was heard again. The 
 single gentleman's door burst open. He ran 
 violently down the stairs, out into the street, 
 and so past the window, without any hat, towards 
 the quarter whence the sound proceeded — bent, 
 no doubt, upon securing the strangers' services 
 directly. 
 
 " I wish I only knew who his friends were," 
 muttered Sampson, filling his pocket with papers; 
 " if they'd just get up a pretty little Commission 
 de hmatico at the Gray's Inn Coffee-house, and 
 give me the job, I'd be content to have the 
 lodgings empty for one while, at all events." 
 
 With which words, and knocking his hat 
 over his eyes as if for the purpose of shutting 
 out even a glimpse of the dreadful visitation, 
 Mr. Brass rushed from the house and hurried 
 away. 
 
 As Mr. Swiveller was decidedly favourable to 
 these performances, upon the ground that look- 
 ing at a Punch, or indeed looking at anything 
 out of window, was better than working ; and as 
 he had been, for this reason, at some pains to 
 awaken in his fellow-clerk a sense of their beau- 
 ties and manifold deserts; both he and Miss 
 Sally rose as with one accord, and took up their 
 positions at the window : upon the sill whereof, 
 as in a post of honour, sundry young ladies and 
 gentlemen who were employed in the dry nur- 
 ture of babies, and who made a point of being 
 present, with their young charges, on such occa- 
 sions, had already established themselves as com- 
 fortably as the circumstances would allow. 
 
 The glass being dim, Mr. Swiveller, agreeably 
 to a friendly custom which he had established 
 between them, hitched ofif the brown head-dress 
 from Miss Sally's head, and dusted it carefully 
 therewith. By the time he had handed it back, 
 and its beautiful wearer had put it on again 
 (which she did with perfect composure and in- 
 difference), the lodger returned with the show 
 and showmen at his heels, and a strong addition 
 to the body of spectators. The exhibitor dis- 
 appeared with all speed behind the drapery ; 
 and his partner, stationing himself by the side 
 of the theatre, surveyed the audience with a re- 
 markable expression of melancholy, which be- 
 came more remarkable still when he breathed a 
 hornpipe tune into that sweet musical instrument 
 which is popularly termed a mouth-organ, without 
 at all changing the mournful expression of the 
 
 upper part of his face, though his mouth and 
 chin were, of necessity, in lively spasms. 
 
 The drama proceeded to its close, and held 
 the spectators enchained in the customary man- 
 ner. The sensation which kindles in large 
 assemblies, when they are relieved from a state 
 of breathless suspense and are again free to 
 speak and move, was yet rife, when the lodger, 
 as usual, summoned the men up-stairs. 
 
 " Both of you," he called from the window ; 
 for only the actual exhibitor — a little fat man — ■ 
 prepared to obey the summons. " I want to talk 
 to you. Come both of you ! " 
 
 " Come, Tommy," said the little man. 
 
 "I an't a talker," rephed the other. "Tell 
 him so. What should I go and talk for ? " 
 
 " Don't you see the gentleman's got a bottle 
 and glass up there ? " returned the little man. 
 
 "And couldn't you have said so at first?" 
 retorted the other with sudden alacrity. " Now, 
 what are you waiting for? Are you going to 
 keep the gentleman expecting us all day ? 
 Haven't you no manners ? " 
 
 With this remonstrance, the melancholy man, 
 who was no other than Mr. Thomas Codlin, 
 pushed past his friend and brother in the craft, 
 Mr. Harris, otherwise Short or Trotters, and 
 hurried before him to the single gentleman's 
 apartment. 
 
 " Now, my men," said the single gentle- 
 man ; " you have done very well. What will you 
 take? Tell that little man behind to shut the 
 door." 
 
 " Shut the door, can't you ? " said Mr. Codlin, 
 turning gruffly to his friend. " You might have 
 knowed that the gentleman wanted the door 
 shut, without being told, I think." 
 
 Mr. Short obeyed, observing under his breath 
 that his friend seemed unusually "cranky," and 
 expressing a hope that there was no dairy in the 
 neighbourhood, or his temper would certainly 
 spoil its contents. 
 
 The gentleman pointed to a couple of chairs, 
 and intimated by an emphatic nod of his head 
 that he expected them to be seated. Messrs. 
 Codlin and Short, after looking at each other 
 with considerable doubt and indecision, at length 
 sat down — each on the extreme edge of the chair 
 pointed out to him — and held their hats very 
 tight, while the single gentleman filled a couple 
 of glasses from a bottle on the table beside hiH>, 
 and presented them in due form. 
 
 " You're pretty well browned by the sun botli. 
 of you," said their entertainer. " Have you been 
 travelling ? " 
 
 Mr. Short replied in the afiirmative with a nod 
 and a smile. Mr. Codlin added a corroborative 
 
■38 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 nod and a short groan, as if he still felt the 
 weight of the Temple on his shoulders. 
 
 " To fairs, markets, races, and so forth, I sup- 
 pose ? " jiursued the single gentleman. 
 
 "Yes, sir," returned Short, "pretty nigh all 
 over the West of England." 
 
 " I have talked to men of your craft from 
 North, East, and South," returned their host in 
 rather a hasty manner ; " but I never lighted on 
 any from the West before." 
 
 " It's our reg'lar summer circuit is the West, 
 master," said Short: "that's where it is. We 
 takes the East of London in the spring and 
 winter, and the West of England in the sum- 
 mer-time. Many's the hard day's walking in 
 rain and mud, and with never a penny earned, 
 we've had down in the West." 
 
 " Let me fill your glass again." 
 
 " Much obleeged to you, sir, I think I will," 
 said Mr. Codlin, suddenly thrusting in his own, 
 and turning Short's aside. " I'm the sufferer, 
 sir, in all the travelling, and in all the staying at 
 home. In town or country, wet or dry, hot or 
 cold, Tom Codlin suffers. But Tom Codhn 
 isn't to complain for all that. Oh no ! Short 
 may complain, but if Codlin grumbles by so 
 much as a word — oh dear, down with him, down 
 with him directly ! It isn't his place to grumble. 
 That's quite out of the question." 
 
 " Codlin an't without his usefulness," observed 
 Short with an arch look, " but he don't always 
 keep his eyes open. He falls asleep sometimes, 
 you know. Remember them last races. Tommy." 
 
 _" Will you never leave off aggravating a man ?" 
 said Codlin. " It's very like I was asleep when 
 five-and-tenpence was collected in one round, 
 isn't it ? I was attending to my business, and 
 couldn't have my eyes in twenty places at once, 
 like a peacock, no more than you could. If I 
 an't a match for an old man and a young child, 
 you an't neither, so don't throw that out against 
 me, for the cap fits your head quite as correct as 
 it fits mine." 
 
 "You may as well drop the subject, Tom," 
 said Short. " It isn't particular agreeable to the 
 gentleman, I dare say." 
 
 "Then you shouldn't have brought it up," 
 returned Mr. Codlin ; " and I ask the gentleman's 
 pardon on your account, as a giddy chap that 
 likes to hear himself talk, and don't much care 
 what he talks about, so that he does talk." 
 
 Their entertainer had sat perfectly quiet in 
 the beginning of this dispute, looking first at 
 one man and then at the other, as if he were 
 lying in wait for an opportunity of putting some 
 further question, or reverting to that from which 
 the discourse had strayed. But, from the point 
 
 where Mr. Codlin was charged with sleepiness, 
 he had shown an increasing interest in the dis- 
 cussion : which noAV attained a very high pitch. 
 
 " You are the two men I want," he said, " the 
 two men I have been looking for, and searching 
 after ! Where are that old man and that child 
 you speak of?" 
 
 "Sir?" said Short, hesitating and looking 
 towards his friend. 
 
 "The old man and his grandchild who travelled 
 with you — where are they? It will be worth 
 your while to speak out, I assure you ; much 
 better worth your while than you believe. They 
 left you, you say, — at those races, as I under- 
 stand. They have been traced to that place, 
 and there lost sight of. Have you no clue, can 
 you suggest no clue, to their recovery?" 
 
 " Did I always say, Thomas," cried Short, 
 turning with a look of amazement to his friend, 
 " that there was sure to be an inquiry after them 
 two travellers?" 
 
 " You said!" returned Mr. Codlin. "Did I 
 always say that that 'ere blessed child was the 
 most interesting I ever see ? Did I always say 
 I loved her, and doted on her ? Pretty creetur, 
 I think I hear her now. ' Codlin's my friend,' 
 she says with a tear of gratitude trickling down 
 her little eye ; ' Codlin's my friend,' she says — 
 ' not Short. Short's very well,' she says ; ' I've 
 no quarrel with Short ; he means kind, I dare 
 say : but Codlin,' she says, ' has the feelings for 
 my money, though he mayn't look it.' " 
 
 Repeating these words with great emotion, 
 Mr. Codlin rubbed the bridge of his nose with 
 his coat-sleeve, and shaking his head mournfully 
 from side to side, left the single gentleman to 
 infer that, from the moment when he lost sight 
 of his dear young charge, his peace of mind and 
 happiness had fled. 
 
 "Good Heaven !" said the single gentleman, 
 pacing up and down the room, " have I found 
 these men at last, only to discover that they can 
 give me no information or assistance ? It would 
 have been better to have lived on in hope, from 
 day to day, and never to have lighted on them, 
 than to have m.y expectations scattered thus." 
 
 " Stay a minute," said Short. " A man of the 
 name of Jerry — you know Jerry, Thomas?" 
 
 "Oh, don't talk to me of Jerrys!" repHed 
 Mr. Codlin. " How can I care a pinch of snuff 
 for Jerrys, when I think of that 'ere darling 
 child ? ' Codlin's my friend,' she says, ' dear, 
 good, kind Codlin, as is always a devising plea- 
 sures for me ! I don't object to Short,' she says, 
 ' but I cotton to Codlin.' Once," said that 
 gentleman reflectively, "she called me Father 
 Codlin. I thought I should have bust ! " 
 
LOOK AT HOME. 
 
 139 
 
 " A man of the name of Jerry, sir," said Short, 
 turning from his selfish colleague to their new 
 acquaintance, " wot keeps a company of dancing 
 dogs, told me, in a accidental sort of a way, 
 that he had seen the old gentleman in connec- 
 tion with a travelling wax-work, unbeknown to 
 him. As they'd give us the slip, and nothing 
 had come of it, and this was down in the 
 country that he'd been seen, I took no measures 
 about it, and asked no questions. But I can, 
 if you like." 
 
 "Is this man in town?" said the impatient 
 single gentleman. "Speak faster." 
 
 " No, he isn't, but he will be to-morrow, for he 
 lodges in our house," replied Mr. Short rapidly. 
 
 " Then bring him here," said the single gentle- 
 man. " Here's a sovereign apiece. If I can 
 find these people through your means, it is but a 
 prelude to twenty more. Return to me to- 
 morrow, and keep your own counsel on this 
 subject, though I need hardly tell you that, for 
 you'll do so for your own sakes. Now, give me 
 your address, and leave me." 
 
 The address was given, the two men departed, 
 the crowd went with them, and the single gentle- 
 man for two mortal hours walked in uncommon 
 agitation up and down his room, over the won- 
 dering heads of Mr. Swiveller and Miss Sally 
 Brass. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ^IT — for it happens, at this juncture, 
 not only that we have breathing-time 
 to follow his fortunes, but that the 
 necessities of these adventures so 
 adapt themselves to our ease and 
 inclination as to call upon us im- 
 peratively to pursue the track we most 
 desire to take — Kit, while the matters 
 treated of in the last fifteen chapters were yet in 
 progress, was, as the reader may suppose, gradu- 
 ally familiarising himself more and more with 
 Mr. and Mrs. Garland, Mr. Abel, the pony, and 
 Barbara, and gradually coming to consider them 
 one and all as his particular private friends, and 
 Abel Cottage, Finchley, as his own proper home. 
 Stay — the words are written, and may go, but 
 if they convey any notion that Kit, in the plenti- 
 ful board and comfortable lodging of his new 
 abode, began to think slightingly of the poor fare 
 and furniture of his old dwelling, they do their 
 office badly, and commit injustice. Who so mind- 
 ful of those he left at home — albeit they were 
 but a mother and two young babies — as Kit? 
 What boastful father, in the fulness of his heart, 
 
 ever related such wonders of his infant prodigy 
 as Kit never wearied of telling Barbara in the 
 evening-time concerning little Jacob ? Was 
 there ever such a mother as Kit's mother, on her 
 son's showing ; or was there ever such comfort 
 in poverty as in the poverty of Kit's family, if 
 any correct judgment might be arrived at from 
 his own glowing account ? 
 
 And let me linger in this place, for an instant, 
 to remark that, if ever household affections 
 and loves are graceful things, they are graceful 
 in the poor. The ties that bind the wealthy and 
 the proud to home may be forged on earth, but 
 those which link the poor man to his humble 
 hearth are of the truer metal, and bear the stamp 
 of Heaven. The man of high descent may love 
 the halls and lands of his inheritance as a part 
 of himself: as trophies of his birth and power; 
 his associations with them are associations of 
 pride and wealth and triumph ; the poor man's 
 attachment to the tenement he holds, which 
 strangers have held before, and may to-morrow 
 occupy again, has a worthier root, struck deep 
 into a purer soil. His household gods are of 
 flesh and blood, with no alloy of silver, gold, or 
 precious stone ; he has no property but in the 
 affections of his own heart ; and when they 
 endear bare floors and walls, despite of rags and 
 toil and scanty fare, that man has his love of 
 home from God, and his rude hut becomes a 
 solemn place. 
 
 Oh ! if those who rule the destinies of nations 
 would but remember this — if they would but 
 think how hard it is for the very poor to have 
 engendered in their hearts that love of home 
 from which all domestic virtues spring, when 
 they live in dense and squalid masses where 
 social decency is lost, or rather never found — if 
 they would but turn aside from the wide tho- 
 roughfares and great houses, and strive to im- 
 prove the wretched dwellings in by-ways where 
 only Poverty ma.y walk — many low roofs would 
 point more truly to the sky than the loftiest 
 steeple that now rears proudly up from the midst 
 of guilt, and crime, and horrible disease, to mock 
 them by its contrast. In hollow voices from 
 Workhouse, Hospital, and Gaol, this truth is 
 preached from day to day, and has been pro- 
 claimed for years. It is no light matter — no 
 outcry from the working vulgar — no mere ques- 
 tion of the people's health and comforts that may 
 be whistled down on Wednesday nights. In 
 love of home, the love of country has its rise ; 
 and who are the truer patriots, or the better in 
 time of need — those who venerate the land, 
 owning its wood, and stream, and earth, and all 
 that they produce; or those who love their 
 
140 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 country, boasting not a foot of ground in all its 
 wide domain? 
 
 Kit knew nothing about such questions, but he 
 knew that his old home was a very poor place, 
 and that his new one was very unlike it, and yet 
 he was constantly looking back with grateful satis- 
 faction and affectionate anxiety, and often indited 
 square-folded letters to his mother, enclosing a 
 shilling or eighteen-pence, or such other small 
 remittance, which Mr. Abel's liberality enabled 
 him to make. Sometimes, being in the neigh- 
 bourhood, he had leisure to call upon her, and 
 then, great was the joy and pride of Kit's 
 mother, and extremely noisy the satisfaction of 
 little Jacob and the baby, and cordial the con- 
 gratulations of the whole court, who listened 
 with admiring ears to the accounts of Abel Cot- 
 tage, and could never be told too much of its 
 wonders and magnificence. 
 
 Although Kit was in the very highest favour 
 with the old lady and gentleman, and Mr. Abel, 
 and Barbara, it is certain that no member of the 
 family evinced such a remarkable partiality for 
 him as the self-willed pony, who, from being the 
 most obstinate and opinionated pony on the 
 face of the earth, was, in his hands, the meekest 
 and most tractable of animals. It is true that in 
 exact proportion as he became manageable by 
 Kit he became utterly ungovernable by anybody 
 else, (as if he had determined to keep him 
 in the family at all risks and hazards,) and that, 
 even under the guidance of his favourite, he 
 would sometimes perform a great variety of 
 strange freaks and capers, to the extreme dis- 
 composure of the old lady's nerves ; but as Kit 
 always represented that this was only his fun, or 
 a way he had of showing his attachment to his 
 employers, Mrs. Garland gradually suffered her- 
 self to be persuaded into the belief, in which she 
 at last became so strongly confirmed, that if, in 
 one of these ebullitions, he had overturned the 
 chaise, she would have been quite satisfied that 
 he did it with the very best intentions. 
 
 Besides becoming in a short time a perfect 
 marvel in all stable matters. Kit soon made him- 
 self a very tolerable gardener, a handy fellow 
 within doors, and an indispensable attendant on 
 Mr. Abel, who every day gave him some new 
 proof of his confidence and approbation. Mr. 
 Witherden the notary, too, regarded him with a 
 friendly eye ; and even Mr. Chuckster would 
 sometimes condescend to give him a slight nod, 
 or to honour him with that peculiar form of 
 recognition which is called " taking a sight," or 
 to favour him with some other salute combining 
 pleasantry with patronage. 
 
 One morning Kit drove Mr. Abel to the 
 
 notary's ofiice, as he sometimes did, and, having 
 set him down at the house, was about to drive 
 off to a livery stable hard by, when this same 
 Mr. Chuckster emerged from the office door, and 
 cried " Woa-a-a-a-a-a ! " — dwelling upon the note 
 a long time, for the purpose of striking terror 
 into the pony's heart, and asserting the supremacy 
 of man over the inferior animals. 
 
 " Pull up, Snobby," cried Mr. Chuckster, 
 addressing himself to Kit. "You're wanted 
 inside here." 
 
 "Has Mr. Abel forgotten anything, I wonder?" 
 said Kit as he dismounted. 
 
 " Ask no questions, Snobby," returned Mr. 
 Chuckster, "but go and see. Woa-a-athen, will 
 you ? If that pony was mine, /'d break him." 
 
 " You must be very gentle with him, if you 
 please," said Kit, " or you'll find him trouble- 
 some. You'd better not keep on pulling his 
 ears, please. I know he won't like it." 
 
 To this remonstrance Mr. Chuckster deigned 
 no other answer than addressing Kit with a 
 lofty and distant air as "young feller," and re- 
 questing him to cut, and come again with all 
 speed. The "young feller" complying, Mr, 
 Chuckster put his hands in his pockets, and 
 tried to look as if he were not minding the pony, 
 but happening to be lounging there by accident. 
 
 Kit scraped his shoes very carefully, (for he 
 had not yet lost his reverence for the bundles 
 of papers and the tin boxes,) and tapped at the 
 office door, which was quickly opened by the 
 notary himself. 
 
 " Oh! come in, Christopher," said Mr. Wither- 
 den. 
 
 " Is that the lad ?" asked an elderly gentleman, 
 but of a stout, bluff figure — who was in the room. 
 
 " That's the lad," said Mr. Witherden. " He 
 fell in with my client, Mr. Garland, sir, at this 
 very door. I have reason to think he is a good 
 lad, sir, and that you may beheve what he says. 
 Let me introduce Mr. Abel Garland, sir — his 
 young master 3 my articled pupil, sir, and most 
 particular friend : — my most particular friend, 
 sir," repeated the notary, drawing out his silk 
 handkerchief and flourishing it about his face. 
 
 " Your servant, sir," said the stranger gentle- 
 man. 
 
 "Yours, sir, I'm sure," replied Mr. Abel 
 mildly. " You were wishing to speak to Chris- 
 topher, sir." 
 
 " Yes, I was. Have I your permission?" 
 
 " By all means." 
 
 " My business is no secret ; or I should 
 rather say it need be no secret here'' said the 
 stranger, observing that Mr. Abel and the notary 
 were preparing to retire. " It relates to a dealer 
 
INQUIRIES FROM THE SINGLE GENTLEMAN. 
 
 141 
 
 in curiosities with whom he lived, and in whom 
 I am earnestly and warmly interested. I have 
 been a stranger to this country, gentlernen, for 
 very many years, and, if I am deficient in form 
 and ceremony, I hope you will forgive me." 
 
 "No forgiveness is necessary, sir ; — none what- 
 ever," repUed the notary. And so said Mr. 
 Abel. 
 
 " I have been making inquiries in the neigh- 
 bourhood in which his old master lived," said 
 the stranger, " and I learn that he was served 
 by this lad. I have found out his mother's 
 house, and have been directed by her to this 
 place as the nearest in which I should be likely 
 to find him. That's the cause of my presenting 
 myself here this morning." 
 
 " I am very glad of any cause, sir," said the 
 notary, " which procures me the honour of this 
 visit." 
 
 " Sir," retorted the stranger, " you speak like 
 a mere man of the world, and I think you some- 
 thing better. Therefore, pray do not sink your 
 real character in paying unmeaning compliments 
 to me." 
 
 "Hem!" coughed the notary. "You're a 
 plain speaker, sir." 
 
 " And a plain dealer," returned the stranger. 
 " It may be my long absence and inexperience 
 that lead me to the conclusion ; but, if plain 
 speakers are scarce in this part of the world, I 
 fancy plain dealers are still scarcer. If my 
 speaking shall offend you, sir, my dealing, I 
 hope, will make amends." 
 
 Mr. Witherden seemed a httle disconcerted 
 by the elderly gentleman's mode of conducting 
 the dialogue ; and as for Kit, he looked at him 
 in open-mouthed astonishment : wondering 
 what kind of language he would address to him, 
 if he talked in that free and easy way to a notary. 
 It was with no harshness, however, though with 
 something of constitutional irritability and haste, 
 that he turned to Kit and said : 
 
 " If you think, my lad, that I am pursuing 
 these inquiries with any other view than that of 
 serving and reclaiming those I am in search of, 
 you do me a very great wrong, and deceive 
 yourself. Don't be deceived, I beg of you, but 
 rely upon my assurance. The fact is, gentlemen," 
 he added, turning again to the notary and his 
 pupil, " that I am in a very painful and wholly 
 unexpected position. I came to this city with a 
 darling object at my heart, expecting to find no 
 obstacle or difficulty in the way of its attainment. 
 I find myself suddenly checked and stopped 
 short, in the execution of my design, by a mys- 
 tery which I cannot penetrate. Every effort I 
 have made to penetrate it has only served to 
 Thr Old CmirosiTY Shop, 10. 
 
 render it darker and more obscure ; and I am 
 afraid to stir openly in the matter, lest those 
 whom I anxiously pursue should fly still farther 
 from me. I assure you that, if you could give 
 me any assistance, you would not be sorry to do 
 so, if you knew how greatly I stand in need of 
 it, and what a load it would relieve me from." 
 
 There was a simplicity in this confidence 
 which occasioned it to find a quick response in 
 the breast of the good-natured notary, who re- 
 pUed, in the same spirit, that the stranger had 
 not mistaken his desire, and that, if he could be 
 of service to him, he would most readily. 
 
 Kit was then put under examination, and 
 closely questioned by the unknown gentleman 
 touching his old master and the child, their 
 lonely way of life, their retired habits, and strict 
 seclusion. The nightly absence of the old man, 
 the solitary existence of the child at those times, 
 his illness and recovery, Quilp's possession of 
 the house, and their sudden disappearance, were 
 all the subjects of much questioning and answer. 
 Finally, Kit informed the gentleman that the 
 premises were now to let, and that a board upon 
 the door referred all inquirers to Mr. Sampson 
 Brass, Solicitor, of Bevis Marks, from whom he 
 might perhaps learn some further particulars. 
 
 " Not by inquiry," said the gentleman, shak- 
 ing his head. " I live there." 
 
 " Live at Brass's the attorney's ! " cried Mr. 
 Witherden in some surprise : having professional 
 knowledge of the gentleman in question. 
 
 " Ay," was the reply. " I entered on his 
 lodgings t'other day, chiefly because I had seen 
 this very board. It matters little to me where I 
 live, and I had a desperate hope that some in- 
 telligence might be cast in my way there, which 
 would not reach me elsewhere. Yes, I live at 
 Brass's — more shame for me, I suppose ? " 
 
 " That's a mere matter of opinion," said the 
 notary, shtugging his shoulders. " He is looked 
 upon as rather a doubtful character." 
 
 " Doubtful? " echoed the other. "I am glad to 
 hear there's any doubt about it. I supposed that 
 had been thoroughly settled long ago. But will 
 you let me speak a word or two with you in 
 private ? " 
 
 Mr. Witherden consenting, they walked into 
 that gentleman's private closet, and remained 
 there, in close conversation, for some quarter of 
 an hour, when they returned into the outer 
 office. The stranger had left his hat in Mr. 
 Witherden's room, and seemed to have esta- 
 blished himself, in this short interval, on quite a 
 friendly footing. 
 
 " I'll not detain you any longer now," he said, 
 putting a crown into Kit's hand, and looking to- 
 258 
 
142 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 wards the notary. "You shall hear from me 
 again. Not a word of this, you know, except 
 to your master and mistress." 
 
 " Mother, sir, would be glad to know " 
 
 said Kit, faltering. 
 
 " Glad to know what ? " 
 
 "Anything — so that it was no harm — about 
 Miss Nell." 
 
 "Would she? Well, then, you may tell her 
 if she can keep a secret. But mind, not a word 
 of this to anybody else. Don't forget that. Be 
 particular." 
 
 " I'll take care, sir," said Kit. " Thankee, 
 sir, and good morning." 
 
 Now, it happened that the gentleman, in his 
 anxiety to impress upon Kit that he was not to 
 tell anybody what had passed between them, 
 followed him out to the door to repeat his cau- 
 tion, and it further happened that at that 
 moment the eyes of Mr. Richard Swiveller were 
 turned in that direction, and beheld His myste- 
 rious friend and Kit together. 
 
 It was quite an accident, and the way in 
 which it came about was this. Mr. Chuckster, 
 being a gentleman of a cultivated taste and re- 
 fined spirit, was one of that Lodge of Glorious 
 ApoUos, whereof Mr. Swiveller was Perpetual 
 Grand. Mr. Swiveller, passing through the 
 street in the execution of some Brazen errand, 
 and beholding one of his Glorious Brotherhood 
 intently gazing on a pony, crossed over to give 
 him that fraternal greeting with which Perpetual 
 Grands are, by the very constitution of their 
 office, bound to cheer and encourage their dis- 
 ciples. He had scarcely bestowed upon him his 
 blessing, and followed it with a general remark 
 touching the present state and prospects of the 
 weather, when, lifting up his eyes, he beheld the 
 single gentleman of Bevis Marks in earnest con- 
 versation with Christopher Nubbles. 
 
 " Hallo I" said Dick, " who is that ? " 
 
 " He called to see my Governor this morning," 
 replied Mr. Chuckster ; " beyond that I don't 
 know him from Adam." 
 
 " At least you know his name ? " said Dick. 
 
 To which Mr. Chuckster replied, with an 
 elevation of speech becoming a Glorious 
 Apollo, that he was " everlastingly blessed " if 
 he did. 
 
 " All I know, my dear feller," said Mr. Chuck- 
 ster, running his fingers through his hair, " is, 
 that he is the cause of my having stood here 
 twenty minutes, for which I hate him with a 
 mortal and undying hatred, and would pursue 
 him to the confines of eternity if I could afford 
 the time." 
 
 While they were thus discoursing, the subject 
 
 of their conversation (who had not appeared to 
 recognise Mr. Richard Swiveller) re-entered the 
 house, and Kit came down the steps and joined 
 them ; to whom Mr. Swiveller again propounded 
 his inquiry with no better success. 
 
 " He is a very nice gentleman, sir," said Kit, 
 "and that's all /know about him." 
 
 Mr. Chuckster waxed wroth at this answer, 
 and, without applying the remark to any par- 
 ticular case, mentioned, as a general truth, that 
 it was expedient to break the heads of Snobs, 
 and to tweak their noses. Without expressing 
 his concurrence in this sentiment, Mr. Swiveller, 
 after a few moments of abstraction, inquired 
 which way Kit was driving, and, being informed, 
 declared it was his way, and that he would tres- 
 pass on him for a lift. Kit would gladly have 
 declined the proffered honour, but, as Mr. 
 Swiveller was already established in the seat 
 beside him, he had no means of doing so, other- 
 wise than by a forcible ejectment, and therefore 
 drove briskly off — so briskly, indeed, as to cut 
 short the leave-taking between Mr. Chuckster 
 and his Grand Master, and to occasion the for- 
 mer gentleman some inconvenience from having 
 his corns squeezed by the impatient pony. 
 
 As Whisker was tired of standing, and Mr. 
 Swiveller was kind enough to stimulate him by 
 shrill whistles and various sporting cries, they 
 rattled off at too sharp a pace to admit of much 
 conversation : especially as the pony, incensed 
 by Mr. Swiveller's admonitions, took a particular 
 fancy for the lamp-posts and cart wheels, and 
 evinced a strong desire to run on the pavement 
 and rasp himself against the brick walls. It was 
 not, therefore, until they had arrived at the 
 stable, and the chaise had been extricated from 
 a very small doorway, in which the pony dragged, 
 it under the impression that he could take it 
 along with him into his usual stall, that Mr. 
 Swiveller found time to talk. 
 
 " It's hard work," said Richard. " What do 
 you say to some beer ? " 
 
 Kit at first declined, but presently consented, 
 and they adjourned to the neighbouring bar 
 together. 
 
 " We'll drink our friend what's-his-name," said 
 Dick, holding up the bright frothy pot ; " that 
 was talking to you this morning, you know — I 
 know him — a good fellow, but eccentric — very — 
 here's what's-his-name." 
 
 Kit pledged him. 
 
 " He lives in my house," said Dick ; " at least, 
 in the house occupied by the firm in which I'm 
 a sort of a — of a managing partner — a difficult 
 fellow to get anything out of, but we like him — 
 we like him." 
 
QUARTER-DAY. 
 
 143 
 
 " I must be going, sir, if you please," said Kit, 
 moving away. 
 
 " Don't be in a hurry, Christopher," replied 
 his patron ; " we'll drink your mother." 
 
 " Thank you, sir." 
 
 " An excellent woman that mother of yours, 
 Christopher," said Mr. Swiveller. "Who ran to 
 catch me when I fell, and kissed the place to 
 make it well ? My mother. A charming woman. 
 He's a liberal sort of fellow. We must get him 
 to do something for your mother. Does he 
 know her, Christopher?" 
 
 Kit shook his head, and, glancing slily at his 
 questioner, thanked him, and made off before 
 he could say another word. 
 
 " Humph ! " sard Mr, Swiveller, pondering, 
 " this is queer. Nothing but mysteries in con- 
 nection with Brass's house. I'll keep my own 
 counsel, however. Everybody and anybody has 
 been in my confidence as yet, but now I think 
 I'll set up in business for myself. Queer — very 
 queer ! " 
 
 After pondering deeply and with a face of 
 exceeding wisdom for some time, Mr. Swiveller 
 drank some more of the beer, and, summoning 
 a small boy who had been watching his proceed- 
 ings, poured forth the few remaining drops as a 
 libation on the gravel, and bade him carry the 
 empty vessel to the bar with his compliments, 
 and above all things to lead a sober and tem- 
 perate life, and abstain from all intoxicating and 
 exciting liquors. Having given him this piece 
 of moral advice for his trouble (which, as he 
 wisely observed, was far better than halfpence), 
 the Perpetual Grand Master of the Glorious 
 ApoUos thrust his hands into his pockets and 
 sauntered away : still pondering as he went. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX>X. 
 
 LL that day, though he waited for 
 Mr, Abel until evening, Kit kept 
 clear of his mother's house, deter- 
 mined not to anticipate the pleasures 
 of the morrow, but to let them come 
 m their full rush of delight ; for to- 
 morrow was the great and long-looked- 
 for epoch in his life — to-morrow was the 
 end of his first quarter — the day of receiving, for 
 the first time, one fourth part of his annual income 
 of Six Pounds in one vast sum of Thirty Shillings 
 — to-morrow was to be a half-holiday devoted to 
 a whirl of entertainments, and little Jacob was 
 to know what oysters meant, and to see a play. 
 All manner of incidents combined in favour 
 
 of the occasion : not only had Mr. and Mrs, 
 Garland forewarned him that they intended to 
 make no deduction for his outfit from the 
 great amount, but to pay it him unbroken in 
 all its gigantic grandeur ; not only had the un- 
 known gentleman increased the stock by the 
 sum of five shillings, which was a perfect god- 
 send, and in itself a fortune ; not only had 
 these things come to pass which nobody could 
 have calculated upon, or in their wildest dreams 
 have hoped ; but it was Barbara's quarter too — 
 Barbara's quarter, that very day — and Barbara 
 had a half-holiday as well as Kit, and Barbara's 
 mother was going to make one of the party, and 
 to take tea with Kit's mother, and cultivate her 
 acquaintance. 
 
 To be sure Kit looked out of his window very 
 early that morning to see which way the clouds 
 were flying, and to be sure Barbara would have 
 been at hers too, if she had not sat up so late 
 overnight, starching and ironing small pieces of 
 muslin, and crimping them into frills, and sew- 
 ing them on to other pieces to form magni- 
 ficent wholes for the next day's wear. But they 
 were both up very early for all that, and had 
 small appetites for breakfast and less for dinner, 
 and were in a state of great excitement when 
 Barbara's mother came in, with astonishing ac- 
 counts of the fineness of the weather out of 
 doors (but with a very large umbrella notwith- 
 standing, for people like Barbara's mother seldom 
 make holiday without one), and when the bell 
 rung for them to go up-stairs and receive their 
 quarter's money in gold and silver. 
 
 Well, wasn't Mr. Garland kind when he said, 
 " Christopher, here's your money, and you have 
 earned it well;" and wasn't Mrs. Garland kind 
 when she said, " Barbara, here's yours, and I am 
 much pleased with you ;" and didn't Kit sign 
 his name bold to his receipt, and didn't Barbara 
 sign her name all a trembling to hers ; and 
 wasn't it beautiful to see how Mrs. Garland 
 poured out 'Barbara's mother a glass of wine ; 
 and didn't Barbara's mother 'speak up when she 
 said, " Here's blessing you, ma'am, as a good 
 lady, and you, sir, as a good gentleman, and 
 Barbara, my love to you, and here's towards you, 
 Mr. Christopher ;" and wasn't she as long drink- 
 ing it as if it had been a tumblerful ; and didn't 
 she look genteel, standing there with her gloves 
 on ; and wasn't there plenty of laughing and 
 talking among them as they reviewed all these 
 things upon the top of the coach; and didn't 
 they pity the people who hadn't got a holiday ? 
 
 But Kit's mother, again — wouldn't anybody 
 have supposed she had come of a good stock, 
 and been a lady all her life ? There she was. 
 
144 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 quite ready to receive them, with a display of 
 tea-things that might have warmed the heart of 
 a china shop \ and little Jacob and the baby in 
 such a state of perfection that their clothes looked 
 as good as new, though Heaven knows they were 
 old enough ! Didn't she say, before they had 
 sat down five minutes, that Barbara's mother 
 was exactly the sort of lady she expected, and 
 didn't Barbara's mother say that Kit's mother 
 was the very picture of what she had expected, 
 and didn't Kit's mother compliment Barbara's 
 mother on Barbara, and didn't Barbara's mother 
 compliment Kit's mother on Kit, and wasn't 
 Barbara herself quite fascinated with little Jacob, 
 and did ever a child show off, when he was 
 wanted, as that child did, or make such friends 
 as he made ? 
 
 " And we are both widows too ! " said Bar- 
 bara's mother. " We must have been made to 
 know each other." 
 
 " I haven't a doubt about it," returned Mrs. 
 Nubbles. " And what a pity it is we didn't know 
 each other sooner ! " 
 
 " But then, you know, it's such a pleasure," 
 said Barbara's mother, " to have it brought about 
 by one's son and daughter, that it's fully made 
 up for. Now, ain't it ? " 
 
 To this Kit's mother yielded her full assent, 
 and tracing things back from effects to causes, 
 they naturally reverted to their deceased hus- 
 bands, respecting whose lives, deaths, and bu- 
 rials, they compared notes, and discovered 
 sundry circumstances that tallied with wonderful 
 exactness ; such as Barbara's father having been 
 exactly four years and ten months older than 
 Kit's father, and one of them having died on a 
 Wednesday and the other on a Thursday, and 
 both of them having been of a very fine make 
 and remarkably good-looking, with other extra- 
 ordinary coincidences. These recollections being 
 of a kind calculated to cast a shadow on the 
 brightness of the hoUday, Kit diverted the con- 
 versation to general topics, and they were soon 
 in great force again, and as merry as before. 
 Among other things. Kit told them about his old 
 place, and the extraordinary beauty of Nell (of 
 whom he had talked to Barbara a thousand 
 times already) ; but the last-named circumstance 
 failed to interest his hearers to anything like the 
 extent he had supposed, and even his mother 
 said (looking accidentally at Barbara at the same 
 time) that there was no doubt Miss Nell was 
 very pretty, but she was but a child after all, and 
 there were many young women quite as pretty as 
 she ; and Barbara mildly observed that she should 
 think so, and that she never could help believing 
 Mr. Christopher must be under a mistake — 
 
 which Kit wondered at very much, not being 
 able to conceive what reason she had for doubt- 
 ing him. Barbara's mother, too, observed that 
 it was very common for young folks to change at 
 about fourteen or fifteen, and whereas they had 
 been very pretty before, to grow up quite plain ; 
 which truth she illustrated by many forcible ex- 
 amples, especially one of a young man, who, 
 being a builder with great prospects, had been 
 particular in his attentions to Barbara, but whom 
 Barbara would have nothing to say to ; which 
 (though everything happened for the best) she 
 almost thought was a pity. Kit said he thought 
 so too, and so he did honestly, and he wondered 
 what made Barbara so silent all at once, and 
 why his mother looked at him as if he shouldn't 
 have said it. 
 
 However, it was high time now to be thinking 
 of the play ; for which great preparation was re- 
 quired, in the way of shawls and bonnets, not to 
 mention one handkerchief full of oranges and 
 another of apples, which took some time tying 
 up, in consequence of the fruit having a tendency 
 to roll out at the corners. At length everything 
 was ready, and they went off" very fast ; Kit's 
 mother carrying the baby, who was dreadfully 
 wide awake, and Kit holding little Jacob in one 
 hand, and escorting Barbara with the other — a 
 state of things which occasioned the two mothers, 
 who walked behind, to declare that they looked 
 quite family folks, and caused Barbara to blush 
 and say, " Now don't, mother ! " But Kit said 
 she had no call to mind what they said ; and in- 
 deed she need not have had, if she had known 
 how very far from Kit's thoughts any love-making 
 was. Poor Barbara ! 
 
 At last they got to the theatre, which was 
 Astley's ; and in some two minutes after they had 
 reached the yet unopened door, little Jacob was 
 squeezed flat, and the baby had received divers 
 concussions, and Barbara's mother's umbrella 
 had been carried several yards off, and passed 
 back to her over the shoulders of the people, 
 and Kit had hit a man on the head with the 
 handkerchief of apples for " scrowdging " his 
 parent with unnecessary violence, and there was 
 a great uproar. But, when they were once past 
 the pay-place and tearing away for very life with 
 their checks in their hands, and, above all, when 
 they were fairly in the theatre, and seated in 
 such places that they couldn't have had better if 
 they had picked them out, and taken them be- 
 forehand, all this was looked upon as quite a 
 capital joke, and an essential part of the enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 Dear, dear, what a place it looked, that Ast- 
 ley's ! with all the paint, gilding, and looking- 
 
A HO LID A Y INDEED. 
 
 145 
 
 glass : the vague smell of horses suggestive of 
 coining wonders ; the curtain that hid such gorge- 
 ous mysteries ; the clean white sawdust down 
 in the circus ; the company coming in and taking 
 their places ; the fiddlers looking carelessly up 
 at them while they tuned their instruments, as if 
 they didn't want the play to begin, and knew it 
 all beforehand ! What a glow was that which 
 burst upon them all, when that long, clear, bril- 
 liant row of lights came slowly up ; and what the 
 
 feverish excitement when the little bell rang and 
 the music began in good earnest, with strong 
 parts for the drums, and sweet effects for the 
 triangles ! Well might Barbara's mother say to 
 Kit's mother that the gallery was the place to 
 see from, and wonder it wasn't much dearer 
 than the boxes ; well might Barbara feel doubt- 
 ful whether to laugh or cry in her flutter of 
 delight. 
 
 Then the play itself! the horses which httle 
 
 " AT LENGTH EVERYTHING WAS READY, AND THEY WENT OFF. 
 
 Jacob believed from the first to be alive, and 
 the ladies and gentlemen of whose reality he 
 could be by no means persuaded, having never 
 seen or heard anything at all like them — the 
 firing, which made Barbara wink — the forlorn 
 lady, who made her cry — the tyrant, who made 
 her tremble — the man who sang the song with 
 the lady's-maid and danced the chorus, who 
 made her laugh — the pony who reared up on his 
 hind-legs when he saw the murderer, and wouldn't 
 hear of walking on all fours again until he was 
 
 taken into custody — the clown who ventured on 
 such familiarities with the military' man in boots 
 — the lady who jumped over the nine-and-twenty 
 ribbons and came do^vn safe upon the horse's 
 back — everything was delightful, splendid, and 
 surprising ! Little Jacob applauded till his 
 hands were sore. Kit cried "an-kor" at the 
 end of everything, the three-act piece included ; 
 and Barbara's mother beat her umbrella on the 
 floor, in her ecstasies, until it was nearly worn 
 down to the gingham. 
 
146 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 In the midst of all these fascinations, Bar- 
 bara's thoughts seemed to have been still running 
 on what Kit had said at tea-time ; for, when they 
 were coming out of the play, she asked him, 
 with an hysterical simper, if Miss Nell was as 
 handsome as the lady who jumped over the 
 ribbons. 
 
 " As handsome as her ? " said Kit. " Double 
 as handsome." 
 
 " Oh, Christopher ! I'm sure she was the 
 beautifuUest creature ever was," said Barbara. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " returned Kit. " She was well 
 enough, I don't deny that ; but think how she 
 was dressed and painted, and what a difference 
 that made. Why, you are a good deal better- 
 looking than her, Barbara." 
 
 " Oh, Christopher ! " said Barbara, looking 
 down. 
 
 " You are, any day," said Kit, " and so's your 
 mother." 
 
 Poor Barbara ! 
 
 What was all this though — even all this — to 
 the extraordinary dissipation that ensued, when 
 Kit, walking into an oyster shop as bold as if he 
 lived there, and not so much as looking at the 
 counter or the man behind it, led his party into 
 a box— a private box, fitted up with red curtains, 
 white tablciCloth, and cruet-stand complete — and 
 ordered a fierce gentleman with whiskers, who 
 acted as waiter andccalled him, him, Christopher 
 Nubbles, " sir." to bring three dozen of his 
 largest-sized oysters, and to look sharp about it ? 
 Yes, Kit told this gentleman to look sharp, and 
 he not only said he would look sharp, but he 
 actually did, and presently came running back 
 with the newest loaves, and the freshest butter, 
 and the largest oysters, ever seen. Then said 
 Kit to this gentleman, "A pot of beer" — ^just 
 so— and the gentleman, instead of replying, " Sir, 
 did you address that language to me ? " only 
 said, " Pot o' beer, sir ? yes, sir," and went off 
 and fetched it, and put it on the table in a small 
 decanter-stand, like those which blind men's 
 dogs carry about the streets in their mouths, to 
 catch the halfpence in ; and both Kit's mother 
 and Barbara's mother declared, as he turned 
 away, that he was one of the slimmest and 
 gracefuUest young men she had ever looked 
 upon. 
 
 Then they fell to work upon the supper in 
 earnest; and there was Barbara, that foolish 
 Barbara, declaring that she couldn't eat more 
 than two, and wanting more pressing than yoU; 
 would believe before she would eat four : though 
 her mother and Kit's mother made up for it 
 pretty well, and ate and laughed and enjoyed 
 themselves so thoroughly that it did Kit good to 
 
 see them, and made him laugh and eat likewise 
 from strong sympathy. But the greatest miracle 
 of the night was little Jacob, who ate oysters as 
 if he had been born and bred to the business — 
 sprinkled the pepper and the vinegar with a dis- 
 cretion beyond his years — and aftenvards built a 
 grotto on the table with the shells. There was 
 the baby, too, who had never closed an eye all 
 night, but had sat as good as gold, trying to 
 force a large orange into his mouth, and gazing 
 intently at the lights in the chandelier — there he 
 was, sitting up in his mother's lap, staring at the 
 gas without winking, and making indentations in 
 his soft visage with an oyster shell, to that degree 
 that a heart of iron must have loved him ! In 
 short, there never was a more successful supper ; 
 and when Kit ordered in a glass of something 
 hot to finish with, and proposed Mr. and Mrs. 
 Garland before sending it round, there were not 
 six happier people in all the world. 
 
 But all happiness has an end — hence the chief 
 pleasure of' its next beginning — and as it was 
 now growing late, they agreed it was time to 
 turn their faces homewards. So, after going a 
 little out of their way to see Barbara and Bar- 
 bara's mother safe to a friend's house where they 
 were to pass the night. Kit and his mother left 
 them at the door, with an early appointment for 
 returning to Finchley next morning, and a great 
 many plans for next quarter's enjoyment. Then, 
 Kit took litde Jacob on his back, and giving his 
 arm to his mother, and a kiss to the baby, they 
 all trudged merrily home together. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 ^^ULL of that vague kind of penitence 
 which holidays awaken next morn- 
 ing. Kit turned out at sunrise, and, 
 with his faith in last night's enjoy- 
 ments a little shaken by cool day- 
 light and the return to every-day 
 duties and occupations, went to meet 
 Barbara and her mother at the appointed 
 And being careful not to awaken any of 
 the Uttle household, who were yet resting from 
 their unusual fatigues. Kit left his money on the 
 chimney-piece, with an inscription in chalk call- 
 ing his mother's attention to the circumstance, 
 and informing her that it came from her dutiful 
 son ; and went his way, with a heart something 
 heavier than his pockets, but free from any very 
 great oppression notwithstanding. 
 
 Oh these holidays ! Why will they leave us 
 some regret ? Why cannot we push them back 
 
 place. 
 
KIT WANTED, 
 
 147 
 
 only a week or two in our memories, so as to 
 put them at once at that convenient distance 
 whence they may be regarded either with a cahii 
 indifference or a pleasant effort of recollection ? 
 Why will they hang about us like the flavour of 
 yesterday's wine, suggestive of headaches and 
 lassitude, and those good intentions for the 
 future, which, under the earth, form the ever- 
 lasting pavement of a large estate, and, upon it, 
 usually endure until dinner-time or thereabouts? 
 
 Who will wonder that Barbara had a head- 
 ache, or that Barbara's mother was disposed to 
 be cross, or that she slightly underrated Astley's, 
 and thought the clown was older than they had 
 taken him to be last night ? Kit was not sur- 
 prised to hear her say so — not he. He had 
 already had a misgiving that the inconstant 
 actors in tliat dazzling vision had been doing 
 the same thing the night before last, and would 
 do it again that night, and the next, and for 
 weeks and months to come, though he would 
 not be there. Such is the difference between 
 yesterday and to-day. We are all going to the 
 play, or coming home from it. 
 
 However, the Sun himself is weak when he 
 first rises, and gathers strength and courage as 
 the day gets on. By degrees, they began to 
 recall circumstances more and more pleasant in 
 their nature, until, what between talking, walk- 
 ing, and laughing, they reached Finchley in such 
 good heart, that Barbara's mother declared she 
 never felt less tired or in better spirits. And so 
 said Kit. Barbara had been silent all the way, 
 but she said so too. Poor little Barbara ! She 
 was very quiet. 
 
 They were at home in such good time that Kit 
 had rubbed down the pony, and made him as 
 spruce as a race-horse, before Mr. Garland came 
 down to breakfast ; which punctual and indus- 
 trious conduct the old, lady, and the old gentle- 
 man, and Mr. Abel highly extolled. At his usual 
 hour (or rather, at his usual minute and second, 
 for he was the soul of punctuality) Mr. Abel 
 walked out, to be overtaken by the London 
 coach, and Kit and the old gentleman went to 
 work in the garden. 
 
 This was not the least pleasant of Kit's em- 
 ployments. On a fine day they were quite a 
 family party ; the old lady sitting hard by with 
 her work-basket on a little table ; the old gentle- 
 man digging, or pruning, or clipping about with 
 a large pair of shears, or helping Kit in some 
 way or other with great assiduity ; and Whisker 
 looking on from his paddock in placid contem- 
 plation of them all. To-day they were to trim 
 the grape-vine, so Kit mounted half-way up a 
 short ladder, and began to snip and hammer 
 
 away, while the old gentleman, with a great 
 interest in his proceedings, handed up the nails 
 and shreds of cloth as he wanted them. The 
 old lady and Whisker looked on as usual. 
 
 " Well, Christopher," said Mr. Garland, " and 
 so you have made a new friend, eh ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ? " returned Kit, 
 looking down from the ladder. 
 
 " You have made a new friend, I hear from 
 Mr. Abel," said the old gentleman, "at the 
 office." 
 
 " Oh — yes, sir, yes ! He behaved very hand- 
 some, sir." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it," returned the old gentle- 
 man with a smile. " He is disposed to behave 
 more handsomely still, though, Christopher," 
 
 " Indeed, sir ! It's very kind in him, but I 
 don't want him to, I'm sure," said Kit, hammer- 
 ing stoutly at an obdurate nail. 
 
 " He is rather anxious," pursued the old gen- 
 tleman, " to have you in his own service. Take 
 care what you're doing, or you will fall down and 
 ' hurt yourself." 
 
 " To have me in his service, sir ! " cried Kit, 
 who had stopped short in his work and faced 
 about on the ladder like some dexterous tumbler. 
 " Why, sir, I don't think he can be in earnest 
 when he says that." 
 
 " Oh ! But he is indeed." said Mr. Garland. 
 " And he has told Mr. Abel so." 
 
 " I never heard of such a thing ! " muttered 
 Kit, looking ruefully at his master and mistress. 
 " I wonder at him ; that I do." 
 
 "You see, Christopher," said Mr. Garland, 
 " this is a point of much importance to you, and 
 you should understand and consider it in that 
 light. This gentleman is able to give you more 
 money than I — not, I hope, to carry through 
 the various relations of master and servant more 
 kindness and confidence, but certainly, Chris- 
 topher, to give you more money." 
 
 "Well," said Kit, "after that, sir " 
 
 " Wait a moment," interposed Mr. Garland. 
 " That is not all. You were a very faithful ser- 
 vant to your old employers, as I understand, 
 and should this gentleman recover them, as it is 
 his purpose to attempt doing by every means in 
 his power, I have no doubt that you, being in 
 his service, would meet with your reward. Be- 
 sides," added the old gentleman with stronger 
 emphasis, " besides having the pleasure of being 
 again brought into communication with those 
 to whom you seem to be so very strongly and 
 disinterestedly attached. You must think of all 
 this, Christopher, and not be rash or hasty in 
 your choice." 
 
 Kit did suffer one twinge, one momentary 
 
 ■U. 
 
148 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 pang, in keeping the resolution he had already 
 formed, when this last argument passed swiftly 
 into his thoughts, and conjured up the realisa- 
 tion of all his hopes and fancies. But it was 
 gone in a minute, and he sturdily rejoined that 
 the gentleman must look out for somebody else, 
 as he did think he might have done at first. 
 
 " He has no right to think that I'd be led 
 away to go to him, sir," said Kit, turning round 
 again after half a minute's hammering. " Does 
 he think I'm a fool ? " 
 
 " He may, perhaps, Christopher, if you refuse 
 his offer," said Mr. Garland gravely. 
 
 " Then let him, sir," retorted Kit. '' What do 
 I care, sir, what he thinks ? Why should I care 
 for his thinking, sir, when I know that I should 
 be a fool, and worse than a fool, sir, to leave 
 the kindest master and mistress that ever was 
 or can be, who took me out of the streets a very 
 poor and hungry lad indeed — poorer and hun- 
 grier, perhaps, than ever you think for, sir — to go 
 to him or anybody ? If Miss Nell was to come 
 back, ma'am," added Kit, turning suddenly to 
 his mistress, " why that would be another thing, 
 and perhaps, if she wanted me, I might ask you 
 now and then to let me work for her when all 
 was done at home. But when she comes back, I 
 see now that she'll be rich as old master always 
 said she would, and being a rich young lady^ 
 what could she want of me? No, no," added 
 Kit, shaking his head sorrowfully, " she'll never 
 want me any more, and bless her, I hope she 
 never may. though I should like to see her 
 too!" 
 
 Here Kit drove a nail into the wall very hard 
 — much harder thg.n was necessary — and having 
 done so, faced about again. 
 
 " There's the pony, sir," said Kit, — "Whisker, 
 ma'am (and he knows so well I'm talking about 
 him that he begins to neigh directly, sir), — would 
 he let anybody come near him but me, ma'am ? 
 Here's the garden, sir, and Mr. Abel, ma'am. 
 Would Mr. Abel part with me, sir, or is there 
 anybody that could be fonder of the garden, 
 ma'am ? It would break mother's heart, sir, and 
 even little Jacob would have sense enough to 
 cry his eyes out, ma'am, if he thought that Mr. 
 Abel could wish to part with me so soon, after 
 having told me, only the other day, that he hoped 
 we might be together for years to come " 
 
 There is no telling how long Kit might have 
 stood upon the ladder, addressing his master 
 and mistress by turns, and generally turning 
 towards the wrong person, if Barbara had not 
 at that moment come running up to say that a 
 messenger from the office had brought a note, 
 which, with an expression of some surprise at 
 
 Kit's oratorical appearance, she put into her 
 master's hand. 
 
 " Oh !" said the old gentleman after reading 
 it, " ask the messenger to walk this way." Bar- 
 bara tripping off to do as she was bid, he 
 turned to Kit, and said that they would not 
 pursue the subject any further, and that Kit 
 could not be more unwilling to part with them 
 than they would be to part with Kit ; a senti- 
 ment which the old lady very generously echoed. 
 
 " At the same time, Christopher," added Mr. 
 Garland, glancing at the note in his hand, "if 
 the gentleman should want to borrow you now 
 and then for an hour or so, or even a day or so, 
 at a time^ we must consent to lend you, and you 
 must consent to be lent. — Oh ! here is the young 
 gentleman. How do you do, sir.?" 
 
 This salutation was addressed to Mr. Chuck- 
 ster, who, with his hat extremely on one side, 
 and his hair a long way beyond it, came swag- 
 gering up the walk. 
 
 " Hope I see you well, sir," returned that 
 gentleman. " Hope I see you well, ma'am. 
 Charming box this, sir. Delicious country to 
 be sure." 
 
 " You want to take Kit back Avith you, I 
 find?" observed Mr. Garland. 
 
 " I've got a chariot-cab waiting on purpose," 
 replied the clerk. " A very spanking grey in 
 that cab, sir, if you're a judge of horse-flesh." 
 
 Declining to inspect the spanking grey, on the 
 plea that he was but poorly acquainted with such 
 matters, and would but imperfectly appreciate 
 his beauties, Mr. Garland invited Mr. Chuckster 
 to partake of a slight repast in the way of lunch. 
 That gentleman readily consenting, certain cold 
 viands, flanked with ale and wine, were speedily 
 prepared for his refreshment. At this repast Mr. 
 Chuckster exerted his utmost abilities to enchant 
 his entertainers, and impress them with a con- 
 viction of the mental superiority of those who- 
 dwelt in town ; with which view he led the dis- 
 course to the small scandal of the day, in which- 
 he was justly considered by his friends to shine 
 prodigiously. Thus, he was in a condition to 
 relate the exact circumstances of the difference 
 between the Marquis of Mizzler and Lord Bobby, 
 which it appeared originated in a disputed bottle 
 of champagne, and not in a pigeon-pie,' as 
 erroneously reported in the newspapers ; neither 
 had Lord Bobby said to the Marquis of Mizzler, 
 " Mizzler, one of us two tells a lie, and I'm not 
 the man," as incorrectly stated by the same 
 authorities; but, "Mizzler, you know where I'm 
 to be found, and, damme, sir, find me if yoa^ 
 want me" — which, of course, entirely changed 
 the aspect of this interesting question, and placed- 
 
THE SINGLE GENTLEMAN MEETS WITH ANOTHER DIFFICULTY. 149 
 
 it in a very different light. He also acquainted 
 them with the precise amount of the income 
 guaranteed by the Duke of Thigsberry to Vio- 
 letta Stetta of the Italian Opera, which it 
 appeared was payable quarterly, and not half- 
 yearly, as the public had been given to under- 
 stand, and which was <fjcclusive, and not /^elusive, 
 (as had been monstrously stated,) of jewellery, 
 perfumery, hair powder for five footmen, and two 
 daily changes of kid gloves for a page. Having 
 entreated the old lady and gentleman to set their 
 minds at rest on these absorbing points, for they 
 might rely on his statement being the correct 
 one, Mr. Chuckster entertained them with thea- 
 trical chit-chat and the court circular ; and so 
 wound up a brilliant and fascinating conversa- 
 tion which he had maintained alone, and with- 
 out any assistance whatever, for upwards of 
 three-quarters of an hour. 
 
 "And now that the nag has got his wind 
 again," said Mr. Chuckster, rising in a graceful 
 manner, " I'm afraid I must cut my stick." 
 
 Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Garland offered any 
 opposition to his tearing himself away, (feeling, 
 no doubt, that such a man could ill be spared 
 from his proper sphere of action,) and therefore 
 Mr. Chuckster and Kit were shortly afterwards 
 upon their way to town ; Kit being perched upon 
 the box of the cabriolet beside the driver, and 
 Mr. Chuckster seated in solitary state inside, 
 with one of his boots sticking out at each of the 
 front windows. 
 
 When they reached the notary's house, Kit 
 followed into the office, and was desired by Mr. 
 Abel to sit down and wait, for the gentleman 
 who wanted him had gone out, and perhaps 
 might not return for some time. This anticipa- 
 tion was strictly verified, for Kit had had his 
 dinner, and his tea, and had read all the lighter 
 matter in the Law-List and the Post-Office 
 Directory, and had fallen asleep a great many 
 times, before the gentleman whom he had seen 
 before came in ; which he did at last in a very 
 great hurry. 
 
 He was closeted with Mr. Witherden for some 
 little time, and Mr. Abel had been called in to 
 assist at the conference, before Kit, wondering 
 very much what he was wanted for, was sum- 
 moned to attend them. 
 
 " Christopher," said the gentleman, turning to 
 him directly he entered the room, " I have found 
 your old master and young mistress." 
 
 "No, sir! Have you, though?" returned 
 Kit, his eyes sparkhng with delight. " Where 
 are they, sir? How are they, sir? Are they — 
 are they near here?" 
 
 " A long way from here," returned the gentle- 
 
 man, shaking his head. " But I am going away 
 to-night to bring them back, and I want you to 
 go with me." 
 
 "Me, sir?" cried Kit, full of joy and surprise. 
 
 " The place," said the strange gentleman, 
 turning thoughtfully to the notary, " indicated 
 by this man of the dogs, is — how far from here 
 — sixty miles?" 
 
 " From sixty to seventy." 
 
 " Humph ! If we travel post all night, we 
 shall reach there in good time to-morrow morn- 
 ing. Now, the only question is, as they will not 
 know me, and the child, God bless her, would 
 think that any stranger pursuing them had a 
 design upon her grandfather's Hberty, — can I do 
 better than take this lad, whom they both know 
 and will readily remember, as an assurance to 
 them of my friendly intentions?" 
 
 " Certainly not," replied the notary. " Take 
 Christopher by all means." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Kit, who had 
 listened to this discourse with a lengthening 
 countenance, "but, if that's the reason, I'm 
 afraid I should do more harm than good. Miss 
 Nell, sir, she knows me, and would trust in me, 
 I am sure ; but old master — I don't know why,, 
 gentlemen ; nobody does — would not bear me 
 in his sight after he had been ill, and Miss Nell 
 herself told me that I must not go near him, or 
 let him see me any more. I should spoil all 
 that you were doing if I went, I'm afraid. I'd 
 give the world to go, but you had better not 
 take me, sir." 
 
 "Another difficulty!" cried the impetuous 
 gentleman. " Was ever man so beset as I ? Is 
 there nobody else that knew them, nobody else 
 in whom they had any confidence ? Solitary as 
 their lives were, is there no one person wha 
 would serve my purpose?" 
 
 "/i- there, Christopher?" said the notary. 
 
 " Not one, sir," replied Kit. " Yes, though — 
 there's my mother." 
 
 " Did they know her ? " said the single gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " Know her, sir ! Why, she was always com- 
 ing backwards and forwards. They were as kind 
 to her as they were to me. Bless you, sir, she 
 expected they'd come back to her house." 
 
 "Then where the devil is the woman?" said 
 the impatient gentleman, catching up his hat. 
 " Why isn't she here ? Why is that woman 
 always out of the way when she is most wanted ?" 
 
 In a word, the single gentleman was bursting 
 out of the office, bent upon laying violent hands 
 on Kit's mother, forcing her into a post-chaise, 
 and carrying her off, when this novel kind of 
 abduction was with some .difficulty prevented 
 
ISO 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 by the joint efforts of Mr. Abel and the notary, 
 who restrained him by dint of their remon- 
 strances, and persuaded him to sound Kit upon 
 the probabiHty of her being able and willing to 
 undertake such a journey on so short a notice. 
 
 This occasioned some doubts on the part of 
 Kit, and some violent demonstrations on that of 
 the single gentleman, and a great many soothing 
 speeches on that of the notary and Mr. Abel. 
 The upshot of the business was, that Kit, after 
 weighing the matter in his mind and considering 
 it carefully, promised, on behalf of his mother, 
 that she should be ready within two hours from 
 that time to undertake the expedition, and 
 engaged to produce her in that place, in all 
 respects equipped and prepared for the journey, 
 before the specified period had expired. 
 
 Having given this pledge, which was rather a 
 bold one, and not particularly easy of redemp- 
 tion, Kit lost no time in sallying forth and taking 
 measures for its immediate fulfilment. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 ilT made his way through the crowded 
 streets, dividing the stream of people, 
 dashing across the busy roadways, 
 diving into lanes and alleys, and 
 stopping or turning aside for nothing, 
 until he came in front of the Old 
 Curiosity Shop, when he came to a stand ; 
 partly from habit, and partly from being 
 out of breath. 
 
 It was a gloomy autumn evening, and he 
 thought the old place had never looked so dismal 
 as in its dreary twilight. The windows broken, 
 the rusty sashes rattling in their frames, the 
 deserted house a dull barrier dividing the glaring 
 lights and bustle of the street into two long lines, 
 and standing in the midst cold, dark, and empty, 
 — presented a cheerless spectacle which mingled 
 harshly with the bright prospects the boy had 
 been building up for its late inmates, and came 
 like a disappointment or misfortune. Kit would 
 have had a good fire roaring up the empty 
 chimneys, lights sparkling and shining through 
 the windows, people moving briskly to and fro, 
 voices in cheerful conversation, something in 
 unison with the new hopes that were astir. He 
 had not expected that the house would wear any 
 different aspect — had known, indeed, that it 
 could not — but coming upon it in the midst of 
 eager thoughts and expectations, it checked the 
 current in its flow, and darkened it with a mourn- 
 ful shadow. 
 
 Kit, however, fortunately for himself, was not 
 learned enough or contemplative enough to be 
 troubled with presages of evil afar off, and, 
 having no mental spectacles to assist his vision 
 in this respect, saw nothing but the dull house, 
 which jarred uncomfortably upon his previous 
 thoughts. So, almost wishing that he had not 
 passed it, though hardly knowing why, he hurried 
 on again, making up by his increased speed for 
 the few moments he had lost. 
 
 " Now, if she should be out," thought Kit as 
 he approached the poor dwelling of his mother, 
 " and I not able to find her, this impatient gen- 
 tleman would be in a pretty taking. And sure 
 enough there's no light, and the door's fast. 
 Now, God forgive me for saying so, but if this is 
 Little Bethel's doing, I wish Little Bethel was — 
 was farther off," said Kit, checking himself, and 
 knocking at the door. 
 
 A second knock brought no reply from within 
 the house ; but caused a woman over the way to 
 look out and inquire who that was a wanting 
 Mrs. Nubbles. 
 
 " Me," said Kit. " She's at— at Little Bethel, 
 I suppose ? '- — getting out the name of the ob- 
 noxious conventicle with some reluctance, and 
 laying a spiteful emphasis upon the words. 
 
 The neighbour nodded assent. 
 
 "Then pray tell me where it is," said Kit, 
 "for I have come on a pressing matter, and 
 must fetch her out, even if she was in the 
 pulpit." 
 
 It was not very easy to procure a direction to 
 the fold in question, as none of the neighbours 
 were of the flock that resorted thither, and if^ 
 knew anything more of it than the name. At 
 last, a gossip of Mrs. Nubbles's, who had accom- 
 panied her to chapel on one or two occasions 
 when a comfortable cup of tea had preceded her 
 devotions, furnished the needful information, 
 which Kit had no sooner obtained than he 
 started off again. 
 
 Little Bethel might have been nearer, and 
 might have been in a straighter road^ though in 
 that case the reverend gentleman who presided 
 over its congregation would have lost his fa- 
 vourite allusion to the crooked ways by which it 
 was approached, and which enabled him to liken 
 it to Paradise itself, in contradistinction to the 
 parish church and the broad thoroughfare lead- 
 ing thereunto. Kit found it, at last, after some 
 trouble, and pausing at the door to take breath 
 that he might enter with becoming decency, 
 passed into the chapel. 
 
 It was not badly named in one respect, being 
 in truth a particularly little Bethel — a Bethel of 
 the smallest dimensions — with a small number 
 
THE SHEEP IN THE FOLD. 
 
 151 
 
 of small pews, and a small pulpit, in which a 
 small gentleman (by trade a Shoemaker, and by- 
 calling a Divine) was delivering, in a by no 
 means small voice, a by no means small sermon, 
 judging of its dimensions by the condition of his 
 audience, which, if their gross amount were but 
 small, comprised a still smaller number of hearers, 
 as the majority were slumbering. 
 
 Among these was Kit's mother, who, finding 
 it matter of extreme difficulty to keep her eyes 
 open after the fatigues of last night, and feeling 
 their inclination to close strongly backed and 
 seconded by the arguments of the preacher, had 
 yielded to the drowsiness that overpowered 
 her, and fallen asleep ; though not so soundly 
 but that she could, from time to time, utter a' 
 slight and almost inaudible groan, as if in recog- 
 nition of the orator's doctrines. The baby in 
 her arms was as fast asleep as she ; and little 
 Jacob, whose youth prevented him from recog- 
 nising in this prolonged spiritual nourishment 
 anything half as interesting as oysters, was alter- 
 nately very fast asleep and very wide awake,. as 
 his inclination to slumber, or his terror of being 
 personally alluded to in the discourse, gained 
 the mastery over him. 
 
 " And now I'm here," thought Kit, gliding into 
 the nearest empty pew which was opposite his 
 mother's, and on the other side of the little 
 aisle, " how am I ever to get at her, or persuade 
 her to come out ? I might as well be twenty 
 miles off. She'll never wake till it's all over, and 
 there goes the clock again ! If he would but 
 leave off for a minute, or if they'd only sing ! " 
 
 But there was little encouragement to believe 
 that either event would happen for a couple of 
 hours to come. The preacher went on telling 
 them what he meant to convince them of before 
 he had done, and it was clear that if he only 
 kept to one-half of his promises and forgot the 
 other, he was good for that time at least. 
 
 In his desperation and restlessness Kit cast 
 his eyes about the chapel, and, happening to let 
 them fall upon a little seat in front of the clerk's 
 desk, could scarcely believe them when they 
 showed him — Quilp ! 
 
 He rubbed them twice or thrice, but still they 
 insisted that Quilp was there, and there indeed 
 he was, sitting with his hands upon his knees, 
 and his hat between them, on a little wooden 
 bracket, with the accustomed grin on his dirty 
 face, and his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. He 
 certainly did not glance at Kit or at his mother, 
 and appeared utterly unconscious of their pre- 
 sence ; still Kit could not help feeling, directly, 
 that the attention of the sly little fiend was fast- 
 ened upon them, and upon nothing else. 
 
 But, astounded as he was by the apparition of 
 the dwarf among the Little Bethelites, and not 
 free from a misgiving that it was the forerunner 
 of some trouble or annoyance, he was compelled 
 to subdue his wonder, and to take active mea- 
 sures for the withdrawal of his parent, as the 
 evening was now creeping on, and the matter 
 grew serious. Therefore, the next time little 
 Jacob woke. Kit set himself to attract his wan- 
 dering attention, and this not being a very diffi- 
 cult task (one sneeze effected it), he signed to 
 him to rouse his mother. 
 
 Ill-luck would have it, however, that, just 
 then, the preacher, in a forcible exposition of one 
 head of his discourse, leaned over upon the 
 pulpit-desk, so that very little more of him than 
 his legs remained inside : and, while he made 
 vehement gestures with his right hand, and held 
 on with his left, stared, or seemed to stare, 
 straight into little Jacob's eyes, threatening him 
 by his strained look and attitude — so it appeared 
 to the child — that if he so much as moved a 
 muscle, he, the preacher, would be literally, and 
 not figuratively, " down upon him" that instant. 
 In this fearful state of things, distracted by the 
 sudden appearance of Kit, and fascinated by the 
 eyes of the preacher, the miserable Jacob sat 
 bolt upright, wholly incapable of motion, strongly 
 disposed to cry, but afraid to do so, and return- 
 ing his pastor's gaze until his infant eyes seemed 
 starting from their sockets. 
 
 " If I must do it openly I must," thought K.it. 
 With that he walked softly out of his pew and 
 into his mother's, and, as Mr. Swiveller would 
 have observed if he had been present, " collared" 
 the baby without speaking a word. 
 
 " Hush, mother ! " whispered Kit. " Come 
 along with me. I've got something to tell you." 
 
 " Where am I ?" said Mrs. Nubbles. 
 
 " In this blessed Little Bethel," returned her 
 son peevishly. 
 
 " Blessed indeed ! " cried Mrs. Nubbles, catch- 
 ing at the word. " Oh, Christopher, how have I 
 been edified this night ! " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know," said Kit hastily; "but 
 come along, mother, everybody's looking at us. 
 Don't make a noise — bring Jacob — that's right ! " 
 
 " Stay, Satan, stay ! " cried the preacher as Kit 
 was moving off. 
 
 " The gentleman says you're to stay, Christo- 
 pher," whispered his mother. 
 
 " Stay, Satan, stay ! " roared the preacher 
 again, " Tempt not the woman that doth in- 
 cline her ear to thee, but hearken to the voice of 
 him that calleth. He hath a lamb from the 
 fold ! " cried the preacher, raising his voice still 
 higher, and pointing to the baby. " He beareth 
 
152 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 off a lamb, a precious lamb ! He goeth about, 
 like a wolf in the night season, and inveigleth 
 the tender lambs ! " 
 
 Kit was the best-tempered fellow in the world, 
 but considering this strong language, and being 
 somewhat excited by the circumstances in which 
 he was placed, he faced round to the pulpit with 
 the baby in his arms, and replied aloud : 
 
 " No, 1 don't. He's my brother," 
 
 '* He's my brother ! " cried the preacher. 
 
 " He isn't," said Kit indignantly. " How can 
 you say such a thing ? — And don't call me names, 
 if you please ; what harm have I done ? I 
 shouldn't have come to take 'era away, unless I 
 was obliged, you may depend upon that. I 
 wanted to do it very quiet, but you wouldn't let 
 me. Now, you have the goodness to abuse 
 Satan and them as much as you like, sir, and to 
 let me alone, if you please." 
 
 So saying. Kit marched out of the chapel, 
 followed by his mother and little Jacob, and 
 found himself in the open air, with an indistinct 
 recollection of having seen the people wake up 
 and look surprised, and of Quilp having re- 
 mained, throughout the interruption, in his old 
 attitude, without moving his eyes from the ceil- 
 ing, or appearing to take the smallest notice of 
 anything that passed. 
 
 " Oh, Kit ! " said his mother, with her hand- 
 kerchief to her eyes, " what have you done ? I 
 never can go there again — never ! " 
 
 ," I'm glad of it, mother. What was there in 
 the little bit of pleasure you took last night that 
 made it necessary for you to be low-spirited and 
 sorrowful to-night ? That's the way you do. If 
 you're happy or merry ever, you come here to 
 say, along with that chap, that you're sorry for 
 it. More shame for you, mother, I was going 
 to say." 
 
 " Hush, dear ! " said Mrs. Nubbles ; " you 
 don't mean what you say, I know, but you're 
 talking sinfulness." 
 
 " Don't mean it ? But I do mean it ! " re- 
 torted Kit. " I don't believe, mother, that 
 harmless cheerfulness and good-humour are 
 thought greater sins in Heaven than shirt-collars 
 are, and I do believe that those chaps are just 
 about as right and sensible in putting down the 
 one as in leaving off the other — that's my belief. 
 But I won't say anything more about it, if you'll 
 promise not to cry, that's all ; and you take the 
 baby that's a hghter weight, and give me little 
 Jacob ; and as we go along (which we must do 
 pretty quick) I'll tell you the news I bring, which 
 will surprise you a little, I can tell you. There 
 ■ — that's right. Now you look as if you'd never 
 seen Little Bethel in all your life, as I hope you 
 
 never will again ; and here's the baby ; and Httle 
 Jacob, you get atop of my back, and catch hold 
 of me tight round the neck, and, whenever a 
 Little Bethel parson calls you a precious lamb, 
 or says your brother's one, you tell him it's the 
 truest thing he's said for a twelvemonth, and that 
 if he'd got a little more of the lamb himself, and 
 less of the mint sauce — not being quite so sharp 
 and sour over it — I should like him all the better. 
 That's what you've got to say to him, Jacob ! " 
 
 Talking on in this way, half in jest and half in 
 earnest, and cheering up his mother, the children, 
 and himself, by the one simple process of deter- 
 mining to be in a good humour, Kit led them 
 _ briskly forward ; and, on the road home, he 
 related what had passed at the notary's house, 
 and the purpose with which he had intruded on 
 the solemnities of Little Bethel. 
 
 His mother was not a little startled on learning 
 what service was required of her, and presently 
 fell into a confusion of ideas, of which the most 
 prominent were that it was a great honour and 
 dignity to ride in a post-chaise, and that it was 
 a moral impossibility to leave the children be- 
 hind. But this objection, and a great many 
 others, founded on certain articles of dress being 
 at the wash, and certain other articles having no 
 existence in the wardrobe of Mrs. Nubbles, were 
 overcome by Kit, who opposed to each and 
 every of them the pleasure of recovering Nell, 
 and the delight it would be to bring her back in 
 triumph. 
 
 " There's only ten minutes now, mother," said 
 Kit when they reached home. " There's a 
 bandbox. Throw in what you want, and we'll 
 be off directly." 
 
 To tell how Kit then hurtled into the box all 
 sorts of things which could, by no remote con- 
 tingency, be wanted, and how he left out every- 
 thing likely to be of the smallest use ; how a 
 neighbour was persuaded to come and stop with 
 the children, and how the children at first cried 
 dismally, and then laughed heartily on being 
 promised all kinds of impossible and unheard-of 
 toys ; how Kit's mother wouldn't leave off kissing 
 them, and how Kit couldn't make up his mind 
 to be vexed with her for doing it ; would take 
 more time and room than you and I can spare. 
 So, passing over all such matters, it is sufficient 
 to say that within a few minutes after the two 
 hours had expired. Kit and his mother arrived 
 at the notary's door, where a post-chaise was 
 already waiting. 
 
 " With four horses, I declare !" said Kit, quite 
 aghast at the preparations. "Well, you are 
 going to do it, mother ! Here she is, sir. Here's 
 my mother. She's quite ready, sir." 
 
FURTHER FORTUNES OF LITTLE NELL. 
 
 153 
 
 " That's well," returned the gentleman. " Now, 
 don't be in a flutter, ma'am ; you'll be taken 
 great care of. Where's the box with the new 
 clothing and necessaries for them?" 
 
 " Here it is," said the notary. " In with it, 
 Christopher." 
 
 '■'■ All right, sir," replied Kit. " Quite ready 
 now, sir." 
 
 "Then come along," said the single gentle- 
 man. And thereupon he gave his arm to Kit's 
 mother, handed her into the carriage as politely 
 as you please, and took his seat beside her. 
 
 Up went the steps, bang went the door, round 
 whirled the wheels, and off they rattled, with 
 Kit's mother hanging out at one window waving 
 a damp pocket-handkerchief, and screaming out 
 a great many messages to little Jacob and the 
 baby, of which nobody heard a word. 
 
 Kit stood in the middle of the road, and looked 
 after them with tears in his eyes — not brought 
 there by the departure he witnessed, but by the 
 return to which he looked forward. "They 
 went away," he thought, " on foot, with nobody 
 to speak to them or say a kind word at parting, 
 and they'll come back, drawn by four horses, 
 with this rich gentleman for their friend, and all 
 their troubles over ! She'll forget that she taught 
 me to write " 
 
 Whatever Kit thought about, after this, took 
 some time to think of, for he stood gazing up 
 the lines of shining lamps, long after the chaise 
 had disappeared, and did not return into the 
 house until the notary and Mr. Abel, who had 
 themselves lingered outside till the sound of the 
 wheels was no longer distinguishable, had several 
 times wondered what could possibly detain him. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 T behoves us to leave Kit for awhile, 
 thoughtful and expectant, and to fol- 
 low the fortunes of little Nell ; re- 
 suming the thread of the narrative 
 at the point where it was left, some 
 ^^ chapters back. 
 
 ^^ ^ In one of those wanderings in the 
 «^ evening-time, when, following the two 
 
 sisters at a humble distance, she felt, in her sym- 
 pathy with them and her recognition in their 
 trials of something akin to her own loneliness of 
 spirit, a comfort and consolation which made 
 such moments a time of deep delight, though 
 the softened pleasure they yielded was of that 
 kind which lives and dies in tears — in one of 
 those wanderings at the quiet hour of twilight. 
 
 when sky, and earth, and air, and rippling water, 
 and sound of distant bells, claimed kindred with 
 the emotions of the solitary child, and inspired 
 her with soothing thoughts, but not of a child's 
 world or its easy joys — in one of those rambles 
 which had now become her only pleasure or 
 relief from care, light had faded into darkness 
 and evening deepened into night, and still the 
 young creature lingered in the gloom ; feeling a 
 companionship in Nature so serene and still, 
 when noise of tongues and glare of garish lights 
 would have been solitude indeed. 
 
 The sisters had gone home, and she was alone. 
 She raised her eyes to the bright stars, looking 
 down so mildly from the wide worlds of air, and, 
 gazing on them, found new stars burst upon her 
 view, and more beyond, and more beyond again, 
 until the whole great expanse sparkled with 
 shining spheres, rising higher and higher in 
 immeasurable space, eternal in their numbers as 
 in their changeless and incorruptible existence. 
 She bent over the calm river, and saw them 
 shining in the same majestic order as when the 
 dove beheld them gleaming through the swollen 
 waters, upon the mountain-tops down far below, 
 and dead mankind, a mihion fathoms deep. 
 
 The child sat silently beneath a tree, hushed 
 in her very breath by the stillness of the night, 
 and all its attendant wonders. The time and 
 place awoke reflection, and she thought with a 
 quiet hope — less hope, perhaps, than resignation 
 — on the past, and present, and what was yet 
 before her. Between the old man and herself 
 there had come a gradual separation, harder to 
 bear than any former sorrow. Every evening, 
 and often in the daytime too, he was absent, 
 alone; and although she well knew where he 
 went, and why — too well from the constant 
 drain upon her scanty purse and from his hag- 
 gard looks — he evaded all inquiry, maintained 
 a strict reserve, and even shunned her presence. 
 
 She sat meditating sorrowfully upon this 
 change, and mingling it, as it were, with every- 
 thing about her, when the distant church-clock 
 bell struck nine. Rising at the sound, she re- 
 traced her step, and turned thoughtfully towards 
 the town. 
 
 She had gained a little wooden bridge, which, 
 thrown across the stream, led into a meadow in 
 her way, when she came suddenly upon a ruddy 
 light, and looking forward more attentively, dis- 
 cerned that it proceeded from what appeared to 
 be an encampment of gipsies, who had made a 
 fire in one corner at no great distance from the 
 path, and were sitting or lying round it. As 
 she was too poor to have any fear of them, she 
 did not alter her course, (which, indeed, she 
 
^54 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 could not have done without going a long way 
 round,) but quickened her pace a little, and 
 kept straight on. 
 
 A movement of timid curiosity impelled her, 
 when she approached the spot, to glance towards 
 the fire. There was a form between it and her, 
 the outline strongly developed against the light, 
 which caused her to stop abruptly. Then, as if 
 she had reasoned with herself, and were assured 
 that it could not be, or had satisfied herself that 
 it was not, that of the person she had supposed, 
 she went on again. 
 
 But at that instant the conversation, whatever 
 it was, which had been carried on near this fire was 
 resumed, and the tones of the voice that spoke 
 — she could not distinguish words — sounded as 
 familiar to her as her own. 
 
 She turned, and looked back. The person 
 had been seated before, but was now in a stand- 
 ing posture, and leaning forward on a stick on 
 which he rested both hands. The attitude was 
 no less familiar to her than the tone of voice had 
 been. It was her grandfather. 
 
 Her first impulse was to call to him ; her next 
 to wonder who his associates could be, and for 
 what purpose they were together. Some vague 
 apprehension succeeded, and, yielding to the 
 strong inclination it awakened, she drew nearer to 
 the place ; not advancing across the open field, 
 however, but creeping towards it by the hedge. 
 
 In this way she advanced within a few feet 
 of the fire, and standing among a few young 
 trees, could both see and hear, without much 
 danger of being observed. 
 
 There were no wonjen or children, as she had 
 seen in other gipsy camps they had passed in 
 their wayfaring, and but one gipsy — a tall athletic 
 man, who stood with his arms folded, leaning 
 against a tree at a little distance off, looking now 
 at the fire, and now, under his black eyelashes, 
 at three other men who were there, with a watch- 
 ful but half-concealed interest in their conversa- 
 tion. Of these, her grandfather was one ; the 
 others she recognised as the first card-players at 
 the public-house on the eventful night of the 
 storm — the man whom they had called Isaac 
 List, and his gruff companion. One of the low, 
 arched gipsy tents, common to that people, was 
 pitched hard by, but it either was, or appeared 
 to be, empty. 
 
 "Well, are you going?" said the stout man, 
 looking up from the ground where he was lying 
 at his ease, into her grandfather's face. " You 
 were in a mighty hurry a minute ago. Go, if 
 you like. You're your own master, I hope?" 
 
 " Don't vex him," returned Isaac List, who 
 was squatting hke a frog on the other side of 
 
 the fire, and had so screwed himself up that he 
 seemed to be squinting all over : " he didn't 
 mean any offence." 
 
 "You keep me poor, and plunder me, and 
 make a sport and jest of me besides," said the 
 old man, turning from one to the other. " Ye'll 
 drive me mad among ye." 
 
 The utter irresolution and feebleness of the 
 grey-haired child, contrasted with the keen and 
 cunning looks of those in whose hands he was, 
 smote upon the little listener's heart. But she 
 constrained herself to attend to all that passed, 
 and to note each look and word. 
 
 " Confound you, what do you mean ?" said 
 the stout man, rising a little, and supporting 
 himself on his elbow. " Keep you poor ! You'd 
 keep us poor if you could, wouldn't you ? That's 
 the way with you whining, puny, pitiful players. 
 When you lose, you're martyrs ; but I don't find 
 that when you win, you look upon the other 
 losers in that light. As to plunder !" cried the 
 fellow, raising his voice — " damme, what do you 
 mean by such ungentlemanly language as plun- 
 der, eh?" 
 
 The speaker laid himself down again at full 
 length, and gave one or two short, angry kicks, 
 as if in further expression of his unbounded in- 
 dignation. It was quite plain that he acted the 
 bully, and his friend the peacemaker, for some 
 particular purpose ; or rather, it would have been 
 to any one but the weak old man ; for they ex- 
 changed glances quite openly, both with each 
 other and with the gipsy, who grinned his 
 approval of the jest until his white teeth shone 
 again. 
 
 The old man stood helplessly among them for 
 a little time, and then said, turning to his as- 
 sailant : 
 
 " You yourself were speaking of plunder just 
 now, you know. Don't be so violent with me. 
 You were, were you not?" 
 
 " Not of plundering among present company. 
 Honour among — among gentlemen, sir," returned 
 the other, who seemed to have been very near 
 giving an awkward termination to the sentence. 
 
 " Don't be hard upon him. Jowl," said Isaac 
 List. " He's very sorry for giving offence. 
 There — go on with what you were saying — go 
 on." 
 
 " I'm a jolly old tender-hearted lamb, I am," 
 cried Mr. Jowl, " to be sitting here at my time 
 of life giving advice, when 1 know it won't be 
 taken, and that I shall get nothing but abuse for 
 my pains. But that's the way I've gone through 
 life. Experience has never put a chill upon my 
 warm-heartedness." 
 
 "I tell you he's very sorry, don't I?" re- 
 
THE OLD TEMPTATION AND NEW TEMPTERS. 
 
 155 
 
 monstrated Isaac List, "and that he wishes 
 you'd go on." 
 
 '■'Does he wish it?" said the other. 
 
 " Ay," groaned the old man, sitting down, and 
 rocking himself to and fro. "Go on, go on. 
 It's in vain to fight with it ; I can't do it ; go 
 on." 
 
 " I go on, then," said Jowl, " where I left off, 
 when you got up so quick. If you're persuaded 
 that it's time for luck to turn, as it certainly is, 
 and find that you haven't means enough to try 
 it, (and that's where it is, for you know, yourself, 
 that you never have the funds to keep on long 
 enough at a sitting,) help yourself to what seems 
 put in your way on purpose. Borrow it, I say, 
 and, when you're able, pay it back again." 
 
 "Certainly," Isaac List struck in, "if this 
 good lady as keeps the wax-works has money, 
 and does keep it in a tin box when she goes to 
 bed, and doesn't .lock her door for fear of fire, it 
 seems a easy thing; quite a Providence, / 
 should call it — but then I've been religiously 
 brought up." 
 
 " You see, Isaac," said his friend, growing 
 more eager, and drawing himself closer to the 
 old man, while he signed to the gipsy not to 
 come between them ; " you see, Isaac, strangers 
 are going in and out, every hour of the day; 
 nothing would be more likely than for one of 
 these strangers to get under the good lady's bed, 
 or lock himself in the cupboard ; suspicion would 
 be very wide, and would fall a long way from the 
 mark, no doubt. I'd give him his revenge to 
 the last farthing he brought, whatever the amount 
 was." 
 
 "But could you?" urged Isaac List. "Is 
 your bank strong enough?" 
 
 " Strong enough ! " answered the other with 
 assumed disdain. " Here, you sir, give me that 
 box out of the straw ! " 
 
 This was addressed to the gipsy, who crawled 
 into the low tent on all fours, and after some 
 rummaging and rustling returned with a cash- 
 box, which the man who had spoken opened 
 with a key he wore about his person. 
 
 " Do you see this?" he said, gathering up the 
 money in his hand, and letting it drop back into 
 the box, between his fingers, like water. " Do 
 you hear it ? Do you know the sound of gold ? 
 There, put it back — and don't talk about banks 
 again, Isaac, till you've got one of your own." 
 
 Isaac List, with great apparent humility, pro- 
 tested that he had never doubted the credit of a 
 gentleman so notorious for his honourable dealing 
 as Mr. Jowl, and that he had hinted at the pro- 
 duction of the box, not for the satisfaction of his 
 doubts, for he could have none, but with a view 
 
 to being regaled with a sight of so much wealth, 
 which, though it might be deemed by some but 
 an. unsubstantial and visionary pleasure, was to 
 one in his circumstances a source of extreme 
 delight, only to be surpassed by its safe depository 
 in his own personal pockets. Although Mr. List 
 and Mr. Jowl addressed themselves to each 
 other, it was remarkable that they both looked 
 narrowly at the old man, who, with his eyes fixed 
 upon the fire, sat brooding over it, yet listening 
 eagerly — as it seemed, from a certain involun- 
 tary motion of the head, or twitching of the face 
 from time to time — to all they said. 
 
 " My advice," said Jowl, lying down again, 
 with a careless air, " is plain — I have given it, in 
 fact. I act as a friend. Why should I help a 
 man to the means perhaps of winning all I haye, 
 unless I considered him ray friend ? It's foolish, 
 I dare say, to be so thoughtful of the welfare of 
 other people, but that's my constitution, and I 
 can't help it ; so don't blame me, Isaac List." 
 
 "/blame you!" returned the person ad- 
 dressed ; " not for the world, Mr. Jowl. I wish 
 I could afford to be as liberal as you ; and, as 
 you say, he might pay it back if he won — and if 
 he lost " 
 
 " You're not to take that into consideration at 
 all," said Jowl. "But suppose he did, ^and 
 nothing's less likely, from all I know of chances,) 
 why, it's better to lose other people's money 
 than one's own, I hope ! " 
 
 "Ah!" cried Isaac List rapturously, "the 
 pleasures of winning ! The delight of picking 
 up the money— the bright, shining yellow-boys 
 — and sweeping 'em into one's pocket ! The 
 deliciousness of having a triumph at last, and 
 thinking that one didn't stop short and turn 
 
 back, but went half-way to meet it ! The 
 
 But you're not going, old gentleman ? " 
 
 " I'll do it," said the old man, who had risen 
 and taken two or three hurried steps away, and 
 now returned as hurriedly. " I'll have it every 
 penny." 
 
 " Why, that's brave," cried Isaac, jumping up 
 and slapping him on the shoulder ; " and I 
 respect you for having so much young blood 
 left. Ha, ha, ha ! Joe Jowl's half sorry he 
 advised you now. We've got the laugh against 
 him. Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 " He gives me my revenge, mind," said the 
 old man, pointing to him eagerly with his 
 shrivelled hand ; " mind — he stakes coin against 
 coin, down to the last one in the box, be there 
 many or few. Remember that !" 
 
 " I'm witness," returned Isaac. " I'll see fair 
 between you." 
 
 " I have passed ray word," said Jowl with 
 
156 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 feigned reluctance, "and I'll keep it. When 
 ■does this match come ofif ? I wish it was over. 
 —To-night?" 
 
 " I must have the money first," said the old 
 ■man ; *' and that I'll have to-morrow " 
 
 "Why not to-night?" urged Jowl. 
 
 "It's late now, and I shall be flushed and 
 flurried," said the old man. " It must be softly 
 done. No, to-morrow night." 
 
 " Then to-morrow be it," said Jowl. " A drop 
 of comfort here. Luck to the best man ! Fill ! " 
 
 The gipsy produced three tin cups, and filled 
 
 them to the brim with brandy. The old man 
 turned aside and muttered to himself before he 
 drank. Her own name struck upon the listener's 
 ear, coupled with some wish so fervent, that he 
 seemed to breathe it in an agony of supplication. 
 
 " God be merciful to us ! " cried the child 
 within herself, " and help us in this trying hour ! 
 What shall I do to save him ?" 
 
 The remainder of their conversation was 
 carried on in a lower tone of voice, and was 
 sufficiently concise ; relating merely to the exe- 
 cution of the project, and the best precautions 
 
 THE OLD MAN STOOD HELPLESSLY AMONG THEM FOR A LITTLE TIME. 
 
 for diverting suspicion. The old man then 
 shook hands with his tempters, and withdrew. 
 
 / They watched his bowed and stooping figure 
 as it retreated slowly, and when he turned his 
 head to look back, which he often did, waved 
 J;heir hands, or shouted some brief encourage- 
 ment. It was not until they had seen him 
 gradually diminish into a mere speck upon the 
 distant road, that they turned to each other, and 
 ventured to laugh aloud. 
 
 " So," said Jowl, warming his hands at the 
 fire, " it's done at last. He wanted more per- 
 vading than I expected. It's three weeks ago 
 
 since we first put this in his head. What'll he 
 bring, do you think ?" 
 
 " Whatever he brings, it's halved between us," 
 returned Isaac List. 
 
 The other man nodded. "We must make 
 quick work of it," he said, " and then cut his 
 acquaintance, or we may be suspected. Sharp's 
 the word." 
 
 List and the gipsy acquiesced. When they 
 had all three amused themselves a httle with 
 their victim's infatuation, they dismissed the 
 subject as one which had been sufficiently dis- 
 cussed, and began, to talk in a jargon which the 
 
FLIGHT FROM A HORRIBLE DREAM. 
 
 157 
 
 child did not understand. As their discourse 
 appeared to relate to matters in which they were 
 warmly interested, however, she deemed it the 
 best time for escaping unobserved : and crept 
 away with slow and cautious steps, keeping in 
 the shadow of the hedges, or forcing a path 
 through them or the dry ditches, until she could 
 emerge upon the road at a point beyond their 
 range of vision. Then she fled homewards as 
 quickly as she could, torn and bleeding from 
 the wounds of thorns and briers, but more 
 lacerated in mind, and threw herself upon her 
 bed, distracted. 
 
 The first idea that flashed upon her mind was 
 flight, instant flight; dragging him from that 
 place, and rather dying of want upon the road- 
 side than ever exposing him again to such terrible 
 temptations. Then, she remembered that the 
 crime was not to be committed until next night, 
 and there was the intermediate time for thinking, 
 and resolving what to do. Then, she was dis- 
 tracted with a horrible fear that he might be 
 committing it at that moment; with a dread of 
 hearing shrieks and cries piercing the silence of 
 the night; with fearful thoughts of what he 
 might be tempted and led on to do, if he were 
 detected in the act, and had but a woman to 
 struggle with. It was impossible to bear such 
 torture. She stole to the room where the money 
 was, opened the door, and looked in. God be 
 praised ! He was not there, and she was sleep- 
 ing soundly. 
 
 She went back to her own room, and tried to 
 prepare herself for bed. But who could sleep — 
 sleep ! who could lie passively down, distracted 
 by such terrors? They came upon her more 
 and more strongly yet. Half undressed, and 
 with her hair in wild disorder, she flew to the 
 old man's bedside, clasped him by the wrist, and 
 roused him from his sleep. 
 
 " What's this ?" he cried, starting up in bed, 
 and fixing his eyes upon her spectral face. 
 
 " I have had a dreadful dream," said the child 
 with an energy that nothing but such terrors 
 could have inspired. " A dreadful, horrible 
 dream. I have had it once before. It is a 
 dream of grey-haired men like you, in darkened 
 rooms by night, robbing the sleepers of their 
 gold. Up, up !" The old man shook in every 
 joint, and folded his hands like one who prays. 
 
 " Not to me," said the child, " not to me — to 
 Heaven, to save us from such deeds ! This 
 dream is too real. I cannot sleep, I cannot stay 
 here, I cannot leave you alone under the roof 
 where such dreams come. Up ! We must 
 fly." 
 
 He looked at her as if she were a spirit — she 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, ii. 
 
 might have been, for all the look of earth she 
 had — and trembled more and more. 
 
 ''There is no time to lose; I will not lose 
 one minute," said the child. " Up ! and away 
 with me !" 
 
 " To-night?" murmured the old man. 
 
 " Yes, to-night," replied the child. " To- 
 morrow night will be too late. The dream will 
 have come again. Nothing but flight can save 
 us. Up!" 
 
 The old man rose from his bed : his forehead 
 bedewed with the cold sweat of fear : and, bend- 
 ing before the child as if she had been an angel 
 messenger sent to lead him where she would, 
 made ready to follow her. She took him by the 
 hand, and led him on. As they passed the door 
 of the room he had proposed to rob, she shud- 
 dered and looked up into his face. What a 
 white face was that, and with what a look did he 
 meet hers ! 
 
 She took him to her own chamber, and, still 
 holding him by the hand as if she feared to lose 
 him for an instant, gathered together the little 
 stock she had, and hung her basket on her arm. 
 The old man took his wallet from her hands, 
 and strapped it on his shoulders — his staff, too, 
 she had brought away — and then she led him 
 forth. 
 
 Through the strait streets, and narrow crooked 
 outskirts, their trembling feet passed quickly. 
 Up the steep hill too, crowned by the old grey 
 castle, they toiled with rapid steps, and had not 
 once looked behind. 
 
 But, as they drew nearer the ruined walls, the 
 moon rose in all her gentle glory, and, from their 
 venerable age, garlanded with ivy, moss, and 
 waving grass, the child looked back upon the 
 sleeping town, deep in the valley's shade : 
 and on the far-off river with its winding track 
 of light : and on the distant hills ; and as she 
 did so, she clasped the hand she held less 
 firmly, and bursting into tears, fell upon the old 
 man's neck. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 'ER momentary weakness past, the 
 child again summoned the resolution 
 which had until now sustained her, 
 and, endeavouring to keep steadily 
 in her view the one idea that they 
 were flying from disgrace and crime, and 
 Y.^ - that her grandfather's preservation must 
 ^ depend solely on her firmness, unaided 
 by one word of advice or any helping hand, 
 urged him onward, and looked back no more. 
 
 2^9 
 
158 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 While he, subdued and abashed, seemed to 
 crouch before her, and to shrink and cower down, 
 as if in the presence of some superior creature, 
 the child herself was sensible of a new feeling 
 within her, which elevated her nature, and in- 
 spired her with an energy and confidence she 
 had never known. There was no divided re- 
 sponsibility now ; the whole burden of their two 
 lives had fallen upon her, and henceforth she 
 must think and act for both. " I h^e saved 
 him," she thought. " In all dangers and dis- 
 tresses, I will remember that." 
 
 At any other time, the recollection of having 
 deserted the friend who had shown them so much 
 homely kindness without a word of justification 
 — the thought that they were guilty, in appear- 
 ance, of treachery and ingratitude — even the 
 having parted from the two sisters — would have 
 filled her with sorrow and regret. But now, all 
 other considerations were lost in the new un- 
 certainties and anxieties of their wild and wan- 
 dering life; and the very desperation of their 
 condition roused and stimulated her. 
 
 In the pale moonlight, which lent a wanness 
 of its own to the delicate face where thoughtful 
 care already mingled with the winning grace and 
 loveliness of youth, the too bright eye, the 
 spiritual head, the hps that pressed each other 
 with such high resolve and courage of the heart, 
 the slight figure firm in its bearing, and yet so 
 very weak, told their silent tale ; but told it only 
 to the wind that rustled by, which, taking up its 
 burden, carried, perhaps to some mother's pillow, 
 faint dreams of childhood fading in its bloom, 
 and resting in the sleep that knows no waking. 
 
 The night crept on apace, the moon went 
 down, the stars grew pale and dim, the morning, 
 cold as they, slowly approached. Then, from 
 behind a distant hill, the noble sun rose up, 
 driving the mists in phantom shapes before it, 
 and clearing the earth of their ghostly forms till 
 darkness came again. • When it had climbed 
 higher into the sky, and there was warmth in its 
 cheerful beams, they laid them down to sleep 
 upon a bank, hard by some water. 
 
 But Nell retained her grasp upon the old man's 
 arm, and, long after he was slumbering soundly, 
 watched him with untiring eyes. Fatigue stole 
 over her at last; her grasp relaxed, tightened, 
 relaxed again, and they slept side by side. 
 
 A confused sound of voices, mingling with her 
 dreams, awoke her. A man of very uncouth and 
 rough appearance was standing over them, and 
 two of his companions were looking on, from a 
 long heavy boat which had come close to the 
 bank while they were sleeping. The boat had 
 neither oar nor sail, but was towed by a couple 
 
 of horses, who, with the rope to which they were 
 harnessed slack and dripping in the water, were 
 resting on the path. 
 
 " Holloa ! " said the man roughly. " What's 
 the matter here ?" 
 
 " We were only asleep, sir," said Nell. " We 
 have been walking all night." 
 
 " A pair of queer travellers to be walking all 
 night," observed the man who had first accosted 
 them. " One of you is a trifle too old for that 
 sort of work, and the other a trifle too young. 
 Where are you going ? " 
 
 Nell faltered, and pointed at hazard towards 
 the West, upon which the man inquired if she 
 meant a certain town which he named. Nell, 
 to avoid more questioning, said, " Yes, that was 
 the place." 
 
 " Where have you come from ?" Avas the next 
 question ; and this being an easier one to answer, 
 Nell mentioned the name of the village in which 
 their friend the schoolmaster dwelt, as being less 
 likely to be known to the men, or to provoke 
 further inquiry. i 
 
 " I thought somebody had been robbing and 
 ill-using you, might be," said the man. "That's 
 all. Good day." 
 
 Returning his salute, and feeling greatly re- 
 Heved by his departure, Nell looked after him as 
 he mounted one of the horses, and the boat 
 went on. It had not gone very far, when it 
 stopped again, and she saw the men beckoning 
 to her. 
 
 " Did you call to me ? " said Nell, running up 
 to them. 
 
 " You may go with us if you like," replied one 
 of those in the boat. " We're going to the same 
 place." 
 
 The child hesitated for a moment. Thinking, 
 as she had thought with great trepidation more 
 than once before, that the men whom she had 
 seen with her grandfather might, perhaps, in 
 their eagerness for the booty, follow them, and,, 
 regaining their influence over him, set hers at 
 nought ; and that, if they went with these men^ 
 all traces of them must surely be lost at that 
 spot • she determined to accept the off"er. The 
 boat came close to the bank again, and, before 
 she had had any more time for consideration, 
 she and her grandfather were on board, and 
 gliding smoothly down the canal. 
 
 The sun shone pleasantly on the bright water,, 
 which was sometimes shaded by trees, and 
 sometimes open to a wide extent of country^ 
 intersected by running streams, and rich with 
 wooded hills, cultivated land, and sheltered 
 farms. Now and then, a village, with its modest 
 spire, thatched roofs, and gable-ends, Avould 
 
FLIGHT BY WATER. 
 
 159 
 
 peep out from among the trees ; and, more than 
 once, a distant town, with great church towers 
 looming through its smoke, and high factories 
 or workshops rising above the mass of houses, 
 would come in view, and, by the length of time 
 it lingered in the distance, show them how 
 slowly they travelled. Their way lay, for the 
 most part, through the low grounds and open 
 plains ; and except these distant places, and 
 occasionally some men working in the fields, or 
 lounging on the bridges under which they passed, 
 to see them creep along, nothing encroached on 
 their monotonous and secluded track. 
 
 Nell was rather disheartened, when they 
 stopped at a kind of wharf late in the afternoon, 
 to learn from one of the men that they would 
 not reach their place of destination until next 
 day, and that, if she had no provision with her, 
 she had better buy it there. She had but a few 
 pence, having already bargained with them for 
 some bread, but even of these it was necessary 
 to be very careful, as they were on their way to 
 an utterly strange place, with no resource what- 
 ever. A small loaf and a morsel of cheese, 
 therefore, were all she could afford, and with 
 these she took her place in the boat again, and 
 after half an hour's delay, during which the men 
 were drinking at the public-house, proceeded on 
 the journey. 
 
 They brought some beer and spirits into the 
 boat with them, and w^hat with drinking freely 
 before, and again now, were soon in a fair way 
 of being quarrelsome and intoxicated. Avoid- 
 ing the small cabin, therefore, which was very 
 dark and filthy, and to which they often invited 
 both her and her grandfather, Nell sat in the 
 open air with the old man by her side : listen- 
 ing to their boisterous hosts with a palpitating 
 heart, and almost wishing herself safe on shore 
 again, tliough she should have to walk all 
 night. 
 
 They were, in truth, very rugged, noisy fellows, 
 and quite brutal among themselves, though civil 
 enough to their two passengers. Thus, when a 
 quarrel arose between the man who was steering 
 and his friend in the cabin, upon the question 
 who had first suggested the propriety of offering 
 Nell some beer, and when the quarrel led to a 
 scuffle in which they beat each other fearfully, 
 to her inexpressible terror, neither visited his 
 displeasure upon her, but each contented him- 
 self with venting it on his adversary, on whom, 
 in addition to blows, he bestowed a variety of 
 compliments, which, happily for the child, were 
 conveyed in terms to her quite unintelligible. 
 The difference was finally adjusted by the man 
 who had come out of the cabin knocking the 
 
 other into it head first, and taking the helm into 
 his own hands, without evincing the least dis- 
 composure himself, or causing any in his friend, 
 who, being of a tolerably strong constitution 
 and perfectly inured to such trifles, went to 
 sleep as he was, with his heels upwards, and in 
 a couple of minutes or so was snoring comfort- 
 ably. 
 
 By this time it was night again, and though 
 the chil4 felt cold, being but poorly clad, her 
 anxious thoughts were far removed from her 
 own suffering or uneasiness, and busily engaged 
 in endeavouring to devise some scheme for their 
 joint subsistence. The same spirit which had 
 supported her on the previous night, upheld and 
 sustained her now. Her grandfather lay sleep- 
 ing safely at her side, and the crime to which 
 his madness urged him was not committed. 
 That was her comfort. 
 
 How every circumstance of her short, eventful 
 life came thronging into her mind as they 
 travelled on ! Slight incidents, never thought 
 of or remembered until now ; faces seen once, 
 aAd ever since forgotten j words, scarcely heeded 
 at the time ; scenes, of a year ago and those of 
 yesterday, mixing up and linking themselves 
 together ; familiar places shaping themselves out 
 in the darkness from things which, when ap- 
 proached, were, of all others, the most remote 
 and most unlike them ; sometimes, a strange 
 confusion in her mind relative to the occasion 
 of her being there, and the place to which she 
 was going, and the people she was with ; and 
 imagination suggesting remarks and questions 
 which sounded so plainly in her ears, that she 
 would start, and turn, and be almost tempted to 
 reply; — all the fancies and contradictions com- 
 mon in watching and excitement, and restless 
 change of place, beset the child. 
 
 She happened, while she was thus engaged, to 
 encounter the face of the man on deck, in whom 
 the sentimental stage of drunkenness had now 
 succeeded to the boisterous, and who, taking 
 from his mouth a short pipe, quilted over with 
 string, for its longer preservation, requested that 
 she would oblige him with a song. 
 
 " You've got a very pretty voice, a very soft 
 eye, and a very strong memory," said this gentle- 
 man ; " the voice and eye I've got evidence for, 
 and the memory's an opinion of my own. And 
 I'm never wrong. Let me hear a song this 
 minute," 
 
 " I don't think I know one, sir," returned 
 Nell. 
 
 " You know forty-seven songs," said the man 
 with a gravity which admitted of no altercation 
 on the subject. " Forty-seven's your number. 
 
i6o 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 Let me hear one of 'em — the best. Give me a 
 song this minute," 
 
 Not knowing what might be the consequences 
 of irritating her friend, and trembling with the 
 fear of doing so, poor Nell sang him some little 
 ditty which she had learned in happier times, 
 and w^hich was so agreeable to his ear, that on 
 its conclusion he in the same peremptory manner 
 requested to be favoured with another, to which 
 he was so obliging as to roar a chorus to no 
 
 particular tune, and with no words at all, but 
 which amply made up in its amazing energy for 
 its deficiency in other respects. The noise of 
 this vocal performance awakened the other man, 
 who, staggering upon deck and shaking his late 
 opponent by the hand, swore that singing was 
 his pride and joy and chief delight, and that he 
 desired no better entertainment. With a third 
 call, more imperative than either of the two 
 former, Nell felt obliged to comply, and this 
 
 "A MAN OF VERY UNCOUTH AND ROUGH ArPEARANCE WAS STANDING OVER THEM." 
 
 time a chorus was maintained not only by the 
 two men together, but also by the third man on 
 horseback, who, being by his position debarred 
 from a nearer participation in the revels of the 
 night, roared when his companions roared, and 
 rent the very air. In this way, with little cessa- 
 tion, and singing the same songs again and 
 again, the tired and exhausted child kept them 
 in good-humour all that night ; and many a 
 cottager, who was roused from his soundest 
 sleep by the discordant chorus as it floated 
 
 away upon the wind, hid his head beneath the 
 bedclothes and trembled at the sounds. 
 
 At length the morning dawned. It was no 
 sooner light than it began to rain heavily. As 
 the child could not endure the intolerable 
 vapours of the cabin, they covered her, in re- 
 turn for her exertions, with some pieces of sail- 
 cloth and ends of tarpaulin, which sufficed to 
 keep her tolerably dry, and to shelter her grand- 
 father besides. As the day advanced the rain 
 increased. At noon it poured down more hope- 
 
FLIGHT B V LAND. 
 
 i6i 
 
 lessly and heavily than ever, without the faintest 
 promise of abatement. 
 
 They had, for some time, been gradually ap- 
 proaching the place for which they were bound. 
 The water had become thicker and dirtier; 
 other barges, coming from it, passed them fre- 
 quently ; the paths of coal-ash and huts of star- 
 ing brick marked the vicinity of some great 
 manufacturing town ; while scattered streets 
 and houses, and smoke from distant furnaces, 
 indicated that they were already in the outskirts. 
 Now, the clustered roofs and piles of buildings, 
 trembling with the working of engines, and 
 dimly resounding with their shrieks and throb- 
 bings ; the tall chimneys vomiting forth a black 
 vapour, which hung in a dense ill-favoured 
 cloud above the housetops, and filled the air 
 with gloom; the clank of hammers beating 
 upon iron, the roar of busy streets and noisy 
 crowds, gradually augmenting until all the 
 various sounds blended into one, and none 
 was distinguishable for itself, announced the 
 termination of their journey. 
 
 The boat floated into the wharf to which it 
 belonged. The men were occupied directly. 
 The child and her grandfather, after waiting in 
 vain to thank them, or ask them whither they 
 should go, passed through a dirty lane into a 
 crowded street, and stood, amid its din and 
 tumult, and in the pouring rain, as strange, be- 
 wildered, and confused, as if they had lived a 
 thousand years before, and were raised from the 
 dead and placed there by a miracle. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 HE throng of people hurried by in 
 two opposite streams, with no 
 symptom of cessation or exhaus- 
 tion; intent upon their own affairs; 
 and undisturbed in their business 
 speculations by the roar of carts 
 and waggons laden with clashing wares, 
 the slipping of horses' feet upon the wet 
 and greasy pavement, the rattling of the rain on 
 windows and umbrella-tops, the jostling of the 
 more impatient passengers, and all the noise 
 and tumult of a crowded street in the high tide 
 of its occupation : while the two poor strangers, 
 stunned and bewildered by the hurry they be- 
 held but had no part in, looked mournfully on ; 
 feeling, amidst the crowd, a solitude which has 
 no parallel but in the thirst of the shipwrecked 
 mariner, who, tossed to and fro upon the billows 
 of a mighty ocean, his red eyes blinded by look- 
 
 ing on the water which hems him in on every 
 side, has not one drop to cool his burning 
 tongue. 
 
 They withdrew into a low archway for shelter 
 from the rain, and watched the faces of those 
 who passed, to find in one among them a ray of 
 encouragement or hope. Some frowned, some 
 smiled, some muttered to themselves, some 
 made slight gestures, as if anticipating the con- 
 versation in which they would shortly be en- 
 gaged, some wore the cunning look of bargain- 
 ing and plotting, some were anxious and eager, 
 some slow and dull ; in some countenances 
 were written gain ; in others, loss. It was hke 
 being in the confidence of all these people to 
 stand quietly there, looking into their faces as 
 they flitted past. In busy places, where each 
 man has an object of his own, and feels assured 
 that every other man has his, his character and 
 purpose are written broadly in his face. In the 
 public walks and lounges of a town, people go 
 to see and to be seen, and there the same ex- 
 pression, with little variety, is repeated a hun- 
 dred times. The working-day faces come nearer 
 to the truth, and let it out more plainly. 
 
 Falling into that kind of abstraction which 
 such a solitude awakens, the child continued to 
 gaze upon the passing crowd with a wondering 
 interest, amounting almost to a temporary for- 
 getfulness of her own condition. But cold, wet, 
 hunger, want of rest, and lack of any place in 
 which to lay her aching head, soon brought her 
 thoughts back to the point whence they had 
 strayed. No one passed who seemed to notice 
 them, or to whom she durst appeal. After some 
 time, they left their place of refuge from the 
 weather, and mingled with the concourse. 
 
 Evening came on. They were still wandering 
 up and down, with fewer people about them, 
 but with the same sense of solitude in their own 
 breasts, and the same indifference from all 
 around. The lights in the streets and shops 
 made them feel yet more desolate, for, with 
 their help, night and darkness seemed to come on 
 faster. Shivering with the cold and damp, ill in 
 body, and sick to death at heart, the child 
 needed her utmost firmness and resolution even 
 to creep along. 
 
 Why had they ever come to this noisy town, 
 when there were peaceful country places, in 
 which, at least, they might have hungered and 
 thirsted with less suffering than in its squalid 
 strife ? They were but an atom here, in a moun- 
 tain heap of misery, the very sight of which in- 
 creased their hoplessness and suffering. 
 
 The child had not only to endure the accu- 
 mulated hardships of their destitute condition,but 
 
l62 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 to bear the reproaches of her grandfather, who 
 began to murmur at having been led away from 
 their late abode, and demand that they should 
 return to it. Being now penniless, and no relief 
 or prospect of relief appearing, they retraced 
 their steps through the deserted streets, and 
 went back to the wharf, hoping to find the boat 
 in which they had come, and to be allowed to 
 sleep on board that night. But here again they 
 were disappointed, for the gate was closed, and 
 some fierce dogs, barking at their approach, 
 obliged them to retreat. 
 
 " We must sleep in the open air to-night, 
 dear," said the child in a weak voice, as they 
 turned away from this last repulse ; " and to- 
 morrow we will beg our way to some quiet part 
 of the country, and try to earn our bread in 
 very humble work." 
 
 " Why did you bring me here ? " returned 
 the old man fiercely. " I cannot bear these 
 close eternal streets. We came from a quiet 
 part. Why did you force me to leave it ? " 
 
 " Because I must have that dream I told you 
 of no more," said the child with a momentary 
 firmness that lost itself in tears ; " and we must 
 live among poor people, or it will come again. 
 Dear grandfather, you are old and weak, I 
 know ; but look at me. I never will complain 
 if you will not, but I have some suffering in- 
 deed." 
 
 " Ah ! poor, houseless, wandering, motherless 
 child ! " cried the old man, clasping his hands, 
 and gazing as if for the first time upon her 
 anxious face, her travel-stained dress, and 
 bruised and swollen feet ; " has all my agony 
 of care brought her to this at last ? Was I a 
 happy man once, and have I lost happiness and 
 all I had, for this?" 
 
 " If we were in the country now," said the 
 child with assumed cheerfulness, as they walked 
 on looking about them for a shelter, " we should 
 find some good old tree, stretching out his green 
 arms as if he loved us, and nodding and rustHng 
 as if he would have us fall asleep, thinking of 
 him while he watched. Please God, we shall be 
 there soon — to-morrow or next day at the 
 farthest — and in the meantime let us think, 
 dear, that it was a good thing we came here ; 
 for we are lost in the crowd and hurry of this 
 place, and, if any cruel people should pursue us, 
 they could surely never trace us further. There's 
 comfort in that. And here's a deep old door- 
 way — very dark, but quite dry, and warm too, 
 
 for the wind don't blow in here What's 
 
 that ? " 
 
 Uttering a half-shriek, she recoiled from a 
 black figure which came suddenly out of the 
 
 dark recess in which they were about to take 
 refuge, and stood still, looking at them. 
 
 "Speak again," it said. "Do I know the 
 voice ? " 
 
 " No," replied the child timidly ; " we are 
 strangers, and, having no money for a night's 
 lodging, were going to rest here.'' 
 
 There was a feeble lamp at no great distance ; 
 the only one in the place, which was a kind of 
 square yard, but sufficient to show how poor 
 and mean it was. To this the figure beckoned 
 them ; at the same time drawing within its rays, 
 as if to show that it had no desire to conceal 
 itself, or take them at an advantage. 
 
 The form was that of a man, miserably clad 
 and begrimed with smoke, which, perhaps by its 
 contrast with the natural colour of his skin, 
 made him look paler than he really was. That 
 he was naturally of a very wan and pallid aspect, 
 however, his hollow cheeks, sharp features, and 
 sunken eyes, no less than a certain look of pa- 
 tient endurance, sufficiently testified. His voice 
 was harsh by nature, but not brutal ; and though 
 his face, besides possessing the characteristics 
 already mentioned, was overshadowed by a 
 quantity of long dark hair, its expression was 
 neither ferocious nor bad. 
 
 " How came you to think of resting there ? " 
 he said. " Or how," he added, looking more 
 attentively at the child, " do you come to want 
 a place of rest at this time of night ? " 
 
 " Our misfortunes," the grandfather answered, 
 " are the cause." 
 
 " Do you know," said the man, looking still 
 more earnestly at Nell, " how wet she is, and 
 that the damp streets are not a place for 
 her?" . 
 
 " I know it well, God help me ! " he replied. 
 " What can I do ?" ! 
 
 The man looked at Nell again, and gently 
 touched her garments, from which the rain was 
 running off in little streams. " I can give you 
 warmth," he said after a pause ; " nothing else. 
 Such lodging as I have is in that house," point- 
 ing to the doorway from which he had emerged, 
 "but she is safer and better there than here. 
 The fire is in a rough place, but you can pass 
 the night beside it safely, if you'll trust your- 
 selves to me. You see that red light yonder ? " 
 
 They raised their eyes, and saw a lurid glare 
 hanging in the dark sky ; the dull reflection of 
 some distant fire. 
 
 " It's not far," said the man. " Shall I take 
 you there ? You were going to sleep upon cold 
 bricks ; I can give you a bed of warm ashes — 
 nothing better." 
 
 Without waiting for any farther reply than he 
 
FLIGHT BY FIRE. 
 
 163 
 
 saw in thek looks, he took Ndl in his arms, and 
 bade the old man follow. 
 
 Carrying her as tenderly, and as easily too, as 
 if she had been an infant, and showing himself 
 both swift and sure of foot, he led the way 
 through what appeared to be the poorest and 
 most wretched quarter of the town ; not turning 
 aside to avoid the overflowing kennels or run- 
 ning water-spouts, but holding his course, re- 
 gardless of such obstructions, and making his 
 way straight through them. They had proceeded 
 thus, in silence, for some quarter of an hour, and 
 had lost sight of the glare to which he had 
 }X)inted, in the dark and narrow ways by which 
 they had come, when it suddenly burst upon 
 them again, streaming up from the high chimney 
 of a building close before them. 
 
 " This is the place," he said, pausing at a door 
 to put Nell down and take her hand. " Don't 
 be afraid. There's nobody here will harm you." 
 
 It needed a strong confidence in this assur- 
 ance to induce them to enter, and what they 
 saw inside did not diminish their apprehension 
 and alann. In a large and lofty building, sup- 
 ported by pillars of iron, with great black aper- 
 tures in the upper walls, open to the external 
 air ; echoing to the roof with the beating of ham- 
 mers and roar of furnaces, mingled with the hiss- 
 ing of red-hot .metal plunged in water, and a 
 hundred strange unearthly noises never heard 
 elsewhere; in this gloomy place, moving like 
 demons among the flame and smoke, dimly and 
 fitfully seen, flushed and tormented by the burn- 
 ing fires, and wielding great weapons, a faulty 
 blow from any one of which must have crushed 
 some workman's skull, a number of men laboured 
 like giants. Others, reposing upon heaps of 
 coals or ashes, with their faces turned to the 
 black vault above, slept or rested from their toil. 
 Others, again, opening the white-hot furnace 
 doors, cast fuel on the flames, which came rush- 
 ing and roaring forth to meet it, and licked it up 
 like oil. Others drew forth, with clashing noise, 
 upon the ground, great sheets of glowing steel, 
 emitting an insupportable heat, and a dull deep 
 light like that which reddens in the eyes of savage 
 beasts. 
 
 Through these bewildering sights and deafen- 
 ing sounds their conductor led them to where, 
 in a dark portion of the building, one furnace 
 burnt by night and day — so, at least, they ga- 
 thered from the motion of his lips, for as yet 
 they could only see him speak : not hear him. 
 The man who had been watching this fire, and 
 whose task was ended for the present, gladly 
 withdrew, and left them with their friend, who, 
 spreading Nell's little cloak upon a heap of 
 
 ashes, and showing her where she could hang 
 her outer clothes to dry, signed to her and the 
 old man to lie down and sleep. For himself, he 
 took his station on a rugged mat before the fur- 
 nace door, and, resting his chin upon his hands, 
 watched the flame as it shone through the iron 
 chinks, and the white ashes as they fell into 
 their bright hot grave below. 
 
 The warmth of her bed, hard and humble as 
 it was, combined with the great fatigue she had 
 undergone, soon caused the tumult of the place 
 to fall with a gentler sound upon the child's 
 tired ears, and was not long in lulling her to 
 sleep. The old man was stretched beside her, 
 and, with her hand upon his neck, she lay and 
 dreamed. 
 
 It was yet night when she awoke, nor did she 
 know how long, or for how short a time, she had 
 slept. But she found herself protected, both 
 from any cold air that might find its way into 
 the building, and from the scorching heat, by 
 some of the workmen's clothes ; and, glancing at 
 their friend, saw that he sat in exactly the same 
 attitude, looking with a fixed earnestness of 
 attention towards the fire, and keeping so very 
 still that he did not even seem to breathe. She 
 lay in the state between sleeping and waking, 
 looking so long at his motionless figure that at 
 length she almost feared he had died as he sat 
 there ; and, softly rising and drawing close to 
 him, ventured to whisper in his ear. 
 
 He moved, and glancing from her to the place 
 she had lately occupied, as if to assure himself 
 that it was really the child so near him, looked 
 inquiringly into her face. 
 
 " I feared you were ill," she said. " The 
 other men are all in motion, and you are so very 
 quiet." 
 
 " They leave me to myself," he replied. " They 
 know my humour. They laugh at me, but don't 
 harm me in it. See yonder there — that's my 
 friend." 
 
 "The fire? "said the child. 
 
 " It has been alive as long as I have," the 
 man made answer. " We talk and think together 
 all night long." 
 
 The child glanced quickly at him in her sur- 
 prise, but he had turned his eyes in their former 
 direction, and was musing as before. 
 
 " It's like a book to me," he said — " the only 
 book I ever learned to read ; and many an old 
 story it tells me. It's music, for I should know 
 it's voice among a thousand, and there are other 
 voices in its roar. It has its pictures too. You 
 don't know how many strange faces and. different 
 scenes I trace in the red-hot coals. It's my 
 memory, that fire, and shows me all my life." 
 
164 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 The child, bending down to listen to his words, 
 could not help remarking with what brightened 
 eyes he continued to speak and muse. 
 
 " Yes," he said with a faint smile, " it was the 
 same when I was quite a baby, and crawled 
 about it till I fell asleep. My father watched 
 it then." 
 
 " Had you no mother?" asked the child. 
 
 " No, she was dead. Women work hard in 
 these parts. She worked herself to death, they 
 told me, and, as they said so then, the fire has 
 gone on saying the same thing ever since. I 
 suppose it was true. I have always believed 
 it." 
 
 " Were you brought up here, then ?" said the 
 child. 
 
 " Summer and winter," he repUed. " Secretly 
 at first, but, when they found it out, they let him 
 keep me here. So the fire nursed me — the same 
 fire. It has never gone out." 
 
 " You are fond of it ? " said the child. 
 
 " Of course I am. He died before it. I saw 
 him fall down — just there, where those ashes are 
 burning now — and wondered, I remember, why 
 it didn't help him." 
 
 " Have you been here ever since ? " asked the 
 child. 
 
 " Ever since I came to watch it ; but there 
 was a while between, and a very cold dreary 
 while it was. It burnt all the time, though, and 
 roared and leaped when I came back, as it used 
 to do in our play days. You may guess, from 
 looking at me, what kind of child I was ; but, for 
 all the difference between us, I tvas a child, and, 
 when I saw you in the street to-night, you put 
 me in mind of myself as I was after he died, and 
 made me wish to bring you to the fire. I thought 
 of those old times again, when I saw you sleep- 
 ing by it. You should be sleeping now. Lie 
 down again, poor child, lie down again ! " 
 
 With that, he led her to her rude couch, and, 
 covering her with the clothes with which she had 
 found herself enveloped when she woke, returned 
 to his seat, whence he moved no more unless to 
 feed the furnace, but remained motionless as a 
 statue. The child continued to watch him for a 
 little time, but soon yielded to the drowsiness 
 that came upon her, and, in the dark strange 
 place and on the heap of ashes, slept as peace- 
 fully as if the room had been a palace chamber, 
 and the bed a bed of down. 
 
 When she awoke again, broad day was shining 
 through the lofty openings in the walls, and, 
 stealing in slanting rays but midway down, 
 seemed to make the building darker than it had 
 been at night. The clang and tumult were still 
 going on, and the remorseless fires were burning 
 
 fiercely as before ; for few changes of night and 
 day brought rest or quiet there. 
 
 Her friend parted his breakfast — a scanty mess 
 of coffee and some coarse bread — with the child 
 and her grandfather, and inquired whither they 
 were going. She told him that they sought some 
 distant country place, remote from towns or even 
 other villages, and with a faltering tongue in- 
 quired what road they would do best to take. 
 
 " I know little of the country," he said, shak- 
 ing his head, " for such as I pass all our lives 
 before our furnace doors, and seldom go forth to 
 breathe. But there are such places yonder." 
 
 " And far from here ? " said Nell. 
 
 " Ay, surely. How could they be near us, 
 and be green and fresh? The road lies, too, 
 through miles and miles, all lighted up by fires 
 like ours — a strange black road, and one that 
 would frighten you by night." 
 
 " We are here, and must go on," said the child 
 boldly ; for she saw that the old man listened 
 with anxious ears to this account. 
 
 " Rough people — paths never made for little 
 feet like yours — a dismal, blighted way — is there 
 no turning back, my child ? " 
 
 " There is none," cried Nell, pressing forward. 
 " If you can direct us, do. If not, pray do not 
 seek to turn us from our purpose. Indeed you 
 do not know the danger that we shun, and how 
 right and true we are in flying from it, or you 
 would not try to stop us, I am sure you would 
 not." 
 
 " God forbid, if it is so ! " said their uncouth 
 protector, glancing from the eager child to her 
 grandfather, who hung his head and bent his- 
 eyes upon the ground. " I'll direct you from 
 the door the best I can. I wish I could do 
 more." 
 
 He showed them, then, by which road they 
 must leave the town, and what course they should 
 hold when they had gained it. He lingered so 
 long on these instructions, that the child, with a 
 fervent blessing, tore herself away, and stayed ta 
 hear no more. 
 
 But, before they had reached the corner of 
 the lane, the man came running after them, and, 
 pressing her hand, left something in it — two 
 old, battered, smoke-incrusted penny pieces. 
 Who knows but they shone as brightly in the 
 eyes of angels as golden gifts that have been 
 chronicled on tombs ? 
 
 And thus they separated ; the child to lead 
 her sacred charge farther from guilt and shame ; 
 and the labourer to attach a fresh interest to the 
 spot where his guests had slept, ancj read new 
 histories in his furnace fire. 
 
FLIGHT THROUGH THE BLACKENED TOWN. 
 
 165 
 
 all the 
 known 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 ■ N all their journeying, they had never 
 longed so ardently, they had never 
 so pined and wearied, for the free- 
 dom of pure air and open country as 
 now. No, not even on that memo- 
 rable morning when, deserting their 
 ^ ^ old home, they abandoned themselves to 
 ^ the mercies of a strange world, and left 
 
 dumb and senseless things they had 
 and loved behind — not even then had 
 they so yearned for the fresh solitudes of wood, 
 hill-side, and field as now, when the noise and 
 dirt and vapour of the great manufacturing town, 
 reeking with lean misery and hungry \yretched- 
 ness, hemmed them in on every side, and 
 seemed to shut out hope, and render escape 
 impossible. 
 
 " Two days and nights ! " thought the child. 
 " He said two days and nights we should have 
 to spend among such scenes as these. Oh ! if 
 we live to reach the country once again, if we 
 get clear of these dreadful places, though it is 
 only to lie down and die, with what a grateful 
 heart I shall thank God for so much mercy ! " 
 
 With thoughts like this, and with some vague 
 design of travelling to a great distance among 
 streams and mountains, where only very poor 
 and simple people lived, and where they might 
 maintain themselves by very humble helping 
 work in farms, free from such terrors as that from 
 which they fled, the child, with no resource but 
 the poor man's gift, and no encouragement but 
 that which flowed from her own heart, and its 
 sense of the truth and right of what she did, 
 nerved herself to this last journey, and boldly 
 pursued her task. 
 
 "We shall be very slow to-day, dear," she 
 said as they toiled painfully through the streets; 
 " my feet are sore, and I have pains in all my 
 limbs from the wet of yesterday. I saw that he 
 looked at us, and thought of that, when he said 
 how long we should be upon the road." 
 
 " It was a dreary way he told us of," returned 
 her grandfather piteously. " Is there no other 
 road ? Will you not let me go some other way 
 than this ? " 
 
 ''Places lie beyond these," said the child 
 firmly, " where we may live in peace, and be 
 tempted to do no harm. We will take the road 
 that promises to have that end, and we would 
 not turn out of it, if it were a hundred times 
 worse than our fears lead us to expect. We 
 would not dear, would we ? " 
 
 " No," replied the old man, wavering in his 
 voice, no less than in his manner. " No. Let 
 
 us go on. I am ready. I am quite ready, 
 Nell." 
 
 The child walked with more difficulty than she 
 had led her companion to expect, for the pains 
 that racked her joints were of no common se- 
 verity, and every exertion increased them. But 
 they wrung from her no complaint, or look of 
 suffering; and, though the two travellers pro- 
 ceeded very slowly, they did proceed. Clearing 
 the town in course of time, they began to feel 
 that they were fairly on their way. 
 
 A long suburb of red brick houses, — some 
 with patches of garden ground, where coal-dust 
 and factory smoke darkened the shrinking leaves 
 and coarse rank flowers, and where the strug- 
 ghng vegetation sickened and sank under the 
 hot breath of kiln and furnace, making them by 
 its presence seem yet more blighting and un- 
 wholesome than in the town itself, — a long, flat, 
 straggling suburb passed, they came, by slow de- 
 grees, upon a cheerless region, where not a 
 blade of grass was seen to grow, where not a bud 
 put forth its promise in the spring, where nothing 
 green could live but on the surface of the stag- 
 nant pools, which here and there lay idly swel- 
 tering by the black roadside. 
 
 Advancing more and more into the shadow of 
 this mournful place, its dark depressing influence 
 stole upon their spirits, and filled them with a 
 dismal gloom. On every side, and far as the 
 eye could see into the heavy distance, tall chim- 
 neys, crowding on each other, and presenting 
 that endless repetition of the same dull, ugly 
 form which is the horror of oppressive dreams, 
 poured out their plague of smoke, obscured the 
 light, and made foul the melancholy air. On 
 mounds of ashes by the wayside, sheltered only 
 by a few rough boards, or rotten pent-house 
 roofs, strange engines spun and writhed like 
 tortured creatures: clanking their iron chains, 
 shrieking in their rapid whirl from time to time 
 as though in torment unendurable, and making 
 the ground tremble with their agonies. Dis- 
 mantled houses here and there appeared, totter- 
 ing to the earth, propped up by fragments of 
 others that had fallen down, unroofed, window- 
 less, blackened, desolate, but yet inhabited. 
 Men, women, children, wan in their looks and 
 ragged in attire, tended the engines, fed their 
 tributary fires, begged upon the road, or scowled 
 half naked from the doorless houses. Then came 
 more of the wrathful monsters, whose like they 
 almost seemed to be in their wildness and their 
 untamed air, screeching and turning round and 
 round again; and still, before, behind, and to 
 the right and left, was the same interminable 
 perspective of brick towers, never ceasing in 
 
i66 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 their black vomit, blasting all things living or 
 inanimate, shutting out the face of day, and 
 closing in on all these horrors with a dense 
 dark cloud. 
 
 But, night-time in this dreadful spot ! — night, 
 when the smoke was changed to fire ; when 
 every chinmey spurted up its flame ; and places, 
 that had been dark vaults all day, now shone 
 red-hot, v.^ith figures moving to and fro within 
 their blazing jaws, and caUing to one another 
 with hoarse cries — night, when the noise of every 
 strange machine was aggravated by the dark- 
 ness j when the people near them looked wilder 
 and more savage ; when bands of unemployed 
 labourers paraded the roads, or clustered by 
 torch-light round their leaders, who told them, 
 in stern language, of their wrongs, and urged 
 them on to frightful cries and threats; when 
 maddened men, armed with sword and firebrand, 
 spurning the tears and prayers of women who 
 would restrain them, rushed forth on errands of 
 terror and destruction, to work no ruin half so 
 surely as their own — night, when carts came 
 rumbling by, filled with rude coffins (for con- 
 tagious disease and death had been busy with 
 the living crops) ; when orphans cried, and dis- 
 tracted women shrieked and followed in their 
 wake — night, when some called for bread, and 
 some for drink to drown their cares, and some 
 with tears, and some with staggering feet, and 
 some with bloodshot eyes, went brooding home — 
 night, which, unlike the night that Heaven sends 
 on earth, brought with it no peace, nor quiet, 
 nor signs of blessed sleep — who shall tell the ter- 
 rors of the night to the young wandering child ? 
 
 And yet she lay down, with nothing between 
 her and the sky; and, with no fear for herself, 
 for she was past it now, put up a prayer for the 
 poor old man. So very weak and spent she 
 felt, so very calm and unresisting, that she had 
 no thought of any wants of her own, but prayed 
 that God would raise up some friend for him. 
 She tried to recall the way they had come, and 
 to look in the direction where the fire by which 
 they had slept last night was burning. She had 
 forgotten to ask the name of the poor man, their 
 friend, and, when she had remembered him in 
 her prayers, it seemed ungrateful not to turn one 
 look towards the spot where he was watching. 
 
 A penny loaf was all they had had that day. 
 It was very little, but even hunger was forgotten 
 in the strange tranquillity that crept over her 
 senses. She lay down very gently, and, with a 
 quiet smile upon her face, fell into a slumber. 
 It was not like sleep — and yet it must have 
 been, or why those pleasant dreams of the little 
 scholar all night long ? 
 
 Morning came. Much weaker, diminished 
 powers even of sight and hearing, and yet the 
 child made no complaint — perhaps would have 
 made none, even if she had not had that induce- 
 ment to be silent travelling by her side. She 
 felt a hopelessness of their ever being extricated 
 together from that forlorn place ; a dull convic- 
 tion that she was very ill, perhaps dying ; but 
 no fear or anxiety. 
 
 A loathing of food, that she was not conscious 
 of until they expended their last penny in the 
 purchase of another loaf, prevented her par- 
 taking even of this poor repast. Her grand- 
 father ate greedily, which she was glad to 
 see. 
 
 Their way lay through the same scenes as 
 yesterday, with no variety or improvement. There 
 was the same thick air, difficult to breathe ; the 
 same blighted ground, the same hopeless pros- 
 pect, the same misery and distress. Objects 
 appeared more dim, the noise less, the path 
 more rugged and uneven, for sometimes she 
 stumbled, and became roused, as it were, in the 
 effort to prevent herself from falling. Poor child ! 
 the cause was in her tottering feet. 
 
 Towards the afternoon, her grandfather com- 
 plained bitterly of hunger. She approached one 
 of the wretched hovels by the wayside, and 
 knocked with her hand upon the door. 
 
 " What would you have here ? " said a gaunt 
 man, opening it. 
 
 " Charity. A morsel of bread." 
 
 " Do you see that?" returned the man hoarsely, 
 pointing to a kind of bundle on the ground. 
 " That's a dead child. I and five hundred other 
 men were thrown out of work three months ago. 
 That is my third dead child, and last. Do you 
 think / have charity to bestow, or a morsel of 
 bread to spare?" 
 
 The child recoiled from the door, and it 
 closed upon her. Impelled by strong neces- 
 sity, she knocked at another : a neighbouring 
 one, which, yielding to the slight pressure of her 
 hand, flew open. 
 
 It seemed that a couple of poor families lived 
 in this hovel, for two women, each among chil- 
 dren of her own, occupied different portions of 
 the room. In the centre, stood a grave gentle- 
 man in black, who appeared to have just entered, 
 and who held by the arm a boy. 
 
 " Here, woman," he said, *' here's your deaf- 
 and-dumb son. You may thank me for restoring 
 him to you. He was brought before me this 
 morning, charged with theft ; and with any other 
 boy it would have gone hard, I assure you. But, 
 as I had compassion on his infirmities, and 
 thought he might have learnt no better, I have 
 
FLIGHT THROUGH THE BLIGHTED COUNTRY. 
 
 167 
 
 managed to tring him back to you. Take more 
 care of him for the future." 
 
 " And won't you give me back my son ? " said 
 the other woman, hastily rising and confronting 
 him, "Won't you give me back my son, sir, 
 who was transported for the same offence ? " 
 
 " Was he deaf and dumb, woman ?" asked the 
 gentleman sternly, 
 
 " Was he not, sir ? " 
 
 " You know he was not." 
 
 " He was," cried the woman. " He was deaf, 
 dumb, and blind to all that was good and right 
 from his cradle. Her boy may have learnt no 
 better ! Where did mine learn better ? where 
 could he ? who was there to teach him better, 
 or where was it to be learnt ?" 
 
 " Peace, woman !" said the gentleman ; "your 
 boy was in possession of all his senses." 
 
 *' He was," cried the mother ; " and he was 
 the more easy to be led astray because he had 
 them. If you save this boy because he may not 
 know right from wrong, why did you not save 
 mine who was never taught the difference ? You 
 gentlemen have as good a right to punish her 
 boy, that God has kept in ignorance of sound 
 and speech, as you have to punish mine, that 
 you kept in ignorance yourselves. How many 
 of the girls and boys — ah, men and women too ! 
 — that are brought before you, and you don't 
 pity, are deaf and dumb in their minds, and go 
 wrong in that state, and are punished in that 
 state, body and soul, while you gentlemen are 
 quarrelling among yourselves whether they ought 
 to learn this or that ? — Be a just man, sir, and 
 give me back my son ! " 
 
 " You are desperate," said the gentleman, 
 taking out his snuff-box, "and I am sorry for 
 you." 
 
 " I am desperate," returned the woman, " and 
 you have made me so. Give me back my son, 
 to work for these helpless children. Be a just 
 man, sir, and, as you have had mercy upon this 
 boy, give me back my son ! " 
 
 The child had seen and heard enough to 
 know that this was not a place at which to ask 
 for alms. She led the old man softly from the 
 door, and they pursued their journey. 
 
 With less and less of hope or strength as they 
 went on, but with an undiminished resolution 
 not to betray by any word or sign her sinking 
 state, so long as she had energy to move, the 
 child, throughout the remainder of that hard 
 day, compelled herself to proceed : not even 
 stopping to rest as frequently as usual, to com- 
 pensate in some measure for the tardy pace at 
 which she was obliged to walk. Evening was 
 drawing on, but had not closed in, when — still 
 
 travelling among the same dismal objects — they 
 came to a busy town. 
 
 Faint and spiritless as they were, its streets 
 were insupportable. After humbly asking for 
 relief at some few doors, and being repulsed, 
 they agreed to make their way out of it as 
 speedily as they could, and try if the inmates of 
 any lone house beyond would have more pity 
 on their exhausted state. 
 
 They were dragging themselves along through 
 the last street, and the child felt that the time 
 was close at hand when her enfeebled powers 
 would bear no more. There appeared before 
 them, at this juncture, going in the same direc- 
 tion as themselves, a traveller on foot, who, with 
 a portmanteau strapped to his back, leaned upon 
 a stout stick as he walked, and read from a book 
 which he held in his other hand. 
 
 It was not an easy matter to come up with 
 him, and beseech his aid, for he walked fast, and 
 was a little distance in advance. At length he 
 stopped, to look more attentively at some pas- 
 sage in his book. Animated with a ray of hope, 
 the child shot on before her grandfather, and, 
 going close to the stranger without rousing him 
 by the sound of her footsteps, began, in a few 
 faint words, to implore his help. 
 
 He turned his head. The child clapped her 
 hands together, uttered a wild shriek, and fell 
 senseless at his feet. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 T was the poor schoolmaster. No 
 other than the poor schoolmaster. 
 Scarcely less moved and surprised by 
 the sight of the child than she had 
 been on recognising him, he stood, 
 for a moment, silent and confounded 
 by this unexpected apparition, without 
 even the presence of mind to raise her 
 from the ground. 
 
 But quickly recovering his self-possession, he 
 threw down his stick and book, and, dropping on 
 one knee beside her, endeavoured, by such 
 simple means as occurred to him, to restore her 
 to herself; while her grandfather, standing idly 
 by, wrung his hands, and implored her with 
 many endearing expressions to speak to him, 
 were it only a word. 
 
 "She is quite exhausted," said the school- 
 master, glancing upward into his face. "You 
 have taxed her powers too far, friend." 
 
 " She is perishing of want," rejoined the old 
 man. " I never thought how weak and ill she 
 was till now." 
 
i68 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 Casting a look upon him, half reproachful and 
 half compassionate, the schoolmaster took the 
 child in his arms, and, bidding the old man 
 gather up her little basket and follow him 
 directly, bore her away at his utmost speed. 
 
 There was a small inn within sight, to which, 
 it would seem, he had been directing his steps 
 when so unexpectedly overtaken. Towards this 
 place he hurried with his unconscious burden, 
 and rushing into the kitchen, and calling upon 
 the company there assembled to make way for 
 God's sake, deposited it on a chair before the fire. 
 
 The company, who rose in confusion on the 
 schoolmaster's entrance, did as people usually 
 do under such circumstances. Everybody called 
 for his or her favourite remedy, which nobody 
 brought ; each cried for more air, at the same 
 time carefully excluding what air there was, by 
 closing round the object of sympathy ; and all 
 wondered why somebody else didn't do what it 
 never appeared to occur to them might be done 
 by themselves. 
 
 The landlady, however, who possessed more 
 readiness and activity than any of them, and who 
 
 " SHE IS QUITE EXHAUSTED," SAID THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 had withal a quicker perception of the merits of 
 the case, soon came running in, with a little hot 
 brandy-and-water, followed by her servant-girl, 
 carrying vinegar, hartshorn, smelling-salts, and 
 such other restoratives ; which, being duly ad- 
 ministered, recovered the child so far as to 
 enable her to thank them in a faint voice, and 
 to extend her hand to the poor schoolmaster, 
 who stood with an anxious face hard by. With- 
 out suffering her to speak another word, or so 
 much as to stir a finger any more, the women 
 straightway carried her off to bed ; and, having 
 covered her up warm, bathed her cold feet, and 
 
 wrapped them in flannel, they dispatched a 
 messenger for the doctor. 
 
 The doctor, who was a red-nosed gentleman 
 with a great bunch of seals dangling below a 
 waistcoat of ribbed black satin, arrived with all 
 speed, and, taking his seat by the bedside of 
 poor Nell, drew out his watch, and felt her pulse. 
 Then he looked at her tongue, then he felt her 
 pulse again, and, while he did so, he eyed the half- 
 emptied wine-glass as if in profound abstraction. 
 
 "I should give her" — said the doctor at 
 length — "a teaspoonful, every now and then, of 
 hot brandy-and-water." 
 
REST AND HELP. 
 
 169 
 
 "Why, that's exactly what we've done, sir !" 
 said the delighted landlady. 
 
 "I should also," observed the doctor, who 
 had passed the foot-bath on the stairs, " I should 
 also," said the doctor, in the voice of an oracle, 
 " put her feet in hot water, and wrap them up 
 in flannel. 1 should likewise," said the doctor 
 with increased solemnity, " give her something 
 light for supper — the wing of a roasted fowl 
 
 " Why, goodness gracious me, sir, it's cooking 
 at the kitchen fire this instant ! " cried the land- 
 lady. And so indeed it was, for the school- 
 master had ordered it to be put down, and it 
 was getting on so well that the doctor might 
 have smelt it if he had tried — perhaps he did. 
 
 " You may then," said the doctor, rising 
 gravely, give her a glass of hot mulled port wine, 
 if she likes wine " 
 
 "And a toast, sir?" suggested the landlady. 
 
 " Ay," says the doctor, in the tone of a man 
 who makes a dignified concession. " And a 
 toast — of bread. But be very particular to 
 make it of bread, if you please, ma'am." 
 
 With which parting injunction, slowly and 
 portentously delivered, the doctor departed, 
 leaving the whole house in admiration of that 
 wisdom which tallied so closely with their own. 
 Everybody said he was a very shrewd doctor 
 indeed, and knew perfectly what people's con- 
 stitutions were ; which there appears some reason 
 to suppose he did. 
 
 While her supper was preparing, the child fell 
 into a refreshing sleep, from which they were 
 obliged to rouse her when it was ready. As she 
 evinced extraordinary uneasiness on learning 
 that her grandfather was below-stairs, and was 
 greatly troubled at the thought of their being 
 apart, he took his supper with her. Finding her 
 still very restless on this head, they made him 
 up a bed in an inner room, to which he presently 
 retired. The key of this chamber happened by 
 good fortune to be on that side of the door 
 which was in Nell's room ; she turned it on him 
 when the landlady had withdrawn, and crept 
 to bed again with a thankful heart. 
 
 The schoolmaster sat for a long time smoking 
 his pipe by the kitchen fire, which was now 
 deserted, thinking, with a very happy face, on 
 the fortunate chance which had brought him so 
 opportunely to the child's assistance, and parry- 
 ing, as well as in his simple way he could, the 
 inquisitive cross-examination of the landlady, 
 who had a great curiosity to be made acquainted 
 with every particular of Nell's life and history. 
 The poor schoolmaster was so open-hearted, 
 and so little versed in the most ordinary cunning 
 
 or deceit, that she could not have failed to 
 succeed in the first five minutes, but that he 
 happened to be unacquainted with what she 
 wished to know ; and so he told her. The land- 
 lady, by no means satisfied with this assurance, 
 which she considered an ingenious evasion of 
 the question, rejoined that he had his reasons, of 
 course. Heaven forbid that she should wish to pry 
 into the affairs of her customers, which, indeed, 
 were no business of hers, who had so many of 
 her own. She had merely asked a civil question, 
 and to be sure she knew it would meet with a 
 civil answer. She was quite satisfied — quite. 
 She had rather, perhaps, that he would have said 
 at once that he didn't choose to be communi- 
 cative, because that would have been plain and 
 intelligible. However, she had no right to be 
 offended, of course. He was the best judge, 
 and had a perfect right to say what he pleased ; 
 nobody could dispute that for a moment. Oh 
 dear, no ! 
 
 " I assure you, my good lady," said the mild 
 schoolmaster, " that I have told you the plain 
 truth — as I hope to be saved, I have told you 
 the truth." 
 
 " Why, then, I do believe you are in earnest," 
 rejoined the landlady with ready good-humour, 
 " and I'm very sorry I've teased you. But 
 curiosity, you know, is the curse of our sex, and 
 that's the fact." 
 
 The landlord scratched his head, as if he 
 thought the curse sometimes involved the other 
 sex likewise ; but he was prevented from making 
 any remark to that effect, if he had it in contem- 
 plation to do so, by the schoolmaster's rejoinder. 
 
 "You should question me for half-a-dozen 
 hours at a sitting, and welcome, and I would 
 answer you patiently for the kindness of heart 
 you have shown to-night, if I could," he said. 
 " As it is, please to take care of her in the morn- 
 ing, and let me know early how she is ; and 
 to understand that I am paymaster for the 
 three." 
 
 So parting with them on most friendly terms, 
 not the less cordial, perhaps, for this last direc- 
 tion, the schoolmaster went to his bed, and the 
 host and hostess to theirs. 
 
 The report in the morning was that the child 
 was better, but was extremely weak, and would 
 at least require a day's rest, and careful nursing, 
 before she could proceed upon her journey. The 
 schoolmaster received this communication with 
 perfect cheerfulness, observing that he had a day 
 to spare — two days for that matter — and could 
 very well afford to wait. As the patient was to sit 
 up in the evening, he appointed to visit her in 
 her room at a certain hour, and, rambling out 
 
lyo 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 with his book, did not return until the hour 
 arrived. 
 
 Nell could not help weeping when they were 
 left alone; whereat, and at sight of her pale 
 face and wasted figure, the simple schoolmaster 
 shed a few tears himself, at the same time show- 
 ing in very energetic language how foolish it was 
 to do so, and how very easily it could be avoided, 
 if one tried. 
 
 " It makes me unhappy even in the midst of 
 all this kindness," said the child, " to think that 
 we should be a burden upon you. How can I 
 ever thank you ? If I had not met you so far 
 from home, I must have died, and he would have 
 been left alone." 
 
 " We'll not talk about dying," said the school- 
 master ; " and as to burdens, I have made my 
 fortune since you slept at my cottage." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried the child joyfully. 
 
 " Oh yes !" returned her friend. " I have been 
 appointed clerk and schoolmaster to a village 
 a long way from here — and a long way from the 
 old one, as you may suppose — at five-and-thirty 
 pounds a year. Five-and-thirty pounds ! " 
 
 " I am very glad," said the child — " so very, 
 very glad." 
 
 " I am on my way there now," resumed the 
 schoolmaster. "They allowed me the stage- 
 coach hire — outside stage-coach hire all the way. 
 Bless you, they grudge me nothing. But, as the 
 time at which I am expected there left me ample 
 leisure, I determined to walk instead. How 
 glad I am to think I did so ! " 
 
 " How glad should we be !" 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the schoolmaster, moving 
 restlessly in his chair, " certainly, that's very true. 
 But you — where are you going, where are you 
 coming from, what have you been doing since 
 you left me, what had you been doing before ? 
 Now, tell me — do tell me. I know very Httle 
 of the world, and perhaps you are better fitted 
 to advise me in its affairs than I am qualified to 
 give advice to you ; but I am very sincere, and I 
 have a reason (you have not forgotten it) for 
 loving you. I have felt since that time as if my 
 love for him who died had been transferred to 
 you who stood beside his bed. If this," he 
 added, looking upwards, " is the beautiful crea- 
 tion that springs from ashes, let its peace prosper 
 with me, as I deal tenderly and compassionately 
 by this young child ! " 
 
 The plain, frank kindness of the honest school- 
 master, the affectionate earnestness of his speech 
 and manner, the truth which was stamped upon 
 his every word and look, gave the child a con- 
 fidence in him, which the utmost arts of treachery 
 and dissimulation could never have awakened 
 
 in her breast. She told him all — that they had 
 no friend or relative — that she had fled with the 
 old man, to save him from a madhouse and all 
 the miseries he dreaded — that she was flying 
 now, to save him from himself — and that she 
 sought an asylum in some remote and primitive 
 place, where the temptation before which he fell 
 would never enter, and her late sorrows and dis- 
 tresses could have no place. 
 
 The schoolmaster heard her with astonish- 
 ment. "This child!"— he thought— "has this 
 child heroically persevered under all doubts and 
 dangers, struggled with poverty and suffering, 
 upheld and sustained by strong affection and the 
 consciousness of rectitude alone ? And yet the 
 world is full of such heroism. Have I yet to 
 learn that the hardest and best-borne trials are 
 those which are never chronicled in any earthly 
 record, and are suffered every day ? And should 
 I be surprised to hear the story of this child.?" 
 
 What more he thought or said, matters not. 
 It was concluded that Nell and her grandfather 
 should accompany him to the village whither he 
 was bound, and that he should endeavour to 
 find them some humble occupation by which 
 they could subsist. " We shall be sure to suc- 
 ceed," said the schoolmaster heartily. " The 
 cause is too good a one to fail." 
 
 They ai-ranged to proceed upon their journey 
 next evening, as a stage-waggon, which travelled 
 for some distance on the same road as they 
 must take, would stop at the inn to change 
 horses, and the driver for a small gratuity would 
 give Nell a place inside. A bargain was soon 
 struck when the waggon came ; and in due time 
 it rolled away; with the child comfortably be- 
 stowed among the softer packages, her grand- 
 father and the schoolmaster walking on beside 
 the driver, and the landlady and all the good 
 folks of the inn screaming out their good wishes 
 and farewells. 
 
 What a soothing, luxurious, drowsy way of 
 travelling, to lie inside that slowly-moving moun- 
 tain, listening to the tinkfing of the horses' bells, 
 the occasional smacking of the carter's whip, 
 the smooth rolling of the great broad wheels, the 
 rattle of the harness, the cheery good nights of 
 passing travellers jogging past on little short- 
 stepped horseS' — 'all made pleasantly indistinct 
 by the thick awning, which seemed made for 
 lazy listening under, till one fell asleep ! The 
 very going to sleep, still with an indistinct idea, 
 as the head jogged to and fro upon the pillow, 
 of moving onward with no trouble or fatigue, 
 and hearing all these sounds like dreamy music, 
 lulling to the senses — and the slow waking up, 
 and finding one's self staring out through the 
 
A RESTING-PLACE. 
 
 171 
 
 breezy curtain half opened in front, far up into the 
 cold bright sky with its countless stars, and down- 
 ward at the driver's lantern dancing on like its 
 namesake Jack of the swamps and marshes, and 
 sideways at the dark grim trees, and forward at 
 the long bare road rising up, up, up, until it 
 stopped abruptly at a sharp high ridge as if there 
 were no more road, and all beyond was sky — 
 and the stopping at the inn to bait, and being 
 lielped out, and going into a room with fire and 
 candles, and winking very much, and being 
 agreeably reminded that the night was cold, and 
 anxious for very comfort's sake to think it colder 
 than it was ! — What a delicious journey was that 
 journey in the waggon ! 
 
 Then the going on again — so fresh at first, and 
 shortly afterwards so sleepy. The waking from 
 a sound nap as the mail came dashing past like 
 a highway comet, with gleaming lamps and 
 rattling hoofs, and visions of a guard behind, 
 standing up to keep his feet warm, and of a 
 gentleman in a fur cap opening his eyes and 
 looking wild and stupefied — the stopping at the 
 turnpike where the man was gone to bed, and 
 knocking at the door until he answered with a 
 smothered shout from under the bedclothes in 
 the little room above, where the faint light was 
 burning, and presently came down, nightcapped 
 and shivering, to throw the gate wide open, and 
 wish all waggons off the road, except by day. 
 The cold sharp interval between night and morn- 
 ing — the distant streak of hght widening and 
 spreading, and turning from grey to white, and 
 from white to yellow, and from yellow to burn- 
 ing red — the presence of day, with all its cheer- 
 fulness and life — men and horses at the plough 
 — birds in the trees and hedges, and boys in 
 solitary fields, frightening them away with rattles. 
 The coming to a town — people busy in the 
 market ; light carts and chaises round the tavern- 
 yard ; tradesmen standing at their doors ; 
 men running horses up and down the street for 
 sale ; pigs plunging and grunting in the dirty 
 distance, getting off with long strings at their 
 legs, running into clean chemists' shops, and 
 being dislodged with brooms by 'prentices ; the 
 night coach changing horses — the passengers 
 cheerless, cold, ugly, and discontented, with 
 three months' growth of hair in one night — the 
 coachman fresh as from a bandbox, and exqui- 
 sitely beautiful by contrast :— so much bustle, so 
 many things in motion, such a variety of inci- 
 deiits — when was there a journey with so many 
 delights as that journey in the waggon ? 
 
 Sometimes walking for a mile or two while her 
 grandfather rode inside, and sometimes even 
 prevailing upon the schoolmaster to take her 
 
 place and lie down to rest, Neil travelled on 
 very happily until they came to a large town, 
 where the waggon stopped, and where they 
 spent a night. They passed a large church ; 
 and in the streets were a number of old houses, 
 built of a kind of earth or plaster, crossed and 
 recrossed in a great many directions with black 
 beams, which gave them a remarkable and very 
 ancient look. The doors, too, were arched and 
 low, some with oaken portals and quaint benches, 
 where the former inhabitants had sat on summer 
 evenings. The windows were latticed in little 
 diamond panes, that seemed to wink and blink 
 upon the passengers as if they were dim of 
 sight. They had long since got clear of the 
 smoke and furnaces, except in one or two soli- 
 tary instances, where a factory planted among 
 fields withered the space about it, like a burning 
 mountain. Wlien they had passed through 
 this town, they entered again upon the country, 
 and began to draw near their place of destina- 
 tion. 
 
 It was not so near, however, but that they 
 spent another night upon the road ; not that 
 their doing so was quite an act of necessity, but 
 that the schoolmaster, when they approached 
 within a few miles of his village, had a fidgety 
 sense of his dignity as the new clerk, and was 
 unwilling to make his entry in dusty shoes and 
 travel-disordered dress. It was a fine, clear, 
 autumn morning when they came upon the 
 scene of his promotion, and stopped to con- 
 template its beauties. 
 
 " See — here's the church ! " cried the delighted 
 schoolmaster in a low voice; "and that old 
 building close beside it is the school-house, I'll 
 be sworn. Five-and-thirty pounds a year in this 
 beautiful place ! " 
 
 They admired everything — the old grey porch, 
 the mullioned windows, the venerable grave- 
 stones dotting the green churchyard, the ancient 
 tower, the very weather-cock; the brown thatched 
 roofs of cottage, barn, and homestead, peeping 
 from among the trees ; the stream that rippled 
 by the distant water-mill ; the blue Welsh moun- 
 tains far away. It was for such a spot the child 
 had wearied in the dense, dark, miserable haunts 
 of labour. Upon her bed of ashes, and amidst 
 the squalid horrors through which they had 
 forced their way, visions of such scenes — beauti- 
 ful indeed, but not more beautiful than this 
 sweet reality — had been always present to her 
 mind. They had seemed to melt into a dim 
 and airy distance, as the prospect of ever be- 
 holding them again grew fainter ; but, as they 
 receded, she had loved and panted for them 
 more. 
 
172 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " I must leave you somewhere for a few 
 minutes," said the schoolmaster, at length break- 
 ing the silence into which they had fallen in 
 their gladness. " I have a letter to present, and 
 inquiries to make, you know. Where shall I 
 take you? To the little inn yonder ?" 
 
 " Let us wait here," rejoined Nell. " The 
 gate is open. We will sit in the church porch 
 till you come back." 
 
 " A good place too," said the schoolmaster, 
 leading the way towards it, disencumbering him- 
 self of his portmanteau, and placing it on the 
 stone seat. " Be sure that I come back with 
 good news, and am not long gone." 
 
 So, the happy schoolmaster put on a bran- 
 new pair of gloves which he had carried in a 
 little parcel in his pocket all the way, and hurried 
 off, full of ardour and excitement. 
 
 The child watched him from the porch until 
 the intervening foliage hid him from her view, 
 and then stepped softly out into the old church- 
 yard — so solemn and quiet that every rustle of 
 her dress upon the fallen leaves, which strewed 
 the path and made her footsteps noiseless, 
 seemed an invasion of its silence. It was a very 
 aged, ghostly place ; the church had been built 
 many hundreds of years ago, and had once had 
 a convent or monastery attached ; for arches in 
 ruins, remains of oriel windows, and fragments 
 of blackened walls, were yet standing; while 
 other portions of the old building, which had 
 crumbled away and fallen down, were mingled 
 with the churchyard earth and overgrown with 
 grass, as if they too claimed a burying-place, 
 and sought to mix their ashes with the dust of 
 men. Hard by these gravestones of dead years, 
 and forming a part of the ruin which some pains 
 had been taken to render habitable in modern 
 times, were two small dwellings with sunken 
 windows and oaken doors, fast hastening to 
 decay, empty and desolate. 
 
 Upon these tenements the attention of the 
 child became exclusively riveted. She knew 
 not why. The church, the ruin, the antiquated 
 graves, had equal claims at least upon a stranger's 
 thoughts, but from the moment when her eyes 
 first rested on these two dwellings, she could 
 turn to nothing else. Even when she had made 
 the circuit of the enclosure, and, returning to the 
 porch, sat pensively waiting for their friend, 
 she took her station where she could still look 
 upon them, and felt as if fascinated towards that 
 spot. ■ 
 
 CHAPTER XLVH. 
 
 jIT'S mother and the single gentle- 
 man — upon whose track it is expe- 
 dient to follow with hurried steps, 
 lest this history should be chargeable 
 with inconstancy, and the offence of 
 leaving its characters in situations of 
 uncertainty and doubt — Kit's mother and 
 the single gentleman, speeding onward in 
 the post-chaise and four, 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 embar- 
 rassed by the novelty of her situation, and cer- 
 tain maternal apprehensions that perhaps by 
 this time little Jacob, or the baby, or both, had 
 fallen into the fire, or tumbled down-stairs, or 
 had been squeezed behind doors, or had scalded 
 their windpipes in endeavouring to allay their 
 thirst at the spouts of tea-kettles, 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 every-day acquaintance from the 
 window of the mourning-coach, but is con- 
 strained to preserve a decent solemnity, and 
 the appearance of being indifferent to all ex- 
 ternal objects. 
 
 To have been indifferent to the companion- 
 ship of the single gentleman would have been 
 tantamount to being gifted with nerves of steel. 
 Never did chaise 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, pull- 
 ing up the sashes and letting them violently down, 
 or thrusting his head out of one window to draw 
 it in again and thrust it out of another. He car- 
 ried 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 con- 
 sulting 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 car- 
 riage without letting down the steps, bursting 
 about the inn 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, com- 
 mitting so many extravagances that Kit's mother 
 
THE SINGLE GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD. 
 
 173 
 
 was quite afraid of him. Then, when the horses 
 were to, in he came Hke a Harlequin, and before 
 they had gone a mile, out came the watch and 
 the fire-box together, and Kit's mother was 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 ? An'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? Hallo ! Stop at the next inn, 
 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 mid- 
 night, 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 ? " 
 
 " Only half baptized as yet, sir." 
 
 " I'm godfather to both of 'em. Remember 
 that, if you please, ma'am. You had 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 gentle- 
 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 12. 
 
 man 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 
 chaise again, where — not impossibly from the 
 effects of this agreeable sedative — she soon be- 
 came insensible to his restlessness, and fell fast 
 asleep. Nor were the happy effects of this pre- 
 scription of a transitory nature, as, notwithstand- 
 ing that the distance was greater, and the journey 
 longer, than the single gentleman had antici- 
 pated, 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 
 wax-work ! " 
 
 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 a noise that brought the good folks won- 
 dering to their doors and windows, and drowned 
 the sober voices of the town clocks as they 
 chimed out half-past eight. They drove 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 postil- 
 lions, and handed out Kit's mother, at the 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." 
 
 Anything 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 pro- 
 duce 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 do you want ? " said a man 
 with a large white bow at his button-hole, open- 
 ing the door, and confronting him with a very 
 stoical aspect. 
 
 " Who has been married here, my friend ? " 
 said the single gentleman. 
 
 " I have." 
 
 260 
 
174 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " You ! and to whom in the devil's name ? " 
 
 " What right have 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 Tut, tut, 
 
 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. Jarley (that morn- 
 ing wedded to the philosophic George, to the 
 eternal wrath and despair of Mr. Slum the poet), 
 with looks of conflicting apprehension, disap- 
 pointment, and increduHty. At length he stam- 
 mered out : 
 
 " I ask you where she is. What do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 "■ Oh, 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 — 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, turn- 
 ing to the newly-married couple, " one to whom 
 life itself is not 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 mis- 
 taken regard or fear for them, judge of my in- 
 tentions 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 dis- 
 guise 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 eff"ort 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 conse- 
 quence 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 crept over her, 
 and changed her both in health and spirits. 
 Whether she had missed the old man in the 
 night, and, knowing or conjecturing whither 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 pros- 
 pect 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, how- 
 ever, they steadily declined accepting. In the 
 end, the happy couple jolted away in the caravan 
 to spend their honeymoon in a country excur- 
 sion ; and the single gentleman and Kit's mother 
 stood ruefully before their carriage door. 
 
 "Where shall we drive you, sir?" said the 
 postboy. 
 
 " You may drive me," said the single gentle- 
 man, " to the " He was not going to add 
 
 " inn," but he added it for the sake of Kit's 
 mother ; and to the inn they went. 
 
 Rumours had already got abroad that the little 
 girl who used to show the wax-work was the 
 child of great people, who had been stolen from 
 her parents in m fancy, and had only just been 
 traced. Opinion was divided whether she was 
 the daughter of a prince, a duke, an earl, a 
 viscount, 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. 
 
AN AGGRAVATING WITNESS. 
 
 175 
 
 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 XLVIII. 
 
 .OPULAR 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 popu- 
 lar 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 inn door to be 
 looked upon as an exciting and attractive spec- 
 tacle, which could scarcely be enough admired ; 
 and drew together a large concourse of idlers, 
 who, having recently been, as it were, thrown 
 out of employment by the closing of the wax- 
 work and the completion of the nuptial ceremo- 
 nies, considered his arrival as little else than a 
 special providence, and hailed it with demon- 
 strations of the liveliest joy. 
 
 Not at all participating in the general sensa- 
 tion, but wearing the depressed and wearied look 
 of one who sought to meditate on his disappoint- 
 ment in silence and privacy, the single gentleman 
 alighted, and handed out Kit's 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, that's all." 
 
 " Close here, sir, if you please to walk this 
 way." 
 
 "Would the gentleman like this roomt" 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 Christ- 
 mas. Would you like this room, sir ? Honour 
 me by walking in. Do me the favour, pray." 
 
 " Goodness gracious me ! " cried Kit's 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 Quilp. 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 cold 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 Quilp. 
 
 " I prefer being alone," replied the single 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Quilp. And, with that, he darted 
 in again with one jerk, and clapped the little 
 door to, like a figure in a Dutch clock when the 
 hour strikes. 
 
 " Why, it was only last night, sir," whispered 
 Kit's mother, " that I left him in Litde Bethel." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said her fellow-passenger. " When 
 did that person come here, waiter ? " 
 
 " Come down by the night coach this morn- 
 ing, sir." 
 
 '■'■ Humph ! And when is he going ? " 
 
 " Can't say, sir, really. When the chamber- 
 maid asked him just now if he should want a 
 bed, sir, he first made faces at her, and then 
 wanted to kiss her." 
 
 " Beg him to walk this way," said the single 
 gentleman. " I should be glad to exchange a 
 word with him, tell him. Beg him to come at 
 once, do you hear ? " 
 
 The man stared on receiving these instruc- 
 tions, for the single gentleman had not only dis- 
 played as much astonishment as Kit's mother at 
 sight of the dwarf, but, standing in no fear of 
 him, had been at les? 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 en- 
 countered 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 air and scene improved her? 
 Her little family too, and Christopher ? Do 
 they thrive ? Do they flourish ? Are they grow- 
 ing into worthy citizens, eh ? " 
 
 Making his voice ascend in the scale with 
 every succeeding question, Mr. Quilp finished in 
 
176 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 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, con- 
 ferring with himself, in imitation of his friend, 
 Mr. Sampson 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 for what we did, my good 
 sir," rejoined Quilp, " we had our warrant. 
 Don't say driven either. He went of 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 shelter- 
 ing 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 chapel. 
 What then ? I've read in books that pilgrims 
 
 were used to go to chapel before they went on* 
 journeys, to put up petitions for their safe return.. 
 Wise men! journeys are very perilous — espe- 
 cially 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 gen- 
 tleman, " 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." 
 
 " Ah ! we have said all we need 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. Ahem ! " 
 
 With these parting words, and with a grin, 
 upon his features altogether indescribable, but 
 which seemed to be compounded of every 
 monstrous grimace of which men or monkeys 
 are capable, the dwarf slowly retreated and 
 closed the door behind him. 
 
 "Oho !" he said when he had regained his 
 own room, and sat himself down in a chair with 
 his arms a-kimbo. " Oho ! Are you there, my 
 friend ? In-deed ! " 
 
 Chuckling as though in very great glee, and 
 recompensing himself for the restraint he had 
 lately put upon liis 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 cerfeiin meditations, of which it may be 
 necessary to relate the substance. 
 
 First, he roviewed the circumstances whicb 
 had led to his repairing to that spot, which 
 were briefly these. Dropping in at Mr. SamjD- 
 son Brass's office on the previous evening, ia 
 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 
 
QUI LP NURSES HIS WRATH. 
 
 177 
 
 goes, rather copiously. But as clay in the ab- 
 stract, 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 im- 
 bibed a considerable quantity of moisture, was 
 in a very loose and slippery state, insomuch 
 that the various ideas impressed upon it were 
 fast losing their distinctive character, and run- 
 ning into each other. It is not uncommon for 
 human clay in this condition to value itself 
 above all things upon its great prudence and 
 sagacity; and Mr. Swiveller, especially prizing 
 liimself 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 
 cajolery 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 on to further 
 hints, soon made out that the single gentleman 
 had been seen in communication with Kit, 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 gentle- 
 man 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 cor- 
 respondence with Kit was the recovery of his 
 old client and the child. Burning with curiosity 
 to know what proceedings were afoot, he re- 
 solved to pounce upon Kit's mother as the per- 
 son least able to resist his arts, and conse- 
 quently 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 neighbour, as Kit himself 
 did soon afterwards, and, being directed to the 
 chapel, betook 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 
 Kit 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 
 from one of the postillions ; 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 car- 
 riage on the road, and being passed and re- 
 passed by it 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 chaise 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 de- 
 tailed, and shut himself up in the little room in 
 which he hastily reviewed all these occurrences. 
 
 " You are there, are you, my friend ? " he re- 
 peated, greedily biting his nails. " I am sus- 
 pected and thrown aside, and Kit's the con- 
 fidential agent, is he ? I shall have to dispose 
 of him, I fear. If we had come up with them 
 this morning," he continued after a 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 comfortable 
 into my net as our old friend — our mutual friend, 
 ha ! ha ! — and chubby, rosy Nell. At the worst 
 it's a golden opportunity, not to be lost. Let 
 us find them first, and I'll find 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, 
 " ah ! I hate 'em every one ! " 
 
 This was not a mere empty vaunt, but a de- 
 liberate avowal of his real sentiments ; for Mr. 
 Quilp, who loved nobody, had by little and 
 little come to hate everybody, nearly or re^ 
 motely 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. Quilp's com- 
 miseration and constant self-reproach — the single 
 gentleman, because of his unconcealed aversion 
 to himself — Kit and his mother, most mortally 
 for the reasons already shown. Above and be- 
 yond that general feeling of opposition to them, 
 which would have been inseparable from his 
 ravenous desire to enrich himself by these 
 altered circumstances, Daniel Quilp hated them 
 every one. 
 
178 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 In this amiable mood, Mr. Quilp enlivened 
 himself and his hatreds with more brandy, and 
 then, changing his quarters, withdrew to an 
 obscure alehouse, under cover of which seclu- 
 sion he instituted all possible inquiries that 
 might lead to the discovery of the old man 
 and his grandchild. But all was in vain. Not 
 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 waggon 
 had seen any travellers answering their descrip- 
 tion ; nobody had fallen in with them or heard 
 of them. Convinced at last that for the pre- 
 sent all such attempts were hopeless, he ap- 
 pointed 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. Quilp to 
 find, as he took his place upon the roof, that 
 Kit's mother was alone inside ; from which cir- 
 cumstance he derived, in the course of the 
 journey, much cheerfulness of spirit, inasmuch 
 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 hfe, and staring in with his great goggle 
 eyes, which seemed in hers the more horrible 
 from his face being upside down ; dodging her 
 in this way from one window to another ; get- 
 ting 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. Quilp did in his own person represent 
 and embody that Evil Power who was so vigor- 
 ously attacked at Little Bethel, and who, by 
 -reason of her backsHdings in respect of Ast- 
 ley's and oysters, was now frolicsome 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 
 Quilp. 
 
 " How are you, Christopher ? " croaked the 
 dwarf from the coach-top. " All right, Chris- 
 topher. 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 terri- 
 
 fying of me out of my seven senses all this 
 blessed day." 
 
 " He has ? " cried Kit. 
 
 " You wouldn't believe it, that you wouldn't," 
 repHed 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 
 blaze of the coach lamp, quite awful ! " 
 
 In spite of his mother's injunction, Kit turned 
 sharply round to look. Mr. Quilp was serenely 
 gazing at the stars, quite absorbed in celestial 
 contemplation. 
 
 " Oh, he's the artfullest creetur ! " cried Mrs. 
 Nubbles. "But come away. Don't speak to- 
 him for the world." 
 
 " Yes, I will, mother. What nonsense ! I 
 say, sir- 
 
 Mr. Quilp affected to start, and looked smil- 
 ingly round. 
 
 "You let my mother alone, will you?" said 
 Kit, " How dare you tease a poor lone woman 
 like her, making her miserable and melancholy, 
 as if she hadn't got enough to make her so 
 without you? An't you ashamed of yourself,, 
 you little monster ? " 
 , " Monster ! " said Quilp inwardly with a 
 smile. " Ugliest dwarf that could be seen any- 
 where for a penny — monster — ah ! " 
 
 "You show her any of your impudence 
 again," resumed Kit, shouldering the bandbox, 
 " and I tell you what, Mr. Quilp, 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." 
 
 Quilp said not a word in reply, but, walking 
 up so close to Kit as to bring his eyes within 
 two or three inches of his face, looked fixedly at 
 him, retreated a Httle 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 Quilp were following. 
 
COMPANY UPSTAIRS. 
 
 179 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 I IT'S mother might have spared her- 
 self the trouble of looking back so 
 often, for nothing was further from 
 Mr. Quilp's thoughts than any in- 
 tention 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 frag- 
 ments 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. Quilp, 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 pjrobability 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, 
 vented his delight in a shrill scream, which, 
 greatly terrifying any lonely passenger who hap- 
 pened 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. Quilp reached 
 Tower Hill, when, gazing up at the window of 
 his own sitting-room, he thought he descried 
 more light than is usual in a house of mourning. 
 Drawing nearer, and listening attentively, he 
 could hear several voices in earnest conversa- 
 tion, 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 such 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 Quilp, peeping 
 through the keyhole. " A very soft knock ; and, 
 by your leave, my lady, I may yet steal upon 
 you unawares. Soho ! " 
 
 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 Quilp instantly gagged with one hand, 
 and dragged into the street with the other. 
 
 "You'll throttle me, master," whispered the 
 boy. " Let go, will you ?" 
 
 "Who's up-stairs, you dog?" retorted Quilp 
 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 Quilp clutched him by 
 the throat again, 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 his head, his master was 
 obliged to come to a parley. 
 
 " Will you answer me ?" said Quilp. " What's 
 going on above ? " 
 
 " You won't let one speak," replied the boy. 
 "They — ha, ha, ha! — they think you're — you're 
 dead. Ha, ha ha ! " 
 
 " Dead !" cried Quilp, relaxing into a grim 
 laugh himself. " No ! 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 they think you tum- 
 bled over. Ha, ha ! " 
 
 The prospect of playing the spy under such 
 delicious circumstances, and of disappointing 
 them all by walking in alive, gave more delight 
 to Quilp 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 Quilp, making towards 
 the door on tiptoe. " Not a sound, not so much 
 as a creaking board, or a stumble against a cob- 
 web. Drowned, eh, Mrs. Quilp ? Drowned ! " 
 
 So saying, he blew out the candle, kicked off 
 his shoes, and groped his way up-stairs ; leaving 
 his delighted young friend in an ecstasy of sum- 
 mersets on the pavement. 
 
 The bedroom door on the staircase being 
 unlocked, Mr. Quilp slipped in, and planted 
 himself behind the door of communication be- 
 tween 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 espial, 
 and had, indeed, enlarged with his pocket-knife), 
 enabled him not only to hear, but to see dis- 
 tinctly, what was passing. 
 
 Applying his eye to this convenient place, he 
 
i8o 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 descried 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, Sampson, 
 by no means insensible to their claims upon his 
 attention, had compounded a mighty glass of 
 punch reeking hot ; which he was at that very 
 moment stirring up with a tea-spoon, and con- 
 templating with looks in which a faint assump- 
 tion of sentimental regret stniggled but weakly 
 with a bland and comfortable joy. At the same 
 table, with both her elbows upon it, was Mrs. 
 Jiniwin ; no longer sipping other people's punch 
 feloniously with tea-spoons, 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 a 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 in- 
 creased than detracted from that decided ap- 
 pearance of comfort, which was the great charac- 
 teristic 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 but he may be looking down upon 
 us now ? Who knows but he may be surveying 
 of us from — from somewheres or another, and 
 contemplating us with a watchful eye? Oh 
 Lor!" 
 
 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 be- 
 fore his eyes — " the next we are there " — gulping 
 down its contents, and striking himself emphati- 
 cally 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. Jiniwin for the purpose 
 of being replenished; and turned towards the 
 attendant mariners. 
 
 "The search has been quite unsuccessful, 
 then ?" 
 
 " Quite, master. But I should say that, if he 
 turns up anywhere, he'll come ashore somewhere 
 about Grinidge to-morrow, at ebb tide, eh, 
 mate?" 
 
 The other gentleman assented, observing that 
 he was expected at the Hospital, and that several 
 pensioners would be ready to receive him when- 
 ever he arrived. 
 
 " Then we have nothing for it but resigna- 
 tion," said Mr. Brass ; " nothing but resignation, 
 and expectation. It would be a comfort to have 
 his body ; it would be a dreary comfort." 
 
 "Oh, beyond a doubt!" assented Mrs. Jini- 
 win hastily ; " if we once had that, we should be 
 quite sure." 
 
 "With regard to the descriptive advertise- 
 ment," said Sampson Brass, taking up his pen. 
 " It is a melancholy pleasure to recall his traits. 
 Respecting his legs, now ? " 
 
 " Crooked, certainly," said Mrs. Jiniwin. 
 
 "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 nankeen pantaloons a little shrunk, and with- 
 out straps. Ah ! what a vale of tears we live in ! 
 Do we say crooked?" 
 
 " I think they were a little so," observed Mrs. 
 Quilp with a sob. 
 
 " Legs crooked," said Brass, writing as he spoke. 
 " Large head, short body, legs crooked " 
 
 " Very crooked," suggested Mrs. Jiniwin. 
 
 " We'll not say very crooked, ma'am," said 
 Brass piously. " Let us not bear hard upon the 
 weaknesses of the deceased. He is gone, ma'am, 
 to where his legs will never come in question. — 
 We will content ourselves with crooked, Mrs. 
 Jiniwin." 
 
 "I thought you wanted the truth," said the 
 old lady. " That's all." 
 
 " Bless your eyes, how I love you ! " mut- 
 tered Quilp. " 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, in the very clothes 
 that he wore on work-a-days. 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 
 
QUILP RETURNS FROM THE GRAVE. 
 
 particular colour, for such was his whim and 
 fancy — how plain I see his linen now !" 
 
 " You had better go on, sir," said Mrs. Jiniwin 
 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. A question 
 ziow arises with relation to his nose." 
 
 " Flat," said Mrs. Jiniwin. 
 
 "Aquiline!" cried Quilp, thrusting in his 
 head, and striking the feature with his fist. 
 
 " Aquiline, you hag ! Do you see it ? Do you 
 call this flat ? Do you ? Eh ?" 
 
 " Oh, capital, capital ! " shouted Brass, from 
 the mere force of habit. " Excellent ! How 
 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 com- 
 pliments, nor to the dubious and frightened look 
 into which the lawyer gradually subsided, nor to 
 the shrieks of his wife and mother-in-law, nor to 
 
 AQUILINE ! " CRIED QUILP, THRUSTING IN HIS HEAD. 
 
 the latter's running from the room, nor to the 
 former's fainting away. Keeping his eye fixed 
 on Sampson Brass, he walked up to the table, 
 and, beginning with his glass, drank off the con- 
 tents, 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 a most extraordinary leer. 
 
 *' Not yet, Sampson," said Quilp. " Not just 
 yet!" 
 
 " Oh, very good indeed ! " cried Brass, re- 
 
 covering his spirits a little. " Ha, ha, ha ! Oh, 
 exceedingly good ! There's not another man 
 alive who would 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 ex- 
 pressively. 
 
 " Good night, sir, good night," cried the law- 
 yer, retreating backwards towards the door. 
 "This is a joyful occasion indeed, extremely 
 
I»2 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 joyful. Ha, ha, ha ! Oh, very rich, very rich 
 indeed, re-markably so ! " 
 
 Waiting until Mr. Brass's ejaculations died 
 away in the distance (for he continued to pour 
 them out, all the way down-stairs), Quilp ad- 
 vanced towards the two men, who yet Hngered 
 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 — upon the body. Good night ! " 
 
 The men looked at each other, but had evi- 
 dently no inclination to argue the point just 
 then, and shuffled out of the room. This 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 L. 
 
 'ATRIMONIAL differences are usu- 
 ally discussed by the parties con- 
 cerned in -the form of dialogue, in 
 which the lady bears at least her 
 full half-share. Those of Mr. and 
 Quilp, however, were an exception 
 to the general rule; the remarks which 
 they occasioned being limited to a long 
 sohloquy on the part of the gentleman, with 
 perhaps a few deprecatory observations from the 
 lady, not extending beyond a trembling mono- 
 syllable 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 Hstening 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. But the Jamaica rum, 
 and the joy of having occasioned a heavy disap- 
 pointment, 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 ? Ha, ha, ha, 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're 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 beHef. 
 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 inter- 
 est in his safety which, all things considered, 
 was rather unaccountable. Upon Quilp, how- 
 ever, this circumstance made no impression, 
 farther than as it moved him to snap his fingers 
 close to his wife's eyes, with divers grins of 
 triumph and derision. 
 
 " How could you go away so long, without 
 saying a word to me, or letting me hear of you, 
 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 mean to go and live wherever the 
 fancy seizes me — at the wharf — at the counting- 
 house — and be a jolly bachelor. You were a 
 widow in anticipation. Damme," 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, a devil-may- 
 care bachelor ; and I'll have my bachelor's hall 
 at the counting-house, and at such times come 
 near 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's 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. Hallo there ! Hallo ! " 
 
 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 in inexpressible terror, thinking 
 
QUILP RESOLVES TO BE A BACHELOR. 
 
 1^3 
 
 that her amiable son-in-law surely intended to 
 murder her in justification of the legs she had 
 slandered. Impressed with this idea, she was 
 no sooner fairly awake than she screamed vio- 
 lently, and would have quickly precipitated her- 
 self out of the window and through a neighbouring 
 sky-light, if her daughter had not hastened in 
 to undeceive her, and implore her assistance. 
 Somewhat reassured by her account of the ser- 
 vice she was required to render, Mrs. Jiniwin 
 made her appearance in a flannel dressing-gown ; 
 and both mother and daughter, trembling with 
 terror and cold — for the night was now far ad- 
 vanced — obeyed Mr. Quilp's directions in sub- 
 missive 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 hai)^ds, a plate, knife and fork, spoon, 
 teacup and saucer, and other small household 
 matters of that nature, strapped ..up the port- 
 manteau, took it on his shoulders, and actually 
 marched off without another word, and with the 
 case-bottl^ (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 rap on the head with it as a small 
 taste for himself, Quilp very deliberately led the 
 way to the wharf, and reached it between three 
 and four o'clock in the morning. 
 
 "Snug," 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. 
 " Beautifully snug ! Call me at eight, you dog." 
 
 With no i^ore formal leave-taking or explana- 
 tion, 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 intrusted 
 him with certain small moneys, to be expended 
 in the purchase of hot rolls, butter, sugar, Yar- 
 mouth bloaters, and other articles of house- 
 keeping; so that in a few minutes a savoury 
 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 gipsy 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), 
 bestirred himself to improve his retreat, and 
 render it more commodious and comfortable. 
 
 With this view, he issued forth to a place hard 
 by, where sea-stores were sold, purchased a 
 second-hand hammock, and had it slung in sea- 
 manlike fashion from the ceiling of the counting- 
 house. He also caused to be erected, in the 
 same mouldy cabin, an old ship's stove with a 
 rusty funnel to carry the smoke through the 
 roof; and, these arrangements completed, sur- 
 veyed them with ineffable delight. 
 
 '' I've got a country house like Robinson 
 Crusoe," said the dwarf, ogling the accommoda- 
 tions ; " 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'll look out for one like Christopher, and poison 
 him — ha, ha, ha ! Business, though — business 
 — we must be mindful of business in the midst 
 of pleasure, and the time has flown this morning, 
 I declare." 
 
 Enjoining Tom Scott to await his return, and 
 not to stand upon his head, or throw a summer- 
 set, or so much as walk upon his hands mean- 
 while, 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 Bevis Marks, just as that gen- 
 tleman 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 ! " 
 
 '' Oh,- you're there, are. you?" returned Mr. 
 Swiveller. " Hmv are you ?" 
 
 " How's Dick ?" retorted Quilp. " How's the 
 cream of clerkship, eh ? " 
 
 " Why, rather sour, sir," replied Mr. Swiveller. 
 "Beginning to border upon cheesiness, in fact." 
 
 "What's the matter?" said the dwarf, ad- 
 vancing. " Has Sally proved unkind ? ' Of all 
 
 the girls that are so smart, there's none like ' 
 
 Eh, Dick ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Mr. Swiveller, eating 
 his dinner with great gravity, " none like her. 
 She's the sphynx of private life, is Sally B." 
 
 " You're out of spirits," said Quilp, drawing 
 up a chair. " What's the matter ?" 
 
 "The law don't agree with me," returned 
 Dick. " It isn't moist enough, and there's too 
 
1 84 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 much confinement. 
 
 I have been thinking of 
 " Where would you 
 
 runnmg away. 
 
 "Bah!" said the dwarf, 
 run to, Dick ?" 
 
 " I don't know," returned Mr. Swiveller. 
 '^' Towards Highgate, I suppose. Perhaps the 
 i)ells might strike up ' Turn again, Swiveller, 
 Lord Mayor of London.' Whittington's 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 iDack 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 odour. 
 
 " Perhaps you'd like 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. 
 
 " BOTH MOTHER AND DAUGHTER, TREMBLING WITH TERROR AND COLD, 
 
 DIRECTIONS IN SUBMISSIVE SILENCE." 
 
 OBEYED MR. QUILP S 
 
 Mr. Swiveller replied by taking from his 
 -pocket a small and very greasy parcel, slowly 
 unfolding it, and displaying a Httle 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 whose should you say it was?" in- 
 quired Mr. Swiveller, rubbing the pastry 
 
 against his 
 " Whose ?" 
 " Not 
 
 nose with a dreadful calmness. 
 
 " Yes," said Dick, " the same. You needn't 
 mention her name. There's no such name now. 
 Her name is Cheggs now, Sophy Cheggs. Yet 
 loved I as man never loved that hadn't wooden 
 legs, and my heart, my heart is breaking for the 
 love of Sophy Cheggs." 
 
 With this extemporary adaptation of a popular 
 ballad to the distressing circumstances of his 
 own case, Mr. Swiveller folded up the parcel 
 
QUILP VISITS MR. SWIVELLER. 
 
 185 
 
 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 whole. 
 
 " Now I hope you're satisfied, sir," said Dick ; 
 " and I hope Fred's satisfied. You went part- 
 ners 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 to 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 order- 
 ing 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 derisive of Cheggs, 
 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 Bevis Marks by the two surviving 
 Miss Wackleses 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 situa- 
 tion 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 3 your friend over the 
 way " 
 
 "Which friend?" 
 
 " In the first floor." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Your friend in the first floor, Dick, may 
 know him." 
 
 " No, 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 — who knows 
 but it might make the young fellow's fortune, 
 and, through him, yours, eh?" 
 
 " Why, the fact is, you see," said Mr. Swi- 
 veller, " that they have been brought together." 
 
 " Have been !" cried the dwarf, looking sus- 
 piciously 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 know you didn't," returned the dwarf. 
 
 " I believe you're right," said Dick. " No. 
 I didn't, I recollect. Oh yes, I brought 'em 
 together that very day ! It was Fred's sugges- 
 tion." 
 
 " And what came of it ?" 
 
 "Why, instead of my friend's bursting into 
 tears 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 tre- 
 mendous passion; called him all manner 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 — 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 coolly, " but quite true." 
 
 Quilp was plainly staggered by this intelli- 
 gence, over which he brooded for some time in 
 moody silence, often raising his eyes to Mr. 
 Swiveller's face, and sharply scanning its ex- 
 pression. As he could read in it, however, no 
 additional information, or anything to lead him 
 to believe he had spoken falsely ; and as Mr. 
 Swiveller, left to his own meditations, sighed 
 deeply, and was evidently growing maudlin on 
 the subject of Mrs. Cheggs; 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. Ha, ha ! The blockhead mustn't 
 leave the law at present. I'm sure of him where 
 he is, whenever I want him for my own pur- 
 poses, and, besides, he's a good unconscious 
 spy on Brass, and tells, in his cups, all that he 
 sees and hears. You're useful to me, Dick, 
 and cost nothing but a little treating now and 
 then. I am not sure that it may not be worth 
 while, before long, to take credit with the stranger, 
 Dick, by discovering your designs upon the 
 child ; but for the present we'll remain the best 
 friends in the world, with your good leave." 
 
 Pursuing these thoughts, and gasping as he 
 
i86 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 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 rea- 
 son of his newly-erected chimney depositing the 
 smoke inside the room and carrying none of it 
 off, was not quite so agreeable as more fastidious 
 people might have desired. Such inconve- 
 niences, 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 scat- 
 tered the heavy wreaths by which they were ob- 
 scured. In the midst of this atmosphere, which 
 must infallibly have smothered any other man, 
 Mr. Quilp passed [the evening with great cheer- 
 fulness ; solacing himself all the time with the 
 pipe and the case-bottle ; and occasionally 
 entertaining himself with a 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 morn- 
 ing — as he half opened his eyes, and, finding 
 himself so unusually near the ceiling, entertained 
 a drowsy idea that he must have been trans- 
 formed into a fly or blue-bottle in the course of 
 the night — was that of a stifled sobbing and 
 weeping in the room. 
 
 Peeping cautiously over the side of his ham- 
 mock, he descried Mrs. Quilp, to whom, after 
 contemplating her for some time in silence, he 
 communicated a violent start by suddenly yell- 
 ing out : 
 
 " Halloa ! " 
 
 " Oh, Quilp ! " cried his poor little wife, look- 
 ing up. " How you frightened me ! " 
 
 " I meant to, you jade," returned the dwarf. 
 " What do you want here ? I'm dead, an'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 o' the 
 Wisp, now here, now there, d3.ncing about 
 you always, starting up when you least expect 
 
 me, and keeping you in a constant state of rest- 
 lessness and irritation. Will you begone ? " 
 
 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 watch-dogs in the yard that'll 
 growl and bite — I'll have man -traps, 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 go ? " 
 
 " Do forgive me. Do come back," said his 
 wife earnestly. 
 
 " No-o-o-o-o ! " 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 accom- 
 panied it with such a sudden gesture, indicative 
 of an intention to spring out of his hammock, 
 and, nightcapped 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. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 HE bland and open-hearted pro- 
 prietor of Bachelor's Hall slept on 
 amidst the congenial accompani- 
 ments of rain, mud, dirt, damp, fog, 
 and rats, until late in the day; 
 when, summoning his valet Tom Scott 
 assist him to rise, and to prepare break- 
 he quitted his couch, and made his 
 toilet. This duty performed, and his repast 
 ended, he again betook himself to Be vis Marks. 
 This visit was not intended for Mr. Svviveller, 
 but for his friend and employer, Mr. Sampson 
 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, fur- 
 
A GREEN SPOT IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 187 
 
 nished him with the rather vague and unsatis- 
 factory 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 a sufficiently long interval, the door was 
 opened, and a small voice immediately accosted 
 him with, " Oh, please will you leave a card or 
 message ? " 
 
 "Eh?" said the dwarf, looking down (it was 
 something quite new to him) upon the small 
 servant. 
 
 To this, the child, conducting her conversa- 
 tion as upon the occasion of her first interview 
 with Mr. Swiveller, again replied, " Oh, 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. Quilp 
 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. Quilp folded his note (which was 
 soon written : being a very short one) he en- 
 countered the gaze of the small servant. He 
 looked at her long and earnestly. 
 
 " How are you ?" said the dwarf, moistening 
 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 in- 
 wardly repeating the same form of expression 
 concerning the note or message. 
 
 " Do they use you ill here ? Is your mistress 
 a Tartar ? " said Quilp with a chuckle. 
 
 In reply to the last interrogation, the small 
 servant, with a 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 
 slyness of her action which fascinated Mr. 
 Quilp, 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 ?" he said after a 
 long pause, stroking his chin. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " What's your name ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " retorted Quilp. " What does 
 your mistress call 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. Quilp, how- 
 ever, 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 slily and noiselessly, until 
 every vein in it was swollen almost to bursting. 
 Pulling his hat 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 rifie-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. Sampson and his sister 
 Sally. 
 
 " You're fond of the beauties of nature," said 
 Quilp with a grin. " Is this charming. Brass ? 
 Is it unusual, unsophisticated, primitive ? " 
 
 "It's delightful indeed, sir," replied the 
 lawyer. 
 
 " Cool ? " said Quilp. 
 
 " N-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," re- 
 joined Brass. " Nothing more, sir, nothing 
 more." 
 
i88 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 
 
 "And Sally?" said the delighted dwarf. 
 " Does x//^ 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 ! " 
 soliloquised Mr. Brass. "He's quite a Trouba- 
 dour, you know ; quite a Troubadour ! " 
 
 These complimentary 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 grati- 
 fication of his demon whims, owed Sampson 
 some acknowledgment of the part he had played 
 in the mourning scene of which he had been a 
 hidden witness, — marked these symptoms of 
 uneasiness with a delight past all expression, 
 and derived 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, in- 
 deed, 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 imperturb- 
 able composure. While Mr. Quilp, in his up- 
 roarious 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, exulted in his agonies, and bade 
 fair to split 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, contem- 
 plating the unhappiness of her brother with a 
 mind at ease, and content in her amiable dis- 
 
 regard of self, to sit there all night, witnessing 
 the torments which his avaricious and grovelling 
 nature compelled him to endure and forbade 
 him to resent. And 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. Sampson, 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, 
 Quilp, having on some pretence dismissed his 
 attendant sprite 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, harkee 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 docu- 
 ments," added the lawyer, raising his eyes to 
 the ceiling, " most remarkable documents. He 
 states his points so clearly that it's a treat to 
 have 'em ! I don't know any Act of Parliament 
 that's equal to him in clearness." 
 
 " I shall deprive you of a treat," said Quilp, 
 " Put up your book. We don't want any docu- 
 ments. So. There's a lad named Kit " 
 
 Miss Sally nodded, implying that she knew of 
 him. 
 
 " Kit ! " said Mr. Sampson. " 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 ob- 
 sequious Sampson. " 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 show of reason, that he would 
 have said Buffon, but made use of a superfluous 
 vowel. Be this as it may, Quilp 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." 
 
KIT IN DANGER. 
 
 189 
 
 " She's always foremost ! " said the dwarf, 
 patting her on the back and looking con- 
 temptuously at Sampson. " I don't like Kit, 
 .Sally." 
 
 " Nor I," rejoined Miss Brass. 
 
 " Nor I," said Sampson. 
 
 "Why, that's right!" cried Quilp. "Half 
 our work is done already. This Kit is one of 
 your honest people ; one of your fair characters ; 
 a prowling, prying hound; a hypocrite; a 
 
 double-faced, white-livered, sneaking spy ; a 
 crouching cur to those that feed and coax him, 
 and a barking, yelping dog to all besides." 
 
 " 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 Quilp with an- 
 other contemptuous look at Sampson ; " always 
 foremost ! I say, Sally, he is a yelping, insolent 
 
 "ELEVATING HIS GLASS, DRANK TO THEIR NEXT MERRY-MEETING IN THAT JOVIAL SPOT." 
 
 dog to all besides, and most of all to me. In 
 short, I owe him a grudge." 
 
 " That's enough, sir," said Sampson. 
 
 " No, it's not enough, sir," sneered Quilp. 
 " Will you hear me out ? Besides that 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. Devise your 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 13. 
 
 own means of putting him out of my way, and 
 execute them. Shall it be done?" 
 
 " Tt shall, sir," said Sampson. 
 
 " Then give me your hand," retorted Quilp. 
 " Sally, girl, yours. I rely as much, or more, 
 on you than him. Tom Scott comes back. 
 Lantern, pipes, more grog, and a jolly night 
 ofit!" 
 
 No other word was spoken, no other look 
 exchanged, which had the slightest reference to 
 this, tho real occasion of their meeting. The 
 
 261 
 
190 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 trio were well accustomed to act together, and 
 were linked toeach other byties 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, Quilp 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, by which time he needed the 
 utmost support her tender frame could render ; 
 his walk being, for some unknown reason, any- 
 thing but steady, and his legs constantly doubling 
 up in unexpected places. 
 
 Overpowered, notwithstanding his late pro- 
 longed 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. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 'FTER a long time, the schoolmaster 
 appeared at the wicket-gate of the 
 churchyard, and hurried towards 
 them, jingling 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 to- 
 wards 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 school- 
 master 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 groined roof and rich stone tracery, 
 choice remnants of its ancient splendour. Foli- 
 age 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 dis- 
 tinguishable for what they had been — far dif- 
 ferent 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 ad- 
 mitted 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 appro- 
 priated 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, dim 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 neces- 
 saries, and store of fire-wood for the winter, 
 were scattered around, and gave evident tokens 
 of its occupation as a dwelling-place at no very 
 distant time. 
 
 The child looked around her with that solemn 
 feeling with which we contemplate the work of 
 ages that have become but drop$ of water in 
 the great ocean of eternity. The old man had 
 followed them, but they were all three hushed 
 for a space, and drew their breath softly, as if 
 they feared to break the silence even by so 
 slight a sound. 
 
 " It is a very beautiful place ! " said the child 
 in a low voice. 
 
 '* I almost feared you thought otherwise," re- 
 turned 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 
 
NELL SETTLED WITH THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 191 
 
 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 
 liands 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 school- 
 master ; " for this old house is yours." 
 
 " Ours ! " cried the child. 
 
 "Ay," 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, draw- 
 ing Nell to his side, told her how he had learnt 
 that that 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 and closed it for the services, 
 and showed it to strangers ; how she had died 
 not many weeks ago, and nobody had yet been 
 found to fill the office ; how, learning all this in 
 an interview with the sexton, 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 clergy- 
 man. In a word, the result of his exertions was, 
 that Nell and her grandfather were to be carried 
 before the last-named 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'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 cheer- 
 fully; "and all of us, as it will, and has, in 
 leading us through sorrow and trouble to this 
 tranquil life. But we must look at my house 
 now. Come ! " 
 
 They repaired to the other tenement; tried 
 the rusty keys as before; at length found the 
 right one ; and opened the worm-eaten door. 
 It led into a chamber, vaulted and old, like 
 that from which they had come, but not so 
 
 spacious, and having only one other little room 
 attached. It was not difficult to divine that the 
 other house was of right the schoolmaster's, and 
 that he had chosen for himself the least commo- 
 dious, 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 fire-wood. 
 
 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 crackHng on the hearth, and 
 reddening the pale old walls with a hale and 
 healthy blush. Nell, busily plying her needle, 
 repaired the tattered window -hangings, drew 
 together the rents that time had worn in the 
 threadbare scraps of carpet, and made them 
 whole and decent. The schoolmaster swept and 
 smoothed the ground before the door, trimmed 
 the long grass, trained the ivy and creeping 
 plants, which hung • their drooping heads in 
 melancholy neglect ; and gave to the outer 
 walls a cheery air of home. The old man, 
 sometimes by his side and sometimes with the 
 child, lent his aid to both, went here and there 
 on httle patient services, and was happy. Neigh- 
 bours too, as they came from work, proifered 
 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 in the house 
 which may be henceforth called the child's ; 
 and, when they had finished their meal, drew 
 round the fire, and almost in whispers — their 
 hearts were too quiet and glad for loud expres- 
 sion — discussed their future plans. Before they 
 separated, the schoolmaster read some prayers 
 aloud ; and then, full of gratitude and happi- 
 ness, they parted for the night. 
 
 At that silent hour, when her grandfather was 
 sleeping peacefully in his bed, and every sound 
 was hushed, 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 gloom of 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 tliought- 
 ful feelings, but with none of terror or alarm. 
 
192 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 A change had been gradually stealing over her 
 in the time of her loneliness and sorrow. With 
 failing strength and heightening resolution, there 
 had sprung up a purified and altered mind ; there 
 had grown in her bosom blessed thoughts and 
 hopes, which are the portion of few 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 and 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 pro- 
 tection. Others had chosen to lie beneath the 
 changing shade of trees ; others, by the path, 
 that footsteps might come near them; others, 
 among the graves of little children. Some had 
 desired 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 unprisoned 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 captives 
 have been known to bear towards the cell in 
 which they have been long confined, and, even 
 at parting, hung upon its narrow bounds affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 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, too, 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 in 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, save that there was music in the air, and 
 a sound of angels' wings. After a 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 ener- 
 gies, 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 retire- 
 ment, 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 at once 
 showed an interest in Nell; asking her name 
 and age, her birthplace, the circumstances which 
 had led her there, and so forth. The school- 
 master 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 in adversity and 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 for one so 
 young as you, my child." 
 
 " Oh no, sir ! " returned Nell. '' I have no 
 such thoughts, indeed." 
 
 " I would rather see her dancing on the green 
 at nights," 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 
 repaired to the child's house ; where they were 
 yet in conversation on their happy fortune, when 
 another friend appeared. 
 
 This was the 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 hap- 
 pened 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 con- 
 sole and comfort him ; and from that time they 
 had never parted company. The little old gen- 
 tleman 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 be- 
 sides^ the universal mediator, comforter, and 
 friend. None of the simple villagers had cared 
 to ask his name, or, when they 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 
 
ANOTHER FRIEND. 
 
 193 
 
 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 
 their new habitations. 
 
 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. Marton, 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 
 church-keeper ? You are not the less welcome, 
 friend, for her sake, or for this old man's ; nor 
 the worse teacher for having learnt humanity." 
 
 " She has been ill, sir, very lately," said the 
 schoolmaster, in answer 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 grand- 
 father, and back again at the child, whose hand 
 he took tenderly in his, and held. 
 
 " You will be happier here," he said ; " 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 arti- 
 cles imaginable. They all came, however, and 
 came without loss of time ; for the little old gen- 
 tleman, disappearing for some five or ten minutes, 
 presently returned, laden with old shelves, rugs, 
 blankets, and other 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 superintendence of which 
 task evidently afforded the old gentleman ex- 
 treme 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 mar- 
 shalled before their new master, and solemnly 
 reviewed. 
 
 " As good a set of fellows, Marton, as you'd 
 wish to see," he said, turning to the school- 
 master when the boy was gone ; " but I don't 
 let 'em 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 bachelor at the house- 
 door, fell into various convulsions of politeness ; 
 clutching their hats and caps, squeezing them 
 into the smallest possible dimensions, and mak- 
 ing 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 appro- 
 bation of the boys was by no means so scrupu- 
 lously 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 bache- 
 lor, " 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 hare and hounds, taking the fence and 
 ditch by the finger-post, and sliding down the 
 face of the little quarry, you'll 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. 
 " You see that fellow ? Richard Evans his 
 name is, sir. 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 falling asleep 
 in church in sermon-time — and, to tell you the 
 truth, Mr. Marton, I 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 terri- 
 ble reproval, the bachelor turned to another. 
 
194 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " 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 save us ! 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 wringing his hands upon the bank, be- 
 wailing the loss of his guide and friend. I sent 
 the boy two guineas anonymously, sir," added 
 the bachelor in his peculiar whisper, " directly I 
 heard of it ; but never mention 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 propen- 
 sities as were dearest to his heart, and were un- 
 questionably 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 injunction (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, pausing to look 
 upon them as they returned from their evening 
 walk, spoke softly together of the beautiful 
 child, and looked round upon the churchyard 
 with a sigh. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 1^ ELL was stirring early in the morning, and 
 having discharged her household tasks, 
 and put everything in order for the good 
 schoolmaster (though sorely against his will, 
 for he would have spared her the pains), took 
 
 down, from its nail by the fireside, a little 
 bundle of keys with which the bachelor had 
 formally invested her on the previous day, and 
 went out alone to visit the old church. 
 
 The sky was serene and bright, the air clear, 
 perfumed with the fresh scent of newly-fallen 
 leaves, and grateful to every sense. The neigh- 
 bouring stream sparkled, and rolled onward with 
 a tuneful sound ; the dew glistened on the green 
 mounds, like tears shed by Good Spirits over 
 the dead. 
 
 Some young children sported among the 
 tombs, and hid from each other, with laughing 
 faces. They had an infant with them, and had 
 laid it down asleep upon a child's grave, in a 
 little bed of leaves. It was a new grave — the 
 resting-place, perhaps, of some little creature, 
 who, meek and patient in its illness, had often 
 sat and watched them, and now seemed, to their 
 minds, scarcely changed. 
 
 She drew near, and asked one of .them whose 
 grave it was. The child answered that that was 
 not its name ; it was a garden — his brother's. It 
 was greener, he said, than all the other gardens, 
 and the birds loved it better because he had 
 been used to feed them. When he had done 
 speaking, he looked at her with a smile, and 
 kneeling down and nestling for a moment with 
 his cheek against the turf, bounded merrily away. 
 
 She passed the church, gazing upward at its 
 old tower, went through the wicket-gate, and so 
 into the village. The old sexton, leaning on a 
 crutch, was taking the air at his cottage door, 
 and gave her good morrov/. 
 
 "You are better?" said the child, stopping 
 to speak to him. 
 
 " Ay, surely," returned the old man. " I'm 
 thankful to say, much better." 
 
 " You will be quite well soon." 
 
 " With Heaven's leave, and a little patience. 
 But come in, come in ! " 
 
 The old man limped on before, and warning 
 her of the downward step, which he achieved 
 himself with no small difficulty, led the way into 
 his little cottage. 
 
 " It is but one room, you see. There is 
 another up above, but the stair has got harder 
 to climb o' late years, and I never use it. I'm 
 thinking of taking to it again next summer, 
 though." 
 
 The child wondered how a grey-headed man 
 like him — one of his trade too — could talk 
 of time so easily. He saw her eyes wandering 
 to the tools that hung upon the wall, and 
 smiled. 
 
 " I warrant now," he said, " that you think all 
 those are used m making graves." 
 
THE OLD SEXTON. 
 
 195 
 
 " Indeed, I wondered that you wanted so 
 many." 
 
 " And well you might. I am a gardener. I 
 dig the ground, and plant things that are to live 
 and grow. My works don't all moulder away, 
 and rot in the earth. You see that spade in 
 the centre?" • 
 
 " The very old one — so notched and worn ? 
 Yes." 
 
 " That's the sexton's spade, and it's a well- 
 used one, as you see. We're healthy people 
 here, but it lias done a power of work. If it 
 could speak now, that spade, it would tell you 
 of many an unexpected job that it and I have 
 done together ; but I forget 'em, for my memory's 
 a poor one. — That's nothing new," he added 
 hastily. " It always was." 
 
 " There are flowers and shrubs to speak to 
 your other work," said the child. 
 
 '' Oh yes ! And tall trees. . But they are not 
 so separated from -the sexton's labours as you 
 think." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Not in my mind, and recollection — such as 
 it is," said the old man. " Indeed, they often 
 help it. For say that I planted such a tree for 
 such a man. There it stands, to remind me 
 that he died. When I look at its broad shadow, 
 and remember what it was in his time, it helps 
 me to the age of my other work, and I can tell 
 you pretty nearly when I made his grave." 
 
 " But it may remind you of one who is still 
 alive," said the child. 
 
 " Of twenty that are dead, in connection with 
 that one who lives, then,'' rejoined the old man ; 
 "wife, husband, parents, brothers, sisters, chil- 
 dren, friends — a score at least. So it happens 
 that the sexton's spade gets worn and battered. 
 I shall need a new one — next summer." 
 
 The child looked quickly towards him, think- 
 ing that he jested with his age and infirmity : 
 but the unconscious sexton was quite in earnest. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said after a brief silence. " People 
 never learn. They never learn. It's only we 
 who turn up the ground, where nothing grows 
 and everything decays, who think of such things 
 as these — who think of them properly, I mean. 
 You have been into the church ? " 
 
 " I am going there now," the child replied. 
 
 " There's an old well there," said the sexton, 
 "right underneath the belfry; a deep, dark, 
 echoing well. Forty year ago you had only to 
 let down the bucket till the first knot in the rope 
 was free of the windlass, and you heard it splash- 
 ing in the cold dull water. By little and little 
 the water fell away, so that, in ten year after 
 that, a second knot was made, and you must 
 
 unwind so much rope, or the bucket swung light 
 and empty at the end: In ten years' time the 
 water fell again, and a third knot was made. 
 In ten year more, the well dried up ; and now, 
 if you lower the bucket till your arms are tired 
 and let out nearly all the cord, you'll hear it of 
 a sudden clanking and rattling on the ground 
 below ; with a sound of being so deep and so 
 far down, that your heart leaps into your mouth, 
 and you start away as if you were falling in." 
 
 "A dreadful place to come on in the dark !" 
 exclaimed the child, who had followed the old 
 man's looks and words until she seemed to stand 
 upon its brink. 
 
 "What is it but a grave?" said the sexton. 
 " What else ? And which of our old folks, 
 knowing all this, thought, as the spring subsided, 
 of their own failing strength and lessening life ? 
 Not one ! " 
 
 "Are you very old yourself?" asked the child 
 involuntarily. 
 
 " I shall be seventy-nine — next summer." 
 
 "You still work when you are well ?" 
 
 " Work ! To be sure. You shall see my 
 gardens hereabout. Look at the window there. 
 I made, and have kept, that plot of ground en- 
 tirely with my own hands. By this time next 
 year I shall hardly see the sky, the boughs will 
 have grown so thick. I have my winter work at 
 night besides." 
 
 He opened, as he spoke, a cupboard close to 
 where he sat, and produced some miniature 
 boxes, carved in a homely manner, and made of 
 old wood. 
 
 " Some gentlefolks who are fond of ancient 
 days, and what belongs to them," he said, " like 
 to buy these keepsakes from our church and 
 ruins. Sometimes I make them of scraps of 
 oak that turn up here and there ; sometimes of 
 bits of coffins which the vaults have long pre- 
 served. See here — this is a little chest of the 
 last kind, clasped at the edges with fragments of 
 brass plates that had writing on 'em once, though 
 it would be hard to read it now. I haven't 
 many by me at this time of year, but these 
 shelves will be full — next summer." 
 
 The child admired and praised his work, and 
 shortly afterwards departed; thinking, as she 
 went, how strange it was that this old man, 
 drawing from his pursuits, and everything around 
 him, one stern moral, never contemplated its 
 application to himself; and, while he dwelt upon 
 the uncertainty of human life, seemed both in 
 word and deed to deem himself immortal. But 
 her musings did not stop here, for she was wise 
 enough to think that by a good and merciful 
 adjustment this must be human nature, and that 
 
196 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 the old sexton, with his plans for next summer, 
 was but a type of all mankind. 
 
 Full of these meditations, she reached the 
 church. It was easy to find the key belonging 
 to the outer door, for each was labelled on a 
 scrap of yellow parchment. Its very turning in 
 the lock awoke a hollow sound, and, when she 
 entered with a faltering step, the echoes that it 
 raised in closing made her start. 
 
 If the peace of the simple village had moved 
 the child more strongly because of the dark and 
 troubled ways that lay beyond, and through 
 which she had journeyed with such failing feet, 
 what was the deep impression of finding herself 
 alone in that solemn building, where the very 
 light, coming through sunken windows, seemed 
 old and grey, and the air, redolent of earth and 
 mould, seemed laden with decay, purified by 
 time of all its grosser particles, and sighing 
 through arch and aisle, and clustered pillars, 
 like the breath of ages gone ! Here was the 
 broken pavement, worn, so long ago, by pious 
 feet, that Time, stealing on the pilgrims' steps, 
 had trodden out their track, and left but crum- 
 bling stones. Here were the rotten beam, the 
 sinking arch, the sapped and mouldering wall, 
 the lowly trench of earth, the stately tomb on 
 which no epitaph remained, — all — marble, stone, 
 iron, wood, and dust — one common monument 
 of ruin. The best work and the worst, the 
 plainest and the richest, the stateliest and the 
 least imposing — both of Heaven's work and 
 Man's — all found one common level here, and 
 told one common tale. 
 
 Some part of the edifice had been a baronial 
 chapel, and here were efiigies of warriors, 
 stretched upon their beds of stone with folded 
 hands— cross-legged, those who had fought in 
 the Holy Wars — girded with their swords, and 
 cased in armour as they had lived. Some of 
 these knights had their own weapons, helmets, 
 coats of mail, hanging upon the walls hard by, 
 and dangling from rusty hooks. Broken and 
 dilapidated as they were, they yet retained their 
 ancient form, and something of their ancient 
 aspect. Thus violent deeds live after men upon 
 the earth, and traces of war and bloodshed will 
 survive in mournful shapes, long after those who 
 worked the desolation are but atoms of earth 
 themselves. 
 
 The child sat down, in this old, silent place, 
 among the stark figures on the tombs — they 
 made it more quiet there than elsewhere, to her 
 fancy — and gazing round with a feeling of awe, 
 tempered with a calm delight, felt that now she 
 was happy, and at rest. She took a Bible from 
 the shelf, and read ; then, laying it down. 
 
 thought of the summer ddys and the bright 
 spring-time that would come — of tfee rays of 
 sun that would fall in aslant upon the sleeping 
 forms — of the leaves that would flutter at the 
 window, and play in glistening shadows on the 
 pavement — of the songs of birds, and growth of 
 buds and blossoms out of doors— of the sweet 
 air that would steal in, and gently wave the 
 tattered banners overhead. What if the spot 
 awakened thoughts of death ? Die who would, 
 it would still remain the same ; these sights and 
 sounds would still go on as happily as ever. It 
 would be no pain to sleep amidst them. 
 
 She left the chapel — very slowly, and often 
 turning back to gaze again — and coming to a 
 low door, which plainly led into the tower, 
 opened it, and climbed the winding stair in 
 darkness ; save where she looked down, through 
 narrow loopholes, on the place she had left, or 
 caught a gHmmering vision of the dusty bells. 
 At length she gained the end of the ascent, and 
 stood upon the turret top. 
 
 Oh ! the glory of the sudden burst of light ; 
 the freshness of the fields and woods, stretching 
 away on every side, and meeting the bright blue 
 sky ; the cattle grazing in the pasturage ; the 
 smoke that, coming from among the trees, seemed 
 to rise upward from the green earth ; the chil- 
 dren yet at their gambols down below — all, 
 everything, so beautiful and happy ! It was 
 like passing from death to life ; it was drawing 
 nearer Heaven. 
 
 The children were gone when she emerged 
 into the porch and locked the door. As she 
 passed the school-house she could hear the busy 
 hum of voices. Her friend had begun his 
 labours only that day. The noise grew louder, 
 and, looking back, she saw the boys come troop- 
 ing out and disperse themselves, with merry 
 shouts and play. " It's a good thing," thought 
 the child ; " I am very glad they pass the church." 
 And then she stopped to fancy how the noise 
 would sound inside, and how gently it would 
 seem to die away upon the ear. 
 
 Again that day, yes, twice again, she stole 
 back to the old chapel, and in her former seat 
 read from the same book, or indulged the same 
 quiet train of thought. Even when it had grown 
 dusk, and the shadows of coming night made it 
 more solemn still, the child remained like one 
 rooted to the spot, and had no fear or thought 
 of stirring. 
 
 They found her there, at last, and took her 
 home. She looked pale, but very happy, until 
 they separated for the night; and then, as the 
 poor schoolmaster stooped down to kiss her 
 cheek, he thought he felt a tear upon his face. 
 
THE BACHELOR'S REVERENCE FOR THE DEAD. 
 
 197 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 HE bachelor, among his various 
 occupations, found in the old church 
 a constant source of interest and 
 amusement. Taking that pride in 
 it which men conceive for the won- 
 ders of their own little world, he had made 
 its history his study; and many a summer 
 day within its walls, and many a winter's 
 night beside the parsonage fire, had found the 
 bachelor still poring over, and adding to, his 
 goodly store of tale and legend. 
 
 As he was not one of those rough spirits who 
 would strip fair Truth of every little shadowy 
 vestment in which time and teeming fancies 
 love to array her — and some of which become 
 her pleasantly enough, serving, like the waters 
 of her well, to add new graces to the charms 
 they half conceal and half suggest, and to awaken 
 interest and pursuit rather than languor and 
 indifference — as, unlike this stern and obdurate 
 class, he loved to see the goddess crowned with 
 those garlands of wild flowers which tradition, 
 wreathes for her gentle wearing, and which are 
 often freshest in their homeliest shapes, — he 
 
 " THE CHILD SAT DOWN IN THIS OLD, SILENT PLACE." 
 
 trod with a light step and bore with a light hand 
 upon the dust of centuries, unwilling to demolish 
 any of the airy shrines that had been raised 
 above it, if any good feeling or affection of the 
 human heart were hiding thereabouts. Thus, 
 in the case of an ancient coffin of rough stone, 
 supposed, for many generations, to contain the 
 bones of a certain baron, who, after ravaging, 
 with cut, and thrust, and plunder, in foreign 
 lands, came back with a penitent and sorrowing 
 heart to die at home, but which had been lately 
 shown by learned antiquaries to be no such 
 thing, as the baron in question (so they con- 
 
 tended) had died hard in battle, gnashing his 
 teeth and cursing with his latest breath, — the 
 bachelor stoutly maintained that the old tale was 
 the true one ; that the baron, repenting him of 
 the evil, had done great charities and meekly 
 given up the ghost ; and that, if ever baron went 
 to heaven, that baron was then at peace. In 
 like manner, when the aforesaid antiquaries did 
 argue and contend that a certain secret vault 
 was not the tomb of a grey-haired lady who had 
 been hanged and drawn and quartered by 
 glorious Queen Bess for succouring a wretched 
 priest who fainted of thirst and hunger at her 
 
198 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 door, the bachelor did solemnly maintain, against 
 all comers, that the church was hallowed by 
 the said poor lady's ashes ; that her rem'ains 
 had been collected in the night from four of 
 the city's gates, and thither in secret brought, 
 and there deposited; and the bachelor did 
 further (being highly excited at such times) deny 
 the glory of Queen Bess, and assert the immea- 
 surably greater glory of the meanest woman in 
 her realm, who had a merciful and tender heart. 
 As to the assertion that the flat stone near the 
 door was not the grave of the miser who had 
 disowned his only child and left a sum of money 
 to the church to buy a peal of bells, the bachelor 
 did readily admit the same, and that the place 
 had given birth to no such man. In a word, he 
 would have had every stone and plate of brass the 
 monument only of deeds whose memory should 
 survive. All others he was willing to forget. 
 They might be buried in consecrated ground, 
 but he would have had them buried deep, and 
 never brought to light again. 
 
 It was from the lips of such a tutor that the 
 child learnt her easy task. Already impressed, 
 beyond all telling, by the silent building and the 
 peaceful beauty of the spot in which it stood — 
 majestic age surrounded by perpetual youth — it 
 seemed to her, when she , heard these things, 
 sacred to all goodness and virtue. It was 
 another world, where sin and sorrow never 
 came; a tranquil place of rest, where nothing 
 evil entered. 
 
 When the bachelor had given her, in connec; 
 tion with almost every tomb and flat gravestone, 
 some history of its own, he took her down into 
 the old crypt, now a mere dull vault, and showed 
 her how it had been lighted up in the time of 
 the monks, and how, amid lamps depending from 
 the roof, and swinging censers exhaling scented 
 odours, and habits glittering with gold and 
 silver, and pictures, and precious stuffs, and 
 jewels all flashing and glistening through the 
 low arches, the chant of aged voices had been 
 many a time heard there, at midnight, in old 
 days, while hooded figures knelt and prayed 
 around, and told their rosaries of beads. Thence, 
 he took her above-ground again, and showed 
 her, high up in the old walls, small galleries, 
 where the nuns had been wont to glide along — 
 dimly seen in their dark dresses so far off — or 
 to pause like gloomy shadows, listening to the 
 prayers. He showed her, too, how the warriors, 
 whose figures rested on the tombs, had worn 
 those rotting scraps of armour up above — how 
 this had been a helmet, and that a shield, and 
 that a gauntlet — and how they had wielded the 
 great two-handed swords, and beaten men down 
 
 with yonder iron mace. All that he told the 
 child she treasured in her mind ; and sometimes, 
 when she awoke at night from dreams of those 
 old times, and rising from her bed looked out 
 at the dark church, she almost hoped to see the 
 windows lighted up, and hear the organ's swell, 
 and sound of voices on the rushing wind. 
 
 The old sexton soon got better, and was about 
 again. From him the child learnt many other 
 things, though of a different kind. He was not 
 able to work, but one day there was a grave to 
 be made, and he cante to overlook the man who 
 dug it. He was in a talkative mood ; and the 
 child, at first standing by his side, and after- 
 wards sitting on the grass at his feet, with her 
 thoughtful face raised towards his, began to 
 converse with him. 
 
 Now, the man who did the sexton's duty was 
 a little older than he, though much more active. 
 But he was deaf; and when the sexton {who 
 peradventure, on a pinch, might have walked a 
 mile with great difficulty in half-a-dozen hours) 
 exchanged a remark with him about his work, 
 the child could not help noticing that he did so 
 with an impatient kind of pity for his infirmity, 
 as if he were himself the strongest and heartiest 
 man alive. 
 
 " I'rn sorry to see there is this to do," said 
 the child when she approached. "I heard of 
 no one having died." 
 
 " She lived in another- hamlet, my dear," 
 returned the sexton. " Three mile away." 
 
 "Was she young?" 
 
 " Ye — yes," said the sexton ; " not more than 
 sixty-four, I think. David, was she more than 
 sixty-four ? " 
 
 David, who was digging hard, heard nothing 
 of the question. The sexton, as he could not 
 reach to touch him with his crutch, and was too 
 mfirm to rise without assistance, called his atten- 
 tion by throwing a little mould upon his red 
 nightcap. 
 
 "What's the matter now?" said David, look- 
 ing up. 
 
 " How old was Becky Morgan ? " asked the 
 sexton. 
 
 " Becky Morgan ?" repeated David. 
 
 " Yes," replied the sexton ; adding, in a half- 
 compassionate, half-irritable tone, which the old 
 man couldn't hear, " You're getting very deaf, 
 Davy, very deaf to be sure ! " 
 
 The old man stopped in his work, and cleans- 
 ing his spade with a piece of slate he had by 
 him for the purpose — and scraping off, in the 
 process, the essence of Heaven knows how many 
 Becky Morgans — set himself to consider the 
 subject. 
 
BECKY MORGAN'S AGE. 
 
 199 
 
 " Let me think," quoth he. " I saw last night 
 what they had put upon the coffin — was it 
 seventy-nine ? " 
 
 " No, no," said the sexton. 
 
 *' Ah, yes, it was, though ! " returned the old 
 man with a sigh. " For I remember thinking 
 she was very near our age. Yes, it was seventy- 
 nine." 
 
 " Are you sure you didn't mistake a figure, 
 Davy?" asked the sexton with signs of some 
 emotion. 
 
 ''What ?" said the old man. "Say that again." 
 
 " He's very deaf. He's very deaf indeed," 
 cried the sexton petulantly. " Are you sure 
 you're right about the figures?" 
 
 "Oh, quite!" replied the old man. "Why 
 not?" 
 
 ^' He's exceedingly deaf," muttered the sexton 
 to himself. " I think he's getting foolish." 
 
 The child rather wondered what had led him 
 to this belief, as, to say the truth, the old man 
 seemed quite as sharp as he, and was infinitely 
 more robust. As the sexton said nothing more 
 just then, however, she forgot it for the time, 
 and spoke again. 
 
 " You were telHng me," she said, " about your 
 gardening. Do you ever plant things here ?" 
 
 " In the churchyard r" returned the sexton. 
 " Not I." 
 
 " I have seen some flowers and little shrubs 
 about," the child rejoined; "there are some 
 over there, you see. I thought they were of your 
 rearing, though indeed they grow but poorly." 
 
 " They grow as Heaven wills," said the old 
 man; "and it kindly ordains that they shall 
 never flourish here." 
 
 " I do not understand you." 
 
 " Why, this it is," said the sexton. " They 
 mark the graves of those who had very tender, 
 loving friends." 
 
 " I was sure they did ! " the child exclaimed. 
 " I am very glad to know they do !" 
 
 " Ay," returned the old man, " but stay. 
 Look at them. See how they hang their heads, 
 and droop, and witlier ! Do you guess the 
 reason?" 
 
 " No," the child replied. 
 
 " Because the memory of those who lie below 
 passes away so soon. At first they tend them 
 morning, noon, and night ; they soon begin to 
 come less frequently ; from once a day to once 
 a week;* from once a week to once a month; 
 then, at long and uncertain intervals ; then, not 
 at all. Such tokens seldom flourish long. I 
 have known the briefest summer flowers outlive 
 them." 
 
 " I grieve to hear it," said the child. 
 
 " Ah ! so say the gentlefolks who come down 
 here to look about them," returned the old man, 
 shaking his head, " but I say otherwise. * It's 
 a pretty custom you have in this part of the 
 country,' they say to me sometimes, ' to plant 
 the graves, but it's melancholy to see these 
 things all withering or dead.' I crave their 
 pardon, and tell them that, as I take it, 'tis a 
 good sign for the happiness of the living. And 
 so it is. It's nature." 
 
 " Perhaps the mourners learn to look to the 
 blue sky by day, and to the stars by night, and 
 to think that the dead are there, and not in 
 graves," said the child in an earnest voice. 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied the old man doubtfully. 
 " It may be." 
 
 "Whether it be as I believe it is, or no," 
 thought the child within herself, "I'll make 
 this place my garden. It will be no harm at 
 least to work here day by day, and pleasant 
 thoughts will come of it, I am sure." 
 
 Her glowing cheek and moistened eye passed 
 unnoticed by the sexton, who turned towards 
 old David, and called him by his name. It was 
 plain that Becky Morgan's age still troubled 
 him ; though why, the child could scarcely 
 understand. 
 
 The second or third repetition of his name 
 attracted the old man's attention. Pausing from 
 his work, he leant on his spade, and put his 
 hand to his dull ear.. 
 
 " Did you call ? " he said. 
 
 "I have been thinking, Davy," replied the 
 sexton, "that she," he pointed to the grave, 
 " must have been a deal older than you or me." 
 
 " Seventy-nine," answered the old man with a 
 shake of the head ; " I tell you that I saw it." 
 
 "Saw it?" replied the sexton. "Ay, but, 
 Davy, women don't always tell the truth about 
 their age." 
 
 " That's true, indeed," said the other old man 
 with a sudden sparkle in his eye. " She might 
 have been older." 
 
 " I'm sure she must have been. Why, only 
 think how old she looked. You and I seemed 
 but boys to her.^' 
 
 " She did look old," rejoined David. "You're 
 right. She did look old." 
 
 " Call to mind how old she looked for many 
 a long, long year, and say if she could be but 
 seventy-nine at last — only our age," said the 
 sexton. 
 
 " Five year older at the very least ! " cried the 
 other. 
 
 " Five ! " retorted the sexton. " Ten. Good 
 eighty-nine. I call to mind the time her daughter 
 died. She was eighty-nine if she was a day, 
 
200 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 and tries to pass upon us now for ten year 
 younger. Oh ! human vanity ! " 
 
 The other old man was not behindhand with 
 some moral reflections on this fruitful theme, 
 and both adduced a mass of evidence, of such 
 weight as to render it doubtful — not whether 
 the deceased was of the age suggested, but 
 whether she had not almost reached the patri- 
 archal term of a hundred. When they had 
 settled this question to their mutual satisfac- 
 tion, the sexton, with his friend's assistance, 
 rose to go. 
 
 " It's chilly sitting here, and I must be careful 
 — till the summer," he said as he prepared to 
 limp away. 
 
 " What ? " asked old David. 
 
 " He's very deaf, poor fellow ! " cried the 
 sexton. " Good-bye." 
 
 " Ah ! " said old David, looking after him. 
 " He's failing very fast. He ages every day." 
 
 And so they parted ; each persuaded that the 
 other had less life in him than himself; and 
 both greatly consoled and cotnforted by the 
 little fiction they had agreed upon respecting 
 Becky Morgan, whose decease was no longer a 
 precedent of uncomfortable application, and 
 would be no business of theirs for half-a-score 
 of years to come. 
 
 The child remained, for some minutes, watch- 
 ing the deaf old man as he threw out the earth 
 with his shovel, and, often stopping to cough and 
 fetch his breath, still muttered to himself, with 
 a kind of sober chuckle, that the sexton was 
 wearing fast. At length she turned away, and, 
 walking thoughtfully through the churchyard, 
 came unexpectedly upon the schoolmaster, who 
 was sitting on a green grave in the sun, read- 
 ing. 
 
 " Nell here? " he said cheerfully, as he closed 
 his book. " It does me good to see you in the 
 air and light. I feared you were again in the 
 church, where you so often are." 
 
 " Feared ! " replied the child, sitting down be- 
 side him. " Is it not a good place ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the schoolmaster. " But you 
 must be gay sometimes. ■ Nay, don't shake your 
 head and smile so sadly." 
 
 " Not sadly, if you knew my heart. Do not 
 look at me as if you thought me sorrowful. 
 There is not a happier creature on the earth 
 than I am now." 
 
 Full of grateful tenderness, the child took 
 his hand, and folded it between her own. " It's 
 God's will," she said, when they had been silent 
 for some time. 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 "All this," she rejoined; "all this about us. 
 
 But which of us is sad now ? You see that / 
 am smiling." 
 
 " And so am I," said the schoolmaster ; 
 " smiling to think how often we shall laugh in 
 this same place. Were you not talking yon- 
 der?" 
 
 " Yes," the child rejoined. 
 
 " Of something that has made you sorrow- 
 ful ? " 
 
 There was a long pause. 
 
 "What was it?" said the schoolmaster ten- 
 derly. " Come. Tell me what it was." 
 
 " I rather grieve — I do rather grieve to think," 
 said the child, bursting into tears, '' that those 
 who die about us are so soon forgotten." 
 
 " And do you think," said the schoolmaster, 
 marking the glance she had thrown around, 
 " that an unvisited grave, a withered tree, a 
 faded flower or two, are tokens of forgetfulness 
 or cold neglect? Do you think there are no 
 deeds, far away from here, in which these dead 
 may be best remembered ? Nell, Nell, there 
 may be people busy in the world, at this in- 
 stant, in whose good actions and good thoughts 
 these very graves — neglected as they look to us 
 —are the chief instruments." 
 
 " Tell me no more," said the child quickly, 
 " Tell me no more. I feel, I know it. How 
 could / be unmindful of it, when I thought of 
 you ? " 
 
 " There is nothing," cried her friend, " no,, 
 nothing innocent or good, that dies, and is for- 
 gotten. Let us hold to that faith, or none. An 
 infant, a prattling child, dying in its cradle, will 
 live again in the better thoughts of those who 
 loved it, and will play its part, through them, in 
 the redeeming actions of the world, though its 
 body be burnt to ashes or drowned in the 
 deepest sea. There is not an angel added to 
 the Host of Heaven but does its blessed work 
 on earth in those that loved it here. Forgotten ! 
 Oh, if the good deeds of human creatures could 
 be traced to their source, how beautiful would 
 even death appear; for how much charity, 
 mercy, and purified affection would be seen to 
 have their growth in dusty graves ! " 
 
 "Yes," said the child, "it is the truth. I 
 know it is. Who should feel its force so much 
 as I, in whom your little scholar lives again ? 
 Dear, dear, good friend, if you knew the com- 
 fort you have given me ! " . 
 
 The poor schoolmaster made her no answer, 
 but bent over her in silence ; for his heart was 
 full. 
 
 They were yet seated in the same place, 
 when the grandfather approached. Before they 
 had spoken many words together, the church 
 
NELLY'S GARDEN. 
 
 clock struck the hour of school, and their friend 
 withdrew. 
 
 " A good man," said the grandfather, looking 
 after him ; " a kind man. Surely he will never 
 harm us, Nell. We are safe here, at last — eh ? 
 We will never go away from here ? " 
 
 The child shook her head and smiled. 
 
 " She needs rest," said the old man, patting 
 her cheek; ''too pale — too pale. She is not 
 like what she was." 
 
 " When ? " asked the child. 
 
 " Ha ! " said the old man, " to be sure — 
 when? How many weeks ago? Could I 
 count them on my fingers? Let them rest, 
 though ; they're better gone." 
 
 " Much better, dear," replied the child. " We 
 will forget them ; or, if we ever call them to 
 mind, it shall be only as some uneasy dream 
 that has passed away." 
 
 " Hush ! " said the old man, motioning hastily 
 to her with his hand, and looking over his 
 shoulder ; " no more talk of the dream, and all 
 the miseries it brought. There are no dreams 
 here. 'Tis a quiet place, and they keep away. 
 Let us never think about them, lest they should 
 pursue us again. Sunken eyes and hollow 
 cheeks — wet, cold, and famine — and horrors 
 before them all, that were even worse — we 
 must forget such things if we would be tranquil 
 here." 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " inwardly exclaimed the 
 child, " for this most happy change ! " 
 
 " I will be patient," said the old man, 
 ^'humble, very thankful and obedient, if you 
 will let me stay. But do not hide from me ; do 
 not steal away alone ; let me keep beside you. 
 Indeed, I will be very true and faithful, Nell." 
 
 " I steal away alone ! Why, that," replied the 
 child with assumed gaiety, "would be a pleasant 
 jest indeed. See here, dear grandfather, we'll 
 make this place our garden — why not ? It is a 
 very good one — and to-morrow we'll begin, and 
 work together, side by side." 
 
 " It is a brave thought ! " cried her grand- 
 father. " Mind, darling — we begin to-morrow !" 
 
 Who so delighted as the old man when they 
 next day began their labour ? Who so uncon- 
 scious of all associations connected with the 
 spot as he ? They plucked the long grass and 
 nettles from the tombs, thinned the poor shrubs 
 and roots, made the turf smooth, and cleared it 
 of the leaves and weeds. They were yet in the 
 ardour of their work, when the child, raising her 
 head from the ground over which she bent, ob- 
 served that the bachelor was sitting on the stile 
 close by, watching them in silence. 
 
 "A kind office," said the little gentleman. 
 
 nodding to Nell as she curtsied to him. " Have 
 you done all that this morning ? " 
 
 " It is very little, sir," returned the child with 
 downcast eyes, "to what we mean to do." 
 
 " Good work, good work," said the bachelor. 
 " But do you only labour at the graves of chil- 
 dren and young people ? " 
 
 " We shall come to the others in good time, 
 sir," replied Nell, turning her head aside, and 
 speaking softly. 
 
 It was a slight incident, and might have been 
 design, or accident, or the child's unconscious 
 sympathy with youth. But it seemed to strike 
 upon her grandfather, though he had not noticed 
 it before. He looked in a hurried manner at 
 the graves, then anxiously at the child, then 
 pressed her to his side, and bade her stop to 
 rest. Something he had long forgotten ap- 
 peared to struggle faintly in his mind. It did 
 not pass away, as weightier things had done ; 
 but came uppermost again, and yet again, and 
 many times that day, and often afterwards. 
 Once, while they were yet at work, the child, 
 seeing that he often turned and looked uneasily 
 at her, as though he were trying to resolve some 
 painful doubts or collect some scattered thoughts, 
 urged him to tell the reason. But he said it was 
 nothing — nothing — and, laying her head upon 
 his arm, patted her fair cheek with his hand, and 
 muttered that she grew stronger every day, and 
 would be a woman soon. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 ^ROM that time there sprung up in 
 the old man's mind a solicitude 
 about the child which never slept or 
 left him. There are chords in the 
 human heart— strange, varying strings 
 ^ ' — which are only struck by accident ; 
 which will remain mute and senseless to 
 appeals the most passionate and earnest, 
 and respond at last to the slightest casual touch. 
 In the most insensible or childish minds there is 
 some train of reflection which art can seldom 
 lead, or skill attest, but which will reveal itself, 
 as great truths have done, by chance, and when 
 the discoverer has the plainest and simplest end 
 in view. From that time, the old man never, 
 for a moment, forgot the weakness and devotion 
 of the child ; from the time of that slight inci- 
 dent, he, who had seen her toiling by his side 
 through so much difficulty aVid suffering, and had 
 scarcely thought of her otherwise than as the 
 partner of miseries which he felt severely in 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 his own person, and deplored for his own sake 
 at least as much as hers, awoke to a sense of 
 what he owed her, and what those miseries had 
 made her. Never, no, never once, in one un- 
 guarded moment from that time to the end, did 
 any care for himself, any thought of his own 
 comfort, any selfish consideration or regard, 
 distract his thoughts from the gentle object of 
 his love. 
 
 He would follow her up and down, waiting 
 till she should tire and lean upon his arm — he 
 would sit opposite to her in the chimney-corner, 
 content to watch, and look, until she raised her 
 head and smiled upon him as of old — he would 
 discharge by stealth those household duties 
 which tasked her powers too heavily — he would 
 rise, in the cold dark nights, to listen to her 
 breathing in her sleep, and sometimes crouch for 
 hours by her bedside only to touch her hand. 
 He who knows all, can only know what hopes, 
 and fears, and thoughts of deep affection, were 
 in that one disordered brain, and what a change 
 had fallen upon the poor old man. 
 
 Sometimes — weeks had crept on then — the 
 child, exhausted, though with little fatigue, would 
 pass whole evenings on a couch beside the fire. 
 At such times the schoolmaster would bring in 
 books, and read to her aloud ; and seldom an 
 evening passed but the bachelor came in, and 
 took his turn of reading. The old man sat and 
 listened, — with little understanding for the words, 
 but with his eyes fixed upon the child,— and, if 
 she smiled or brightened with the story, he would 
 say it was a good one, and conceive a fondness 
 for the very book. When, in their evening talk, 
 the bachelor told some tale that pleased her (as 
 his tales were sure to do), the old man would 
 painfully try to store it in his mind ; nay, when 
 the bachelor left them, he would sometimes slip 
 out after him, and humbly beg that he would 
 tell him such a part again, that he might learn to 
 win a smile from Nell. 
 
 But these were rare occasions, happily ; for 
 the child yearned to be out of doors, and walking 
 in her solemn garden. Parties, too, would come 
 to see the church ; and those who came, speak- 
 ing to others of the child, sent more ] so even at 
 that season of the year they had visitors almost 
 daily. The old man would follow them at a little 
 distance through the building, Hstening to the 
 voice he loved so well ; and when the strangers 
 left, and parted from Nell, he would mingle 
 with them to catch up fragments of their conver- 
 sation ; or he would stand for the same purpose, 
 with his grey head uncovered, at the gate, as 
 they passed through. 
 
 They always praised the child, her sense and 
 
 beauty, and he was proud to hear them. But 
 what was that, so often added, which wrung his 
 heart, and made him sob and weep alone in 
 some dull corner ? Alas ! even careless strangers 
 —they who had no feeling for her but the inter- 
 est of the moment — they who would go. away 
 and forget next week that such a being lived — 
 even they saw it — even they pitied her — even 
 they bade him good day compassionately, and 
 whispered as they passed. 
 
 The people of the village, too, of whom there 
 was not one but grew to have a fondness for 
 poor Nell ; even among them there was the same 
 feeling ; a tenderness towards her — a compas- 
 sionate regard for her, increasing every day. 
 The very school-boys, hght-hearted and thought- 
 less as they were, even they cared for her. The 
 roughest among them was sorry if he missed her 
 in the usual place upon his way to school, and 
 would turn out of the path to ask for her at the 
 latticed wmdow. If she were sitting in the 
 church, they perhaps might peep in softly at the 
 open door ; but they never spoke to her, unless 
 she rose and went to speak to them. Some 
 feeling was abroad which raised the child above 
 them all. 
 
 So when Sunday came. They were all poor 
 country-people in the church, for the castle in 
 which the old family had lived was an empty 
 ruin, and there were none but humble folks for 
 seven miles around. There, as elsewhere, they 
 had an interest in Nell. They would gather 
 round her in the porch, before and after service ; 
 young children would cluster at her skirts ; and 
 aged men and women forsake their gossips, to 
 give her kindly greeting. None of them, young 
 or old, thought of passing the child without a 
 friendly word. Many who came from three or 
 four miles distant brought her little presents ; 
 the humblest and rudest had good wishes to 
 bestow. 
 
 She had sought out the young children whom 
 she first saw playing in the churchyard. One 
 of these — he who had spoken of his brother — 
 was her little favourite and friend, and often sat 
 by her side in the church, or climbed with her 
 to the tower-top. It was his delight to help her, 
 or to fancy that he did so, and they soon became 
 close companions. 
 
 It happened that, as she was reading in the 
 old spot by herself one day, this child came 
 running in with his eyes full of tears, and after 
 holding her from him, and looking at her eagerly 
 for a moment, clasped his little arms passionately 
 about her neck. 
 
 " What now?" said Nell, soothing him. " What 
 is the matter ? " 
 
NOT YET I 
 
 203 
 
 " She is not one yet ! " cried the boy, em- 
 bracing her still more closely. " No, no. Not 
 yet." 
 
 She looked at him wonderingly, and putting 
 his hair back from his face, and kissing him, 
 asked what he meant. 
 
 " You must not be one, dear Nell," cried the 
 boy. " We can't see them. They never come 
 to play with us, or talk to us. Be what you are. 
 You are better so." 
 
 " I do not understand you," said the child. 
 " Tell me what you mean." 
 
 " Why, they say," replied the boy, looking up 
 into her face, " that you will be an Angel before 
 the birds sing again. But you won't be, will 
 you ? Don't leave us, Nell, though the sky is 
 bright. Do not leave us !" 
 
 The child dropped her head, and put her 
 hands before her face. 
 
 " She cannot bear the thought ! " cried the 
 boy, exulting through his tears. *' You will not 
 go. You know how sorry we should be. Dear 
 Nell, tell me that you'll stay amongst us. Oh ! 
 pray, pray tell me that you will ! " 
 
 The little creature folded his hands, and knelt 
 down at her feet. 
 
 " Only look at me, Nell," said the boy, " and 
 tell me that you'll stop, and then I shall know 
 that they are wrong, and will cry no more. 
 Won't you say yes, Nell ? " 
 
 Still the drooping head and hidden face, and 
 the child quite silent — save for her sobs. 
 
 " After a time," pursued the boy, trying to 
 draw away her hand, " the kind angels will be 
 glad to think that you are not among them, and 
 that you stayed here to be with us. Willy went 
 away to join them ; but, if he had known how I 
 should miss him in our little bed at night, he 
 never would have left me, I am sure." 
 
 Yet the child could make him no answer, and 
 sobbed as though her heart were bursting. 
 
 " Why. would you go, dear Nell ? I know you 
 would not be happy when you heard that we 
 were crying for your loss. They say that Willy 
 is in Heaven now, and that it's always summer 
 there, and yet I'm sure he grieves when I lie 
 down upon his garden bed, and he cannot turn 
 to kiss me. But if you do go, Nell," said the 
 boy, caressing her, and pressing his face to hers, 
 " be fond of him for my sake. Tell him how I 
 love him still, and how much I loved you ; and 
 when I think that you two are together, and are 
 happy, I'll try to bear it, and never give you 
 pain by doing wrong — indeed I never will ! " 
 
 The child suffered him to move her hands, 
 and put them round his neck. There was a 
 tearful silence, but it was not long before she 
 
 looked upon him with a smile, and promised 
 him, in a very gentle quiet voice, that she would 
 stay and be his friend as long as Heaven would 
 let her. He clapped his hands for joy, and 
 thanked her many times ; and, being charged to 
 tell no person what had passed between them, 
 gave her an earnest promise that he never 
 would. 
 
 Nor did he, so far as tlae child could learn ; 
 but was her quiet companion in all her walks 
 and musings, and never again adverted to the 
 theme, which he felt had given her pain, although 
 he was unconscious of its cause. Something of 
 distrust lingered about him still ; for he would 
 often come, even in the dark evenings, and call 
 in a timid voice outside the door to know if she 
 were safe within ; and being answered yes, and 
 bade to enter, would take his station on a low 
 stool at her feet, and sit there patiently until 
 they came to seek and take him home. Sure as 
 the morning came, it found him lingering near 
 the house to ask if she were well ; and, morning, 
 noon, or night, go where she would, he would 
 forsake his playmates and his sports to bear her 
 company. 
 
 " And a good Httle friend he is, too," said 
 the old sexton to her once. " When his elder 
 brother died — elder seems a strange word, for 
 he was only seven year old — I remember this 
 one took it sorely to heart." 
 
 The child thought of what the schoolmaster 
 had told her, and felt how its truth was shadowed 
 out even in this infant. 
 
 " It has given him something of a quiet way, 
 I think," said the old man, " though for that he 
 is merry enough at times. I'd wager now that 
 you and he have been Hstening by the old well." 
 
 " Indeed we have not," the child replied. " I 
 have been afraid to go near it ; for I am not 
 often down in that part of the church, and do 
 not know the ground." 
 
 "Come down with me," said the old man. 
 " I have known it from a boy. Come ! " 
 
 They descended the narrow steps which led 
 into the crypt, and paused among the gloomy 
 arches, in a dim and murky spot. 
 
 " This is the place," said the old man. " Give 
 me your hand while you throw back the cover, 
 lest you should stumble and fall in. I am too 
 old — I mean rheumatic — to stoop myself." 
 
 " A black and dreadful place ! '* exclaimed the 
 child. 
 
 " Look in," said the old man, pointing down- 
 ward with his finger. 
 
 The child compUed, and gazed down into the 
 pit. 
 
 " It looks like a grave itself," said the old man. 
 
204 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " It does," replied the child. 
 
 " I have often had the fancy," said the sexton, 
 " that it might have been dug at first to make 
 the old place more gloomy, and the old monks 
 more religious. It's to be closed up, and built 
 •over." 
 
 The child still stood looking thoughtfully into 
 the vault. 
 
 "We shall see," said the sexton, "on what 
 gay heads other earth Avill have closed when the 
 light is shut out from here. God knows! 
 They'll close it up next spring." 
 
 " The birds sing again in spring," thought the 
 child as she leaned at her casement window, and 
 gazed at the declining sun. " Spring ! A beau- 
 tiful and happy time !" 
 
 "^f^ 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 DAY or two after the Quilp tea- 
 party at the Wilderness, Mr. Swi- 
 veller walked into Sampson Brass's 
 office at the usual hour, and, being 
 alone in that Temple of Probity, 
 placed his hat upon the desk, and 
 taking from his pocket a small parcel 
 of black crape, applied himself to fold- 
 ing and pinning the same upon it after the 
 manner of a hat-band. Having completed the 
 construction of this appendage, he surveyed his 
 work with great complacency, and put his hat 
 on again — very much over one eye, to increase 
 the mournfulness of the effect. These arrange- 
 ments perfected to his entire satisfaction, he 
 thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked 
 up and down the office with measured steps. 
 
 •' It has always been the same with me," said 
 Mr, Swiveller, " always. 'Twas ever thus, from 
 childhood's hour I've seen my fondest hopes 
 decay, I never loved a tree or flower but 'twas 
 the first to fade away ; I never nursed a dear 
 Gazelle, to glad me with its soft black eye, but 
 when it came to know me well, and love me, it 
 was sure to marry a market gardener." 
 
 Overpowered by these reflections, Mr. Swi- 
 veller stopped short at the clients' chair, and 
 flung himself into its open arms. 
 
 " And this," said Mr. Swiveller with a kind 
 of bantering composure, " is life, I believe. Oh, 
 certainly ! Why not ? I'm quite satisfied. I 
 shall wear," added Richard, taking ofi" his hat 
 again, and looking hard at it, as if he were only 
 deterred by pecuniary considerations from spurn- 
 ing it with his foot, " I shall wear this emblem 
 
 of woman's perfidy, in remembrance of her with 
 whom I shall never again thread the windings 
 of the mazy ; whom* I shall never more pledge 
 in the rosy ; who, during the short remainder of 
 my existence, will murder the balmy. Ha, ha, 
 ha!" 
 
 It may be necessary to observe, lest there 
 should appear any incongruity in the close of 
 this soliloquy, that Mr. Swiveller did not wind 
 up with a cheerful hilarious laugh, which would 
 have been undoubtedly at variance with his 
 solemn reflections, but that, being in a theatrical 
 mood, he merely achieved that performance 
 which is designated in melodramas " laughing 
 like a fiend," — for it seems that your fiends 
 always laugh in syllables, and always in three 
 syllables, never more nor less, which is a re- 
 markable property in such gentry, and one 
 worthy of remembrance. 
 
 The baleful sounds had hardly died away, and 
 Mr. Swiveller was still sitting in a very grim 
 state in the clients' chair, when there came a 
 ring — or, if we may adapt the sound to his then 
 humour, a knell — at the office bell. Opening 
 the door with all speed, he beheld the expressive 
 countenance of Mr. Chuckster, between whom 
 and himself a fraternal greeting ensued. 
 
 " You're devilish early at this pestiferous old 
 slaughter-hou^e," said that gentleman, poising 
 himself on one leg, and shaking the other in an 
 easy manner. 
 
 " Rather," returned Dick. 
 
 "Rather!" retorted Mr. Chuckster with that 
 air of graceful trifling which so well became him. 
 "/should think so. Why, my good feller, do 
 you know what o'clock it is? Half-past nine 
 A.M. in the morning." 
 
 "Won't you come in?" said Dick. "All 
 alone. Swiveller solus. "Tis now the witch- 
 ing ' " 
 
 "'Hour of night!'" 
 " ' When churchyards yawn,' " 
 " ' And graves give up their dead.' " 
 At the end of this quotation in dialogue, each 
 gentleman struck an attitude, and, immediately 
 subsiding into prose, walked into the office. 
 Such morsels of enthusiasm were common among 
 the Glorious Apollos, and were, indeed, the 
 links that bound them together, and raised them 
 above the cold dull earth. 
 
 "Well, and how are you, my buck?" said 
 Mr. Chuckster, taking a stool. " I was forced 
 to come into the City upon some little private 
 matters of my own, and couldn't pass the corner 
 of the street without looking in, but, upon my 
 soul, I didn't expect to find you. It is so ever- 
 lastingly early." 
 
THE DEMERITS OF YOUNG SNOBBY. 
 
 205 
 
 Mr. Swiveller expressed his acknowledgments; 
 and it appearing, on further conversation, that 
 he ^yas in good health, and that Mr. Chuckster 
 was in the like enviable condition, both gentle- 
 men, in compliance with a solemn custom of the 
 ancient Brotherhood to which they belonged, 
 joined in a fragment of the popular duet of 
 " All's Well," with a long shake at the end. 
 
 "And what's the news?" said Richard. 
 
 " The town's as flat, my dear feller," rej^lied 
 Mr. Chuckster, " as the surface of a Dutch oven. 
 There's no news. By-the-bye, that lodger of 
 yours is a most extraordinary person. He quite 
 eludes the most vigorous comprehension, you 
 know. Never was such a feller !" 
 
 " What has he been doing now?" said Dick. 
 
 " By Jove, sir," returned Mr. Chuckster, taking 
 out an oblong snuff-box, the lid whereof was 
 ornamented with a fox's head curiously carved 
 in brass, "that man is an unfathomable. Sir, 
 that man has made friends with our articled 
 clerk. There's no harm in him, but he is so 
 amazingly slow and soft. Now, if he wanted a 
 friend, why couldn't he have one that knew a 
 thing or two, and could do him some good by 
 his manners and conversation? I have my 
 faults, sir " said Mr. Chuckster. 
 
 " No, no," interposed Mr. Swiveller. 
 
 " Oh yes, I have ! I have my faults ; no man 
 knows his faults better than I know mine. But," 
 -said Mr. Chuckster, " I'm not meek. My worst 
 enemies — every man has his enemies, sir, and I 
 have mine — never accused me of being meek. 
 And I tell you what, sir, if I hadn't more of 
 these qualities that commonly endear man to 
 .man than our articled clerk has, I'd steal a 
 Cheshire cheese, tie it round my neck, and 
 drown myself I'd die degraded, as I had 
 lived. I would, upon my honour." 
 
 Mr. Chuckster paused, rapped the fox's head 
 exactly on the nose with the knuckle of the fore- 
 finger, took a pinch of snuff, and looked steadily 
 at Mr. Swiveller, as much as to say that if he 
 thought he was going to sneeze, he would find 
 himself mistaken. 
 
 " Not contented, sir," said Mr. Chuckster, 
 " with making friends with Abel, he has culti- 
 vated the acquaintance of his father and mother. 
 Since he came home from that wild-goose chase, 
 lie has been there — actually been there. He 
 patronises young Snobby, besides ; you'll find, 
 sir, that he'll be constantly coming backwards 
 and forwards to this place : yet I don't suppose 
 that, beyond the common forms of civility, he 
 has ever exchanged half-a-dozen words with me. 
 Now, upon my soul, you know," said Mr. 
 Chuckster, shaking his head gravely, as men are 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 14. 
 
 wont to do when they consider things are going 
 a little too far, " this is altogether such a low- 
 minded affair, that if I didn't feel for the 
 governor, and know that he could never get on 
 without me, I should be obliged to cut the 
 connection. I should have no alternative." 
 
 Mr. Swiveller, who sat on another stool oppo- 
 site to his friend, stirred the fire in an excess of 
 sympathy, but said nothing. 
 
 " As to young Snob, sir," pursued Mr. Chuck- 
 ster with a prophetic look, " you'll find he'll 
 turn out bad. In our profession we know some- 
 thing of human nature, and take my word for 
 it, that the feller that came back to \vork out 
 that shilling will show himself one of these days 
 in his true colours. He's a low thief, sir. He 
 must be." 
 
 Mr. Chuckster, being roused, would probably 
 have pursued this subject further, and in more 
 emphatic language, but for a tap at the door, 
 which, seeming to announce the arrival of some- 
 body on business, caused him to assume a 
 greater appearance of meekness than was perhaps 
 quite consistent with his late declaration. Mr. 
 Swiveller, hearing the same sound, caused his 
 stool to revolve rapidly on one leg until it 
 brought him to his desk, into which, having 
 forgotten in the sudden flurry of his spirits to 
 part with the poker, he thrust it as he cried 
 "Come in!" 
 
 Who should present himself but that very 
 Kit who had been the theme of Mr. Chuckster's 
 wrath? Never did man pluck up his courage 
 so quickly, or look so fierce, as Mr. Chuckster 
 when he found it was he. Mr. Swiveller stared 
 at him for a moment, and then leaping from his 
 stool, and drawing out the poker from its place 
 of concealment, performed the broad-sword ex- 
 ercise, with all the cuts and guards complete, in 
 a species of frenzy. 
 
 " Is the gentleman at home ? " said Kit, rather 
 astonished by this uncommon reception. 
 
 Before Mr. Swiveller could make any reply, 
 Mr. Chuckster took occasion to enter his indig- 
 nant protest against this form of inquiry; which 
 he held to be of a disrespectful and snobbish 
 tendency, inasmuch as the inquirer, seeing two 
 gentlemen then and there present, should have 
 spoken of the other gentleman ; or rather (for it 
 was not impossible that the object of his search 
 might be of inferior quality), should have men- 
 tioned his name, leaving it to his hearers to de- 
 termine his degree as they thought proj^er. Mr. 
 Chuckster likewise remarked that he had some 
 reason to believe this form of address was per- 
 sonal to himself, and that he was not a man to 
 be trifled with — as certain snobs (whom he did 
 
 262 
 
2o6 
 
 THE OLJD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 not more particularly mention or describe) 
 might find to their cost. 
 
 " I mean the gentleman up-stairs," said Kit, 
 turning to Richard Swiveller. " Is he at home ?" 
 
 "Why?" rejoined Dick. 
 
 " Because, if he is, I have a letter for him." 
 
 "From whom?" said Dick. 
 
 " From Mr. Garland." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Dick with extreme politeness. 
 "Then you may hand it over, sir. And, if 
 you're to wait for an answer, sir, you may wait 
 in the passage, sir, which is an airy and well- 
 ventilated apartment, sir." 
 
 " Thank you," returned Kit. " But I am to 
 give it to himself, if you please." 
 
 The excessive audacity of this retort so over- 
 powered Mr. Chuckster, and so moved his ten- 
 der regard for his friend's honour, that he de- 
 clared, if he were not restrained by official con- 
 siderations, he must certainly have annihilated 
 Kit upon the spot ; a resentment of the affront 
 which he did consider, under the extraordinary 
 circumstances of aggravation attending it, could 
 not but have met with the proper sanction and 
 approval of a jury of Englishmen, Who, he had 
 no doubt, would have returned a verdict of 
 Justifiable Homicide, coupled with a high testi- 
 mony to the morals and character of the Avenger. 
 Mr. Swiveller, without being quite so hot upon 
 the matter, was rather shamed by his friend's 
 excitement, and not a little puzzled how to act 
 (Kit being quite cool and good-humoured), when 
 the single gentleman was heard to call violently 
 down the stairs. 
 
 "Didn't I see somebody for me come in?" 
 cried the lodger. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Dick. " Certainly, sir." 
 
 " Then where is he?" roared the single gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " He's here, sir," rejoined Mr. Swiveller. 
 " Now, young man, don't you hear you're to go 
 up-stairs ? Are you deaf?" 
 
 Kit did not appear to think it worth his while 
 to enter into any altercation, but hurried off, and 
 left the Glorious Apolloa gazing at each other in 
 silence. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you so?" said Mr. Chuckster. 
 " What do you think of that?" 
 
 Mr. Swiveller being in the main a good- 
 natured fellow, and not perceiving in the con- 
 duct of Kit any villainy of enormous magnitude, 
 scarcely knew what answer to return. He was 
 relieved from his perplexity, however, by the 
 entrance of Mr. Sampson and his sister Sally, 
 at sight of whom Mr. Chuckster precipitately 
 retired. 
 
 Mr. Brass and his lovely companion appeared 
 
 to have been holding a consultation, over their 
 temperate breakfast, upon some matter of great 
 interest and importance. On the occasion of 
 such conferences, they generally appeared in 
 the office some half an hour after their usual 
 time, and in a very smiling state, as though their 
 late plots and designs had tranquillised their 
 minds, and shed a light upon their toilsome way. 
 In the present instance they seemed particularly 
 gay; Miss Sally's aspect being of a most oily 
 kind, and Mr. Brass rubbing his hands in an 
 exceedingly jocose and light-hearted manner. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Richard," said Brass, " how are 
 we this morning? Are we pretty fresh and 
 cheerful, sir — eh, Mr. Richard ?" 
 
 " Pretty well, sir," replied Dick. 
 
 " That's well," said Brass. " Ha, ha ! We 
 should be as gay as larks, Mr. Richard — why 
 not ? It's a pleasant world we live in, sir, a 
 very pleasant world. There are bad people in 
 it, Mr. Richard ; but, if there were no bad 
 people, there would be no good lawyers." Ha, 
 ha ! Any letters by the post this morning, Mr. 
 Richard?" 
 
 Mr. Swiveller answered in the negative. 
 
 " Ha ! " said Brass, " no matter. If there's 
 little business to-day, there'll be more to-morrow, 
 A contented spirit, Mr. Richard, is the sweet- 
 ness of existence.' Anybody been here, sir ?" 
 
 " Only my friend," replied Dick. " ' May we 
 ne'er want a ' " 
 
 " 'Friend,' " Brass chimed in quickly, " ' or a 
 bottle to give him.' Ha, ha ! That's the way 
 the song runs, isn't it? A very good song, Mr. 
 Richard, very good. I like the sentiment of it. 
 Ha, ha ! Your friend's the young man from 
 Witherden's office I think — yes. ' May we 
 
 ne'er want a ' Nobody else at all been, 
 
 Mr. Richard?" 
 
 " Only somebody to the lodger," replied Mr. 
 Swiveller. 
 
 " Oh, indeed !" cried Brass. " Somebody to 
 the lodger, eh ? Ha, ha ! ' May we ne'er want 
 
 a friend, or a ' Somebody to the lodger, eh, 
 
 Mr. Richard ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Dick, a little disconcerted by the 
 excessive buoyancy of spirits which his employer 
 displayed. "With him now." 
 
 "With him now!" cried Brass. "Ha, ha! 
 There let 'em be, merry and free, toor ml lol le. 
 Eh, Mr. Richard ? Ha, ha !" 
 
 " Oh, certainly !" replied Dick. 
 
 " And who," said Brass, shuffling among his 
 papers, " who is the lodger's visitor — not a lady 
 visitor I hope, eh, Mr. Richard ? The morals 
 of the Marks you know, sir — 'when lovely woman 
 stoops to folly ' — and all that — eh, Mr. Richard ?" 
 
LIVELINESS OF SAMPSON BRASS. 
 
 207 
 
 " Another young man who belongs to Wither- 
 den's too, or half belongs there," returned 
 Richard. " Kit they call him." 
 
 "Kit, eh?" said Brass. "Strange name — 
 name of a dancing-master's fiddle, eh, Mr. 
 Richard ? Ha, ha ! Kit's there, is he ? Oh ! " 
 
 Dick looked at Miss Sally, wondering that 
 she didn't check this uncommon exuberance on 
 the part of Mr. Sampson ; but as she made no 
 attempt to do so, and rather appeared to ex- 
 hibit a tacit acquiescence in it, he concluded 
 that they had just been cheating somebody, and 
 receiving the bill. 
 
 " Will you have the goodness, Mr. Richard," 
 said Brass, taking a letter from his desk, "just 
 to step over to Peckham Rye with that ? There's 
 no answer, but it's rather particular, and should 
 go by hand. Charge the office with your coach 
 hire back, you know ; don't spare the office ; 
 get as much out of it as you can — clerk's motto 
 —eh, Mr. Richard ? Ha, ha ! " 
 
 Mr. Swiveller solemnly doffed 'the aquatic 
 jacket, put on his coat, took down his hat from 
 its peg, pocketed the letter, and departed. ' As.- 
 soon as he was gone, uprose Miss Sally Brass, 
 and, smiling sweetly at her brother (who nodded 
 and smote his nose in return), withdrew 
 also. 
 
 Sampson Brass was no sooner left alone than 
 he set the office door wide open, and establish- 
 ing himself at his desk directly opposite, so that 
 he could not fail to see anybody who came down- 
 stairs and passed out at the street-door, began 
 to write with extreme cheerfulness and assiduity ; 
 humming as he did so, in a voice that was any- 
 thing but musical, certain vocal snatches which 
 appeared to have reference to the union between 
 Church and State, inasmuch as they were com- 
 pounded of the Evening Hymn and God save 
 the King, 
 
 Thus, the attorney of Bevis Marks sat, and 
 viO'ote, and hummed for a long time, except 
 when he stopped to listen with a very cunning 
 face, and, hearing nothing, went on humming 
 louder, and writing slower than ever. At length, 
 in one of these pauses, he heard his lodger's 
 door open and shut, and footsteps coming down 
 the stairs. Then, Mr. Brass left off writing 
 entirely, and, with his pen in his hand, hummed 
 his very loudest ; shaking his head meanwhile 
 from side to side, like a man whose whole soul 
 was in the music, and smiling in a manner quite 
 seraphic. 
 
 It was tOAvards this moving spectacle that the 
 staircase and the sweet sounds guided Kit : on 
 whose arrival before his door, Mr. Brass stopped 
 his singing, but not his smiling, and nodded 
 
 affably : at the same time beckoning to him with 
 his pen. 
 
 " Kit," said Mr. Brass in the pleasantest way 
 imaginable, " how do you do ?" 
 
 Kit, being rather shy of his friend, made a 
 suitable reply, and had his hand upon the lock 
 of the street-door, when Mr. Brass called him 
 softly back. 
 
 " You are not to go, if you please. Kit," said 
 the attorney in a mysterious and business-like 
 way. " You are to step in here, if you please. 
 Dear me, dear me ! When I look at you," said 
 the lawyer, quitting his stool, and standing before 
 the fire with his back towards it, "I am reminded 
 of the sweetest little face that ever my eyes be- 
 held. I remember your coming there, twice or 
 thrice, when we were in possession. Ah, Kit, 
 my dear fellow, gentlemen in my profession 
 have such painful duties to perform some- 
 times, that you needn't envy us — you needn't 
 indeed ! " 
 
 "I don't, sir," said Kit, "though it isn't for 
 the like of me to judge." 
 
 " Our only consolation. Kit," pursued the 
 lawyer, looking at him in a sort of pensive ab- 
 straction, "is, that although we cannot turn 
 away the wind, we can soften it ; we can temper 
 it, if I may say so, to the shorn lambs." 
 
 " Shorn indeed ! " thought Kit. " Pretty 
 close ! " But he didn't say so. 
 
 " On that occasion. Kit," said Mr. Brass, " on 
 that occasion that I have just alluded to, I had 
 a hard battle with Mr. Quilp (for Mr. Quilp is a 
 very hard man) to obtain them the indulgence 
 they had. It might have cost me a client. But 
 suffering virtue inspired me, and I prevailed." 
 
 " He's not so bad after all," thought honest 
 Kit, as the attorney pursed up his lips and looked 
 like a man who was struggling with his better 
 feelings. 
 
 " I respect you, Kit," said Brass with emotion. 
 " I saw enough of your conduct, at that time, to 
 respect you, though your station is humble, and 
 your fortune lowly. It isn't the waistcoat that I 
 look at. It is the heart. The checks in the 
 waistcoat are but the wires of the cage. But 
 the heart is the bird. Ah ! How many sich 
 birds are perpetually moulting, and putting 
 their beaks through the wires to peck at all 
 mankind ! " 
 
 This poetic figure, which Kit took to be in 
 special allusion to his own checked waistcoat, 
 quite overcame him ; Mr. Brass's voice and 
 manner added not a little to its effect, for he 
 discoursed with all the mild austerity of a her- 
 mit, and wanted but a cord round the v/aist of 
 his rusty surtout, and a skull on the chimney- 
 
208 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 piece, to be completely set up in that line of 
 business. 
 
 " Well, well," said Sampson, smiling as good 
 men smile when they compassionate their own 
 weakness or that of their fellow-creatures, " this 
 is wide of the bull's-eye. You're to take that, if 
 you please." As he . spoke, he pointed to a 
 couple of half-crowns on the desk. 
 
 Kit looked at the coins, and then at Sampson, 
 and hesitated. 
 
 " For yourself," said Brass. 
 
 '• From " 
 
 " No matter about the person they came 
 from," replied the lawyer. " Say me, if you 
 like. We have eccentric friends overhead. Kit, 
 and we mustn't ask questions or talk too much 
 — you understand ? You're to take them, that's 
 all ; and, between you and me, I don't think 
 they'll be the last you'll have to take from the 
 same place. I hope not. Good-bye, Kit. 
 Good-bye ! " 
 
 With many thanks, and many more self- 
 reproaches for having on such slight grounds 
 suspected one who in their very first conversa- 
 tion turned out such a different man from what 
 he had supposed, Kit took the money and made 
 the best of his' way home. Mr. Brass remained 
 airing himself at the fire, and resumed his vocal 
 exercise, and his seraphic smile, simultaneously. 
 
 " May I come in ? " said Miss Sally, peep- 
 ing. 
 
 " Oh yes, you may come in ! " returned her 
 brother. 
 
 "Ahem?" coughed Miss Brass interroga- 
 tively. 
 
 " Why, yes," returned Sampson, " I should 
 say as good as done." 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 'R. CHUCKSTER'S indignant ap- 
 prehensions were not without foun- 
 dation. Certainly the friendship 
 between the single gentleman and 
 Mr. Garland was not suffered to 
 cool, but had a rapid growth and 
 flourished exceedingly. They were soon 
 in habits of constant intercourse and 
 communication ; and the single gentleman 
 labouring at this time under a slight attack of 
 iUness — the consequence, most probably, of his 
 late excited feelings and subsequent disappoint- 
 ment — furnished a reason for their holding yeft 
 more frequent correspondence; so that some 
 one of the inmates of Abel Cottage, Finchley, 
 
 came backwards and forwards between that 
 place and Bevis Marks almost every day. 
 
 As the pony had now thrown off all disguise, 
 and, without any mincing of the matter or beat- 
 ing about the bush, sturdily refused to be driven 
 by anybody but Kit, it generally happened that 
 whether old Mr. Garland came, or Mr. Abel, 
 Kit was of the party. Of all messages and in- 
 quiries. Kit was, in right of his position, the 
 bearer ; thus it came about that, while the single 
 gentleman remained indisposed. Kit turned into 
 Bevis Marks every morning with nearly as much 
 regularity as the General Postman. 
 
 Mr. Sampson Brass, who no doubt had his 
 reasons for looking sharply about him, soon 
 learnt to distinguish the pony's trot and the 
 clatter of the little chaise at the corner of the 
 street. Whenever this sound reached his ears, 
 he would immediately lay down his pen, and 
 fall to rubbing his hands and exhibiting the 
 greatest glee. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " he would cry. " Here's the pony 
 again ! Most remarkable pony, extremely docile, 
 eh, Mr. Richard, eh, sir ? " 
 
 Dick would return some matter-of-course 
 reply, and Mr. Brass, standing on the bottom 
 rail of his stool, so as to get a view of the street 
 over the top of the window blind, would take an 
 observation of the visitors. 
 
 " The old gentleman again ! " he would ex- 
 claim ; " a very prepossessing old gentleman, 
 Mr. Richard — charming countenance, sir — ex- 
 tremely calm — benevolence in every feature, sir. 
 He quite realises my idea of King Lear, as he 
 appeared when in possession of his kingdom, 
 Mr. Richard — the same good-humour, the same 
 white hair and partial baldness, the same lia- 
 bility to be imposed upon. Ah ! A sweet 
 subject for contemplation, sir, very sweet !" 
 
 Then, Mr. Garland having alighted and gone 
 up-stairs, Sampson would nod and smile to Kit 
 from the window, and presently walk out into 
 the street to greet him, when some such con- 
 versation as the following would ensue. 
 
 " Admirably groomed. Kit " — Mr. Brass is 
 patting the pony — "does you great credit — 
 amazingly sleek and bright to be sure. He 
 literally looks as if he had been varnished all 
 over." 
 
 Kit touches his hat, smiles, pats the pony 
 himself, and expresses his conviction " that Mr. 
 Brass will not find many like him." 
 
 " A beautiful animal indeed ! " cries Brass. 
 " Sagacious too ? " 
 
 " Bless you ! " replies Kit, " he knows what 
 you say to him as well as a Christian does." 
 
 " Does he indeed ? " cries Brass, who has 
 
MR. BRASS CULTIVATES KIT'S ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 209 
 
 heard the same thing in the same place from 
 the same person in the same words a dozen 
 times, but is paralysed with astonishment not- 
 withstanding. " Dear me ! " 
 
 ** I little thought, the first time I saw him, 
 sir," says Kit, pleased with the attorney's strong 
 interest in his favourite, " that I should come to 
 be as intimate with him as I am now." 
 
 " Ah ! " rejoins Mr. Brass, brimful of moral 
 precepts and love of virtue. " A charming sub- 
 ject of reflection for you, very charming! A 
 subject of proper pride and congratulation, 
 Christopher. Honesty is the best policy. — I 
 always find it so myself I lost forty-seven 
 pound ten by being honest this morning. But 
 it's all gain, it's gain ! " 
 
 Mr. Brass slily tickles his nose with his pen, 
 and looks at Kit with the water standing in his 
 eyes. Kit thinks that, if ever there was a good 
 man who belied his appearance, that man is 
 Sampson Brass. 
 
 " A man," says Sampson, " who loses forty- 
 seven pound ten in one morning by his honesty 
 is a man to be envied. If it had been eighty 
 pound, the luxuriousness of feeling would have 
 been increased. Every pound lost would have 
 been a hundredweight of happiness gained. 
 The still small voice, Christopher," cries Brass, 
 smiling, and tapping himself on the bosom, " is 
 a singing comic songs within me, and all is 
 happiness and joy !" 
 
 Kit is so improved by the conversation, and 
 finds it go so completely home to his feelings, 
 that he is considering what he shall say, when 
 Mr. Garland appears. The old gentleman is 
 helped into the chaise with great obsequiousness 
 by Mr. Sampson Brass; and the pony, after 
 shaking his head several times, and standing for 
 three or four minutes with all his four legs 
 planted firmly on the ground, as if he had made 
 up his mind never to stir from that spot, but 
 there to live and die, suddenly darts off, without 
 the smallest notice, at the rate of twelve English 
 miles an hour. Then, Mr. Brass and his sister 
 (who has joined him at the door) exchange an 
 odd kind of smile — not at all a pleasant one in 
 its expression— and return to the society of Mr. 
 Richard Sv^^iveller, who, during their absence, 
 has been regaling himself with various feats of 
 pantomime, and is discovered at his desk, in a 
 very flushed and heated condition, violently 
 scratching out nothing with half a penknife, 
 
 \yhenever Kit came alone, and without the 
 chaise, it always happened that Sampson Brass 
 was reminded of some mission, calling Mr. 
 Swiveller, if not to Peckham Rye again, at all 
 events to some pretty distant place from which 
 
 he could not be expected to return for two or 
 three hours, or in all probability a much longer 
 period, as that gentleman was not, to say the 
 truth, renowned for using great expedition on 
 such occasions, but rather for protracting and 
 spinning out the time to the very utmost limit 
 of possibility. Mr. Swiveller out of sight. Miss 
 Sally immediately withdrew. Mr. Brass would 
 then set the office door wide open, hum his old 
 tune with great gaiety of heart, and smile 
 seraphically as before. Kit, coming down- 
 stairs, would be called in ; ehtertained with 
 some moral and agreeable conversation ; per- 
 haps entreated to mind the office for an instant 
 while Mr. Brass stepped over the way ; and 
 afterwards presented with one or two half- 
 crowns, as the case might be. This occurred 
 so often, that Kit, nothing doubting but that 
 they came from the single gentleman, who had 
 already rewarded his mother with great libe- 
 rality, could not enough admire his generosity; 
 and bought so many cheap presents for her, and 
 for little Jacob, and for the baby, and for Bar- 
 bara to boot, that one or other of them was 
 having some new trifle every day of their lives. 
 
 While these acts and deeds were in progress 
 in and out of the office of Sampson Brass, 
 Richard Swiveller, being often left alone therein, 
 began to find the time hang heavy on his hands. 
 For the better preservation of his cheerfulness, 
 therefore, and to prevent his faculties from rust- 
 ing, he provided himself with a cribbage-board 
 and pack of cards, and accustomed himself to 
 play at cribbage with a dummy, for twenty, 
 thirty, or sometimes even fifty thousand pounds 
 a side, besides many hazardous bets to a con- 
 siderable amount. 
 
 As these games were very silently conducted, 
 notwithstanding the magnitude of the interests 
 involved, Mr. Swiveller began to think that on 
 those evenings when Mr. and Miss Brass were 
 out (and they often went out now) he heard a 
 kind of snorting or hard-breathing sound in the 
 direction of the door, which it occurred to him, 
 after some reflection, must proceed from the 
 small servant, who always had a cold from 
 damp living. Looking intently that way one 
 night, he plainly distinguished an eye gleaming 
 and glistening at the keyhole ; and, having now 
 no doubt that his suspicions were correct, he 
 stole softly to the door, and pounced upon her 
 before she was aware of his approach. 
 
 " Oh ! I didn't mean any harm indeed, 
 upon my word I didn't," cried the small servant, 
 struggling like a much larger one. " It's so very 
 dull down-stairs. Please don't you tell upon 
 me, please don't." 
 
2IO 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 *' Tell upon you ! " said Dick. " Do you 
 mean to say you were looking through the key- 
 hole for company ? " 
 
 " Yes, upon my word I was," replied the 
 small servant. 
 
 " How long have you been cooling your eye 
 there ? " said Dick. 
 
 " Oh, ever since you first began to play them 
 cards, and long before ! " 
 
 Vague recollections of several fantastic exer- 
 cises with which he had refreshed himself after 
 the fatigues of business, and to all of which, no 
 doubt, the small servant was a party, rather dis- 
 concerted Mr. Swiveller; but he was not very 
 sensitive on such points, and recovered himself 
 speedily. 
 
 " Well, — come in," he said after a little con- 
 sideration. " Here — sit down, and I'll teach 
 you how to play." 
 
 " Oh ! I durstn't do it," rejoined the small 
 servant ; " Miss Sally 'ud kill me if she knowed 
 I come up here." 
 
 " Have you got a fire down-stairs ? ' said 
 Dick. 
 
 " A very little one," replied the small servant. 
 
 " Miss Sally couldn't kill me if she knowed I 
 went down there, so I'll come," said Richard, 
 putting the cards into his pocket. " Why, how 
 thin you are ! What do you mean by it ? " 
 
 " It ain't my fault." 
 
 " Could you eat any bread and meat ? " said 
 Dick, taking down his hat. " Yes ? 'Ah ! 
 I thought so. Did you ever taste beer ? " 
 
 " I had a sip of it once," said the small servant. 
 
 " Here's a state of things ! " cried Mr. 
 Swiveller, raising his eyes to the ceiling. " She 
 never tasted it — it can't be tasted in a sip ! Why, 
 how old are you ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 Mr. Swiveller opened his eyes very wide, and 
 appeared thoughtful for a moment ; then, bid- 
 ding the child mind the door until he came back, 
 vanished straightway. 
 
 Presently he returned, followed by the boy 
 from the public-house, who bore in one hand a 
 plate of bread and beef, and in the other a great 
 pot, filled with some very fragrant compound, 
 which sent forth a grateful steam, and was indeed 
 choice purl, made after a particular recipe which 
 Mr. Swiveller had imparted to the landlord, at a 
 period when he was deep in his books, and de- 
 sirous to conciliate his friendship. Relieving 
 the boy of his burden at the door, and charg- 
 ing his little companion to fasten it to prevent 
 surprise, Mr. Swiveller followed her into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " There ! " said Richard, putting the plate 
 
 before her. " First of all, clear that off, and 
 then you'll see what's next." 
 
 The small servant needed no second bidding, 
 and the plate was soon empty. 
 
 " Next," said Dick, handing the purl, " take 
 a pull at that ; but moderate your transports, 
 you know, for you're not used to it. Well, is it 
 good?" 
 
 " Oh ! isn't it ? " said the small servant. 
 
 Mr. Swiveller appeared gratified beyond all 
 expression by this reply, and took a long draught 
 himself: steadfastly regarding his companion 
 while he did so. These preliminaries disposed 
 of, he applied himself to teaching her the game, 
 which she soon learnt tolerably well, being both 
 sharp-witted and cunning. 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Swiveller, putting two six- 
 pences into a saucer, and trimming the wretched 
 candle, when the cards had been cut and dealt, 
 " those are the stakes. If you win, you get 'em 
 all. If I win, I get 'em. To make it seem more 
 real and pleasant, I shall call you the Marchioness, 
 do you hear ? " 
 
 The small servant nodded. 
 
 " Then, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, " fire 
 away ! " 
 
 The Marchioness, holding her cards very 
 tight in both hands, considered which to play, 
 and Mr. Swiveller, assuming the gay and fashion- 
 able air which such society required, took an- 
 other pull at the tankard, and waited for her lead. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 'R. SWIVELLER and his partner 
 played several rubbers with varying 
 success, until the loss of three six- 
 pences, the gradual sinking of the 
 purl, and the striking of ten o'clock 
 combined to render that gentleman 
 mindful of the flight of Time, and the 
 expediency of withdrawing before Mr. 
 Sampson and Miss Sally Brass returned. 
 
 "With which object in view, Marchioness," said 
 Mr. Swiveller gravely, " I shall ask your lady- 
 ship's permission to put the board in my pocket, 
 and to retire from the presence when I have 
 finished this tankard ; merely observing, Mar- 
 chioness, that since life like a river is flowing, I 
 care not how fast it rolls on, ma'am, on, while 
 such purl on the bank still is growing, and such 
 eyes light the waves as they run. Marchioness, 
 your health. You will excuse my wearing my 
 hat, but the palace is damp, and the marble 
 
POLITE CONVERSATION WITH THE MARCHIONESS. 
 
 floor is— if I may be allowed the expression — 
 sloppy." 
 
 As a precaution against this latter inconve- 
 nience, Mr. Swiveller had been sitting for some 
 time with his feet on the hob, in which attitude 
 he now gave utterance to these apologetic ob- 
 servations, and slowly sipped the last choice 
 drops of nectar. 
 
 "The Baron Sampsono Brasso and his fair 
 sister are (you tell me) at the Play?" said Mr. 
 Swiveller, leaning his left arm heavily upon the 
 table, and raising his voice and his right leg after 
 the manner of a theatrical bandit. 
 
 The Marchioness nodded. 
 
 " Ha ! " said Mr. Swiveller, with a portentous 
 
 frown. " 'Tis well. Marchioness ! But no 
 
 matter. Some wine there. Ho ! " He illus- 
 trated these melodramatic morsels by handing 
 the tankard to himself with great humiUty, re- 
 ceiving it haughtily, drinking from it thirstily, 
 and smacking his lips fiercely. 
 
 The small servant, who was not so well ac- 
 quainted with theatrical conventionalities as Mr. 
 Swiveller (having, indeed, never seen a play, or 
 heard one spoken of, except by chance through 
 chinks of doors and in other forbidden places), 
 was rather alarmed by demonstrations so novel 
 in their nature, and showed her concern so 
 plainly in her looks, that Mr. Swiveller felt it 
 necessary to discharge his brigand manner for 
 one more suitable to private life, as he asked : 
 
 " Do they often go where glory waits 'em, and 
 leave you here ? " 
 
 *•' Oh yes ; I believe you they do ! " returned 
 the small servant. " Miss Sally's such a one-er 
 for that, she is." 
 
 " Such a what ? " said Dick. 
 
 " Such a one-er," returned the Marchioness. 
 
 After a moment's reflection, Mr. Swiveller de- 
 termined to forego his responsible duty of set- 
 ting her right, and to suffer her to talk on ; as it 
 was evident that her tongue was loosened by the 
 purl, and her opportunities for conversation 
 were not so frequent as to render a momentary 
 check of little consequence. 
 
 " They sometimes go to see Mr. Quilp," said 
 the small servant with a shrewd look ; " they go 
 to a many places, bless you ! " 
 
 " Is Mr. Brass a wunner ? " said Dick. 
 
 " Not half what Miss Sally is, he isn't," re- 
 plied the small servant, shaking her head. 
 " Bless you, he'd never do anything without 
 her." 
 
 '•' Oh ! He wouldn't, wouldn't he ? " said Dick. 
 
 " Miss Sally keeps him in such order," said 
 the small servant ; " he always asks her advice, 
 he does ; and he catches it sometimes. Bless 
 
 you, you wouldn't believe how much he catches 
 it." 
 
 " I suppose," said Dick, " that they consult 
 together a good deal, and talk about a great 
 many people — about me, for instance, some- 
 times, eh. Marchioness ? " 
 
 The Marchioness nodded amazingly. 
 
 "Complimentary?" said Mr. Swiveller. 
 
 The Marchioness changed the motion of her 
 head, which had not yet left off nodding, and 
 suddenly began to shake it from side to side 
 with a vehemence which threatened to dislocate 
 her neck. 
 
 "Humph!" Dick muttered. "Would it be 
 any breach of confidence. Marchioness, to re- 
 late what they say of the humble individual who 
 has now the honour to " 
 
 " Miss Sally says you're a funny chap," re- 
 plied his friend. 
 
 " Well, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, 
 " that's not uncomplimentary. Merriment, 
 Marchioness, is not a bad or a degrading 
 quality. Old King Cole was himself a merry 
 old soul, if we may put any faith in the pages 
 of history." 
 
 " But she says," pursued his companion, " that 
 you an't to be trusted." 
 
 "Why, really, Marchioness," said Mr. Swi- 
 veller thoughtfully ; " several ladies and gen- 
 tlemen — not exactly professional persons, but 
 tradespeople, ma'am, tradespeople — -have made 
 the same remark. The obscure citizen who 
 keeps the hotel over the way inclined strongly 
 to that opinion to-night when I ordered him to 
 prepare the banquet. It's a popular prejudice. 
 Marchioness ; and yet I am sure I don't know 
 why, for I have been trusted in my time to a 
 considerable amount, and I can safely say that 
 I never forsook my trust until it deserted me — 
 never. Mr. Brass is of the same opinibn, I 
 suppose?" -' 
 
 His friend nodded again, with a cunning look 
 which seemed to hint that Mr. Brass held 
 stronger opinions on the subject than his sister; 
 and, seeming to recollect herself, added implor- 
 ingly, "but don't you ever tell upon me, or I 
 shall be beat to death." 
 
 " Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, rismg, 
 "the word of a gentleman is as good as his 
 bond — sometimes better, as in the present case, 
 where his bond might prove but a doubtful sort 
 of security. I am your friend, and I hope we 
 shall play many more rubbers together in this 
 same saloon. But, Marchioness," added Richard, 
 stopping in ' his way to the door, and wheeling 
 slowly round upon the small servant, who was 
 following with the candle ; " it occurs to me 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 that you must be in the constant habit of airing 
 your eye at keyholes, to know all this." 
 
 " I only wanted," replied the trembling Mar- 
 chioness, " to know where the key of the safe 
 was hid; that was all; and I wouldn't have 
 taken much, if I had found it — only enough to 
 squench my hunger." 
 
 " You didn't find it, then ?" said Dick. " But 
 of course you didn't, or you'd be plumper. 
 Good night, Marchioness. Fare thee well, and 
 
 if for ever, then for ever fare thee well — and put 
 up the chain. Marchioness, in case of accidents." 
 With this parting injunction, Mr. Svviveller 
 emerged froni the house; and feeling that he 
 had by this time taken quite as much to drink 
 as proniised to be good for his constitution 
 (purl being a rather strong and heady compound), 
 wisely resolved to betake himself to his lodgings, 
 and to bed at once. Homeward he went, there- 
 fore; and his apartments (for he still retained 
 
 "THEN, MARCHIONESS," SAID MR. SWIVELLER, "FIRE AWAY ! " 
 
 the plural fiction) being at no great distance 
 from the office, he was soon seated in his own 
 bedchamber, where, having pulled off one boot 
 and forgotten the other, he fell into deep cogita- 
 tion. 
 
 " This Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, fold- 
 ing his arms, " is a very extraordinary person — 
 surrounded by mysteries, ignorant of the taste 
 of beer, unacquainted with her own name (which 
 is less remarkable), and taking a limited view of 
 society through the keyholes of doors. Can 
 
 these things be her destiny, or has some unknown 
 person started an opposition to the decrees of 
 fate ? It is a most inscrutable and unmitigated 
 staggerer ! " 
 
 When his meditations had attained this satis- 
 factory point, he became aware of his remaining 
 boot, of which, with unimpaired solemnity, he 
 proceeded to divest himself; shaking his head 
 with exceeding gravity all the time, and sighing 
 deeply. 
 
 " These rubbers," said Mr. Swiveller, putting 
 
PROPERTY MISSED. 
 
 213 
 
 on his nightcap in exactly the same style as he 
 wore his hat, " remind me of the matrimonial 
 fireside. Cheggs's wife plays cribbage ; all-fours 
 likewise. She rings the changes on 'em now. 
 From sport to sport they hurry her, to banish 
 her regrets, and when they win a smile from her, 
 they think that she forgets— but she don't. By 
 this time, I should say," added Richard, getting 
 his left cheek into profile, and looking com- 
 placently at the reflection of a very little scrap 
 of whisker in the looking-glass ; " by this time, 
 I should say, the iron has entered into her soul. 
 It serves her right ! " 
 
 Melting from this stern and obdurate into the 
 tender and pathetic mood, Mr. Swiveller groaned 
 a little, walked wildly up and do^vn, and even 
 made a show of tearing his hair, which, however, 
 he thought better of, and wrenched the tassel 
 from his nightcap instead. At last, undressing 
 himself with a gloomy resolution, he got into 
 bed. 
 
 Some men in his blighted position would have 
 taken to drinking; but as Mr. Swiveller had 
 taken to that before, he only took, on receiving 
 the news that Sophy Wackles was lost to him 
 for ever, to playing the flute; thinking, after 
 mature consideration, that it was a good, sound, 
 dismal occupation, not only in unison with his 
 own sad thoughts, but calculated to awaken a 
 fellow-feeling in the bosoms of his neighbours. 
 In pursuance of this resolution, he now drew a 
 little table to his bedside, and arranging the light 
 and a small oblong music-book to the best ad- 
 vantage, took his flute from its box, and began 
 to play most mournfully. 
 
 The air was, "Away with melancholy" — a 
 composition which, when it is played very slowly 
 on the flute in bed, with the further disadvantage 
 of being performed by a gentleman but imper- 
 fectly acquainted with the instrument, who re- 
 peats one note a great many times before he 
 can find the next, has not a lively eflect. Yet, 
 for half the night, or more, Mr. Swiveller, lying 
 sometimes on his back with his eyes upon the 
 ceiling, and sometimes half out of bed to correct 
 himself by the book, played this unhappy tune 
 over and over again ; never leaving off, save for 
 a minute or two at a time to take breath and 
 soliloquise about the Marchioness, and then 
 beginning again with renewed vigour. It was 
 not until he had quite erhausted his several sub- 
 jects of meditation, and had breathed into the 
 flute the whole sentiment of the purl down to 
 its very dregs, and had nearly maddened the 
 people of the house, and at both the next doors, 
 and over the way, that he shut up the music- 
 book, extinguished the candle, and finding him- 
 
 self greatly lightened and relieved in his mind,, 
 turned round and fell asleep. 
 
 He awoke in the morning much refreshed ; 
 and having taken half an hour's exercise at the 
 flute, and graciously received a notice to quit 
 from his landlady, who had been in waiting on 
 the stairs for that purpose since the dawn of 
 day, repaired to Bevis Marks ; where the beau- 
 tiful Sally was already at her post, bearing in 
 her looks a radiance mild as that which beameth 
 from the virgin moon. 
 
 Mr. Swiveller acknowledged her presence by 
 a nod, and exchanged his coat for the aquatic 
 jacket ; which usually took some time fitting on, 
 for, in consequence of a tightness in the sleeves, 
 it was only to be got into by a series of struggles. 
 This difficulty overcome, he took his seat at the 
 desk. 
 
 " I say," quoth Miss Brass, abruptly breaking 
 silence, "you haven't seen a silver pencil-case 
 this morning, have you ? " 
 
 " I didn't meet many in the street," rejoined 
 Mr. Swiveller. " I saw one — a stout pencil- 
 case of respectable appearance — but, as he was 
 in company with an elderly penknife and a 
 young toothpick with whom he was in earnest 
 conversation, I felt a delicacy in speaking to him." 
 
 " No, but have you ? " returned Miss Brass. 
 " Seriously, you know." 
 
 "What a dull dog you must be to ask me 
 such a question seriously ! " said Mr. Swiveller. 
 " Haven't I this moment come?" 
 
 "Well, all I know is," repHed Miss Sally, 
 " that it's not to be found, and that it dis- 
 appeared one day this week, when I left it on 
 the desk." 
 
 " Halloa ! " thought Richard, " I hope the 
 Marchioness hasn't been at work here." 
 
 " There was a knife too," said Miss Sally, " of 
 the same pattern. They were given to me by 
 my father, years ago, and are both gone. You 
 haven't missed anything yourself, have you ? " 
 
 Mr. Swiveller involuntarily clapped his hands 
 to the jacket, to be quite sure that it was a 
 jacket, and not a skirted coat; and, having 
 satisfied himself of the safety of this, his only 
 movable in Bevis Marks, made answer in the 
 negative. 
 
 "It's a very unpleasant thing, Dick," said 
 Miss Brass, pulling 'out the tin box and refresh- 
 ing herself with a pinch of snuff; " but, between 
 you and me — between friends you know, for, if 
 Sammy knew it, I should never hear the last of 
 it — some of the office money, too, that has been 
 left about, has gone in the same way. In par- 
 ticular, I have missed three half-crowns at three 
 different times." 
 
214 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " You don't mean that ? " cried Dick. " Be 
 careful what you say, old boy, for this is a seri- 
 ous matter. Are you quite sure ? Is there no 
 mistake ? " 
 
 " It is so, and there can't be any mistake at 
 all," rejoined Miss Brass emphatically. 
 
 "Then, by Jove," thought Richard, laying 
 down his pen, " I am afraid the Marchioness is 
 done for ! " 
 
 The more he discussed the subject in his 
 thoughts, the more probable it appeared to 
 Dick that the miserable little servant was the 
 culprit. When he considered on what a spare 
 allowance of food she lived, how neglected and 
 untaught she was, and how her natural cunning 
 had been sharpened by necessity and privation, 
 he scarcely doubted it. And yet he pitied her 
 so much, and felt so unwilling to have a matter 
 of such gravity disturbing the oddity of their 
 acquaintance, that he thought, and thought 
 truly, that rather than receive fifty pounds 
 down, he would have the Marchioness proved 
 innocent. 
 
 While he was plunged in very profound and 
 serious meditation upon this theme, Miss Sally 
 sat shaking her head with an air of great mystery 
 and doubt ; when the voice of her brother 
 Sampson carolling a cheerful strain was heard 
 in the passage, and that gentleman himself, 
 beaming with virtuous smiles, appeared. 
 
 " Mr. Richard, sir, good morning ! Here we 
 are again, sir, entering upon another day, with 
 our bodies strengthened by slumber and break- 
 fast, and our spirits fresh and flowing. Here we 
 are, Mr. Richard, rising with the sun to run our 
 little course — our course of duty, sir — and, like 
 him, to get through our day's work with credit 
 to ourselves and advantage to our fellow-crea- 
 tures. A charming reflection, sir, very charm- 
 ing ! " 
 
 While he addressed his clerk in these words, 
 Mr. Brass was, somewhat ostentatiously, en- 
 gaged in minutely examining and holding up 
 against the light a five-pound bank note, which 
 he had brought in in his hand. 
 
 Mr. Richard not receiving his remarks with 
 anything like enthusiasm, his employer turned 
 his eyes to his face, and observed that it wore a 
 troubled expression. 
 
 " You're out of spirits, sir," said Brass. " Mr, 
 Richard, sir, we should fall to work cheerfully, 
 and not in a despondent state. It becomes us, 
 Mr. Richard, sir, to " 
 
 Here the chaste Sarah heaved a loud sigh. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Mr. Sampson, " you too ! 
 Is anything the matter ? Mr. Richard, sir " 
 
 Dick, glancing at Miss Sally, saw that she 
 
 was making signals to him to acquaint her 
 brother with the subject (tf their recent conversa- 
 tion. As his own position was not a very pleasant 
 one until the matter was set at rest one way or 
 other, he did so ; and Miss Brass, plying her 
 snuff-box at a most wasteful rate, corroborated 
 his account. 
 
 The countenance of Sampson fell, and anxiety 
 overspread his features. Instead of passionately 
 bewailing the loss of his money, as Miss Sally 
 had expected, he walked on tiptoe to the door, 
 opened it, looked outside, shut it softly, re- 
 turned on tiptoe, and said in a whisper : 
 
 "This is a most extraordinary and painful 
 circumstance — Mr. Richard, sir, a most painful 
 circumstance. The fact is, that I myself have 
 missed several small sums from the desk of late, 
 and have refrained from mentioning it, hoping 
 that accident would discover the offender ; but 
 it has not done so — it has not done so. Sally 
 — Mr. Richard, sir — this is a particularly dis- 
 tressing affair." 
 
 As Sampson spoke, he laid the bank note 
 upon the desk among some papers in an absent 
 manner, and thrust his hands into his pockets. 
 Richard Swiveller pointed to it, and admonished 
 him to take it up. 
 
 " No, Mr. Richard, sir," rejoined Brass with 
 emotion, " I will not take it up. I will let it lie 
 there, sir. To take it up, Mr. Richard, sir, 
 would imply a doubt of you ; and in you, sir, I 
 have unlimited confidence. We will let it lie 
 there, sir, if you please, and we will not take it 
 up by any means." With that, Mr. Brass patted 
 him twice or thrice on the shoulder in a most 
 friendly manner, and entreated him to believe 
 that he had as much faith in his honesty as he 
 had in his own. 
 
 Although at another time Mr. Swiveller might 
 have looked upon this as a dpubtful compliment, 
 he felt it, under the then existing circumstances, 
 a great relief to be assured that he was not 
 wrongfully suspected. When he had made a 
 suitable reply, Mr. Brass wrung him by the 
 hand, and fell into a brown study, as did Miss 
 Sally likewise. Richard, too, remained in a 
 thoughtful state ; fearing every moment to hear 
 the Marchioness impeached, and unable to re- 
 sist the conviction that she must be guilty. 
 
 When they had severally remained in tnis 
 condition for some minutes, Miss Sally all at 
 once gave a loud rap upon the desk with her 
 clenched fist, and cried, "I've hit it!"— as in- 
 deed she had, and chipped a piece out of it too ; 
 but that was not her meaning. 
 
 " Well ! " cried Brass anxiously. " Go on, 
 will you ? " * 
 
RENEWED LIVELINESS OK SAMPSON BRASS. 
 
 215 
 
 "Why," replied his sister with an air of 
 triumph, " hasn't there been somebody ahvays 
 coming in and out of this office for the last 
 three or four weeks ; hasn't that somebody been 
 left alone in it sometimes—thanks to you ; and 
 do you mean to tell me that that somebody isn't 
 the thief?" 
 
 " What somebody ? " blustered Brass. 
 
 ?' Why, what do you call him— Kit." 
 
 " Mr. Garland's young man ? " 
 
 " To be sure." 
 
 " Never ! " cried Brass. " Never ! I'll not 
 hear of it. Don't tell me!" said Sampson, 
 shaking his head, and working with both his 
 hands as if he were clearing away ten thousand 
 cobwebs. "I'll never believe it of him. 
 Never ! " . 
 
 " I say," repeated Miss Brass, taking another 
 pinch of snuff, " that he's the thief." 
 
 " I say," returned Sampson violently, " that 
 he is not. What do you ■.''mean? How dare 
 you ? Are characters to be whispered away 
 like this ? Do you know that he's the honestest 
 and faithfuUest fellow that ever lived, and that 
 he has an irreproachable good name ? Come in, 
 come in ! " 
 
 These last words were not addressed to 
 Miss Sally, though they partook of the tone in 
 which the indignant remonstrances that pre- 
 ceded them had been uttered. They were ad- 
 dressed to some person who had knocked at the 
 office door-j and they had hardly ■ passed the 
 lips of ,Mr. Brass, when this very Kit himself 
 Ipoked in. 
 
 •-i,:" Is the gentleman up-stairs, sir, if you 
 please?" - 
 
 , , " Yes, ■ Kit," said Brass, still fired with an 
 honest indignation, ^nd frowning with knotted 
 brows upon his sister ; " yes, Kit, he is. I am 
 glad to see you, Kit; I am rejoiced to see you. 
 Look in again as you come down-stairs, Kit. 
 That lad a robber ! " cried Brass when he had 
 withdrawn, " with that frank and open counte- 
 nance ! I'd trust him with untold gold. Mr. 
 Richard, sir, have the goodness to step directly 
 to Wrasp and Co.'s in Broad Street, and inquire 
 if they have had instructions to appear in 
 Carkem and Painter. That lad a robber ! " 
 sneered Sampson, flushed and heated with his 
 wrath. "Am I blind, deaf, silly; do I know 
 nothing of human nature when I see it before 
 me ? Kit a robber ! Bah ! " 
 
 Flinging this final interjection at Miss Sally 
 with immeasurable scorn and contempt, Samp- 
 son Brass thrust his head into his desk, as if to 
 shut the base world from his view, and breathed 
 defiance from under its half-closed lid. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 HEN Kit, having discharged his 
 errand, came down-stairs from the 
 single gentleman's apartment after 
 the lapse of a quarter of an hour 
 or so, Mr. Sampson Brass was 
 alone in the office. He was not 
 singing as usual, nor was he seated at his 
 desk. The open door showed him stand- 
 ing before the fire with his back towards it, and 
 looking so very strange that Kit supposed he 
 must have been suddenly taken ill. 
 
 " Is anything the matter, sir ? " said Kit. 
 
 " Matter ! " cried Brass. " No. Why any- 
 thing the matter ? " 
 
 " You are so very pale," said Kit, " that I 
 should hardly have known you." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! mere fancy," cried Brass, 
 stooping to throw up the cinders. "Never 
 better, Kit, never better in all my life. Merry 
 too. Ha, ha ! How's our friend above-stairs, 
 eh ? " 
 
 " A great deal better," said Kit. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it," rejoined Brass ; 
 '•' thankful, I may say. An excellent gentleman 
 — worthy, liberal, generous, gives very little 
 trouble— an admirable lodger. Ha, ha ! Mr. 
 Garland — he's well I hope, Kit — and the pony 
 — my friend, my particular friend, you know. 
 Ha, ha ! " 
 
 Kit gave a satisfactory account of all the 
 little household at Abel Cottage. Mr. Brass, 
 who seemed remarkably inattentive and im- 
 patient, mounted on his stool, and, beckoning 
 him to come nearer, took him by the button- 
 hole. .' 
 
 " I have been thinking, Kit," said the lawyer, 
 "that I could throw «some little emoluments 
 into your mother's way. You have a mother, I 
 think ? ' If I recollect right, you told me " 
 
 "Oh yes, sir, yes, certainly ! " 
 
 "A widow, I think? an industrious widow?" 
 
 " A harder-working woman or a better mother 
 never lived, sir." ' 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Brass. " That's affecting, truly 
 affecting. A poor widow struggling to maintain 
 her orphans in decency and comfort is a deli- 
 cious picture of human goodness. — Put down 
 your hat. Kit." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, I must be going directly." 
 
 " Put it down while you stay, at any rate," 
 said Brass, taking it from him and making some 
 confusion among the papers, in finding a place 
 for it on the desk. " I was thinking. Kit, that 
 we have often houses to let for people we are 
 concerned for, and matters of that sort. Now, 
 
2l6 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 you know we're obliged to put people into those 
 houses to take care of 'em — very often unde- 
 serving people that we can't depend upon. 
 What's to prevent our having a person that we 
 can depend upon, and enjoying the delight of 
 doing a good action at the same time ? I say, 
 what's to prevent our employing this worthy 
 woman, your mother ? What with one job and 
 another, there's lodging — and good lodging too 
 — pretty well all the year round, rent free, and 
 a weekly allowance besides. Kit, that would 
 provide her with a great many comforts she 
 
 don't at present enjoy. Now what do you 
 think of that ? Do you see any objection ? 
 My only desire is to serve you, Kit ; therefore, 
 if you do, say so freely." 
 
 As Brass spoke, he moved the hat twice or 
 thrice, and shuffled among the papers again, as 
 if in search of something. 
 
 " How can I see any objection to such a kind 
 offer, sir?" repUed Kit with his whole heart. 
 " I don't know how to thank you, sir, I don't 
 indeed." 
 
 "Why, then," said Brass, suddenly turning 
 
 ' XHK AiR WAS, ' AWAY WITH MELANCHOLV. 
 
 upon him and thrusting his face close to Kit's 
 with such a repulsive smile that the latter, even 
 in the very height of his gratitude, drew back, 
 quite startled. " Why, then, ifs doner 
 
 Kit looked at him in some confusion. 
 
 " Done, I say," added Sampson, rubbing his 
 hands and veiling himself again in his usual oily 
 manner. " Ha, ha ! and so you shall find, Kit, 
 so you shall find. But dear me," said Brass, 
 " what a time Mr. Richard is gone ! A sad 
 loiterer to be sure ! Will you mind the office 
 one minute while I run up-stairs ? Only one 
 
 minute. I'll not detain you an instant longor,. 
 on any account, Kit." 
 
 Talking as he went, Mr. Brass bustled out of 
 the office, and in a very short time returned. 
 Mr, Swiveller came back almost at the same 
 instant; and as Kit was leaving the room 
 hastily, to make up for lost time. Miss Brass 
 herself encountered him in the doorway. 
 
 " Oh ! " sneered Sally, looking after him as 
 she entered. " There goes your pet, Sammy, 
 eh?" 
 
 " Ah ! There he goes," replied Brass. " My 
 
A BANK NOTE GONE. 
 
 217 
 
 pet, if you please. An honest fellow, Mr. 
 Richard, sir — a worthy fellow indeed ! " 
 
 " Hem ! " coughed Miss Brass. 
 
 " I tell you, you aggravating vagabond," said 
 the angry Sampson, " that I'd stake my life upon 
 his honesty. Am I never to hear the last of 
 this ? Am I always to be baited and beset by 
 your mean suspicions ? Have you no regard 
 for true merit, you malignant fellow? If you 
 come to that, I'd sooner suspect your honesty 
 than his." 
 
 Miss Sally pulled out the tin snuff-box, and 
 took a long, slow pinch : regarding her brother 
 with a steady gaze all the time, 
 
 " She drives me wild, Mr. Richard, sir," said 
 Brass ; " she exasperates me beyond all bearing. 
 I am heated and excited, sir, I know I am. 
 These are not business manners, sir, nor busi- 
 ness looks, but she carries me out of myself." 
 
 " Why don't you leave him alone ? " said 
 Dick. 
 
 " Because she can't, sir," retorted Brass ; 
 " because to chafe and vex me is a part of her 
 nature, sir, and she will and must do it, or I 
 don't believe she'd have her health. But never 
 mind," said Brass, " never mind. I've carried 
 my point. I've shown my confidence in the 
 lad. He has minded the office again. Ha, 
 ha ! Ugh, you viper ! " 
 
 The beautiful virgin took another pinch, and 
 put the snuff-box in her pocket ; still looking at 
 her brother with perfect composure. 
 
 " He has minded the office again," said Brass 
 triumphantly ; " he has had my confidence, and 
 he shall continue to have it ; he — why, where's 
 the " 
 
 " What have you lost ? " inquired Mr. Swi- 
 veller, 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Brass, slapping all his 
 pockets one after another, and looking into his 
 desk, and under it, and upon it, and wildly 
 tossing the papers about, " the note, Mr. 
 Richard, sir, the five-pound note — what can 
 have become of it ? I laid it down here. God 
 bless me ! " 
 
 ^" What ! " cried Miss Sally, starting up, clap- 
 ping her hands, and scattering the papers on 
 the floor, " Gone ! Now who's right ? Now 
 who's got it ? Never mind five pounds — what's 
 five pounds? He's honest you know, quite 
 honest. It would be mean to suspect him. 
 Don't run after him. No, no, not for the 
 world ! " 
 
 "Is it really gone, though?" said Dick, look- 
 ing at Brass with a face as pale as his own. 
 
 " Upon my word, Mr. Richard, sir," replied 
 the lawyer, feeling in all his pockets with looks 
 
 of the greatest agitation, " I fear this is a black 
 business. It's certainly gone, sir. What's to 
 be done ? " 
 
 " Don't run after him," said Miss Sally, taking 
 more snuff, " Don't run after him on any ac- 
 count. Give him time to get rid of it, you 
 know. It would be cruel to find him out ! " 
 
 Mr, Swiveller and Sampson Brass looked 
 from Miss Sally to each other in a state of 
 bewilderment, and then, as by one impulse, 
 caught up their hats and rushed out into the 
 street — darting along in the middle of the road, 
 and dashing aside all obstructions, as though 
 they were running for their lives. 
 
 It happened that Kit had been running too, 
 though not so fast, and, having the start of them 
 by some few minutes, was a good distance ahead. 
 As they were pretty certain of the road he must 
 have taken, however, and kept on at a great 
 pace, they came up with him, at the very 
 moment when he had taken breath, and was 
 breaking into a run again. 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Sampson, laying his hand on 
 one shoulder, while Mr. Swiveller pounced upon 
 the other. "Not so fast, sir. You're in a 
 hurry ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am," said Kit, looking from one to 
 the other in great surprise. 
 
 " I — I — can hardly believe it," panted Samp- 
 son, " but something of value is missing from 
 the office. I hope you don't know what." 
 
 " Know what ! Good Heaven, Mr. Brass ! " 
 cried Kit, trembling from head to foot ; " you 
 don't suppose " 
 
 " No, no," rejoined Brass quickly, " I don't 
 suppose anything. Don't say / said you did. 
 You'll come back quietly, I hope ? " 
 
 " Of course I will," returned Kit, " Why 
 not?" 
 
 " To be sure ! " said Brass. " Why not ? I 
 hope there may turn out to be no why not. If 
 you knew the trouble I've been in this morning, 
 through taking your part, Christopher, you'd be 
 sorry for it." 
 
 " And I am sure you'll be sorry for having 
 suspected me, sir," replied Kit. " Come. Let 
 us make haste back." 
 
 "Certainly!" cried Brass, "the quicker the 
 better. Mr. Richard — have the goodness, sir, 
 to take that arm. I'll take this one. It's not 
 easy walking three abreast, but under these 
 circumstances it must be done, sir; there's no 
 help for it." 
 
 Kit did turn from white to red, and from red 
 to white again, when they secured him thus, and 
 for a moment seemed disposed to resist. But, 
 quickly recollecting himself, and remembering 
 
2l8 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 that if he made any struggle, he would perhaps 
 be dragged by the collar through the public 
 streets, he only repeated, with great earnestness, 
 and with the tears standing in his eyes, that they 
 would be sorry for this — and suffered them to 
 lead him off. While they were on the way back, 
 Mr. Swiveller, upon whom his present functions 
 sat very irksomely, took an opportunity of whis- 
 pering in his ear that if he would confess his 
 guilt, even by so much as a nod, and promise 
 not to do so any more, he would connive at his 
 kicking Sampson Brass on the shins and escap- 
 ing up a court ; but Kit indignantly rejecting 
 this proposal, Mr. Richard had nothing for it 
 but to hold him tight until they reached Bevis 
 Marks, and ushered him into the presence of 
 the charming Sarah, who immediately took the 
 precaution of locking the door. 
 
 " Now, you know," said Brass, " if this is a 
 case of innocence, it is a case of that description, 
 Christopher, where the fullest disclosure is the 
 best satisfaction for everybody. Therefore, if 
 you'll consent to an examination," he demon- 
 strated what kind of examination he meant by 
 turning back the cuffs of his coat, " it will be a 
 comfortable and pleasant thing for all parties." 
 
 " Search me," said Kit, proudly holding up 
 his arms. "But mind, sir — I know you'll be 
 sorry for this to the last day of your life." 
 
 " It is certainly a very painful occurrence," 
 said Brass with a sigh, as he dived into one of 
 Kit's pockets, and fished up a miscellaneous 
 collection of small articles; "very painful. 
 Nothing here, Mr. Richard, sir; all perfectly 
 satisfactory. Nor here, sir. Nor in the waist- 
 coat, Mr. Richard, nor in the coat-tails. So far, 
 I am rejoiced, I am sure." 
 
 Richard Swiveller, holding Kit's hat in his 
 hand, was watching the proceedings with great 
 interest, and bore upon his face the slightest 
 possible indication of a smile, as Brass, shutting 
 one of his eyes, looked with the other up the 
 inside of one of the poor fellow's sleeves as if 
 it were a telescope — when Sampson, turning 
 hastily to him, bade him search the hat. 
 
 " Here's a handkerchief," said Dick. 
 
 " No harm in that, sir," rejoined Brass, ap- 
 plying his eye to the other sleeve, and speaking 
 in the voice of one who was contemplating an 
 immense extent of prospect. " No harm in a 
 handkerchief, sir, whatever. The faculty don't 
 consider it a healthy custom, I believe, Mr. 
 Richard, to carry one's handkerchief in one's 
 hat — I have heard that it keeps the head too 
 warm — but, in every other point of view, its 
 being there is extremely satisfactory — ex-tremely 
 
 An exclamation, at once from Richard Swi- 
 veller, Miss Sally, and Kit himself, cut the lawyer 
 short. He turned his head, and saw Dick 
 standing with the bank note in his hand. 
 
 " In the hat?" cried Brass in a sort of shriek. 
 
 " Under the handkerchief, and tucked beneath 
 the lining," said Dick, aghast at the discovery. 
 
 Mr. Brass looked at him, at his sister, at the 
 walls, .at the ceiling, at the floor — everywhere 
 but at Kit, who stood quite stupefied and 
 motionless. 
 
 " And this," cried Sampson, clasping his hands, 
 " is the world that turns upon its own axis, and 
 has Lunar influences, and revolutions round 
 Heavenly Bodies, and various games of that 
 sort ! This is human natur', is it ? Oh, natur', 
 natur' ! This is the miscreant that I was going 
 to benefit with all my little arts, and that, even 
 now, I feel so much for as to wish to let him 
 go ! But," added Mr. Brass with greater forti- 
 tude, " I am myself a lawyer, and bound to set 
 an example in carrying the laws of my happy 
 country into effect. Sally, my dear, forgive rne, 
 and catch hold of him on the other side. Mr. 
 Richard, sir, have the goodness to run and fetch 
 a constable. The weakness is past and over, 
 sir, and moral strength returns. A constable, 
 sir, \iyou please !" 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 |IT stood as one entranced, with his 
 eyes opened wide and fixed upon the 
 ground, regardless alike of the tremu- 
 lous hold which Mr. Brass maintained 
 on one side of his cravat, and of the 
 firmer grasp of Miss Sally upon the 
 other ; although this latter detention was 
 in itself no small inconvenience, as that 
 fascinating woman, besides screwing her knuckles 
 inconveniently into his throat from time to time, 
 had fastened upon him, in the first instance, 
 with so tight a grip that even in the disorder 
 and distraction of his thoughts he could not 
 divest himself of an uneasy sense of choking. 
 Between the brother and sister he remained in 
 this posture, quite unresisting and passive, until 
 Mr. Swiveller returned, with a police constable 
 at his heels. 
 
 This functionary, being, of course, well used 
 to such scenes ; looking upon all kinds of 
 robbery, from petty larceny up to housebreaking 
 or ventures on the highway, as matters in the 
 regular course of business; and regarding the 
 perpetrators in the light of so many customers 
 
KIT IN CUSTODY. 
 
 219 
 
 coming to be served at the wholesale and retail 
 shop of criminal law. where he stood behind the 
 counter; received Mr. Brass's statement of facts 
 with about as much interest and surprise as an 
 undertaker might evince if required to listen to 
 a circumstantial account of the last illness of a 
 person whom he was called in to wait upon pro- 
 fessionally ; and took Kit into custody with a 
 decent indifference. 
 
 " We had better," said this subordinate minis- 
 ter of justice, " get to the office while there's a 
 magistrate sitting. I shall want you to come 
 
 along with us, Mr. Brass, and the " He 
 
 looked at Miss Sally as if in some doubt 
 whether she might not be a griffin or other 
 fabulous monster. 
 
 "The lady, eh?" said Sampson. 
 
 "Ah!" replied the constable. "Ye3— the 
 lady. Likewise the young man that found the 
 property." 
 
 " Mr. Richard, sir," said Brass in a mournful 
 voice. " A sad necessity. But the altar of our 
 country, sir " 
 
 " You'll have a hackney coach, I suppose?" 
 interrupted the constable, holding Kit (whom 
 his other captors had released) carelessly by the 
 arm, a little above the elbow. " Be so good as 
 send for one, will you ?" 
 
 "But hear me speak a word," cried Kit, 
 raising his eyes, and looking imploringly about 
 him. " Hear me speak a word, I am no more 
 guilty than any one of you. Upon my soul I 
 am not. I a thief ! Oh, Mr. Brass, you know 
 me better! I am sure you know me better. 
 This is not right of you, indeed." 
 
 " I give you my word, constable " said 
 
 Brass. But here the constable interposed with 
 the constitutional principle, " Words be blowed ;" 
 observing that words were but spoon-meat for 
 babes and sucklings, and that oaths were the 
 food for strong men. 
 
 " Quite true, constable," assented Brass in the 
 same mournful tone. " Strictly correct. I give 
 you my oath, constable, that down to a if^ 
 minutes ago, when this fatal discovery was 
 made, I had such confidence in that lad, that I'd 
 
 have trusted him with A hackney coach, 
 
 Mr. Richard, sir ; you're very slow, sir." 
 
 "Who is there that knows me," cried Kit, 
 " that would not trust me — that does not ? Ask 
 anybody whether they have ever doubted me ; 
 whether I have ever wronged them of a farthing. 
 Was I ever once dishonest when I was poor 
 and hungry, and is it likely I would begin now ? 
 Oh, consider what you do ! How can I meet 
 the kindest friends that ever human creature 
 had, with this dreadful charge upon me?" 
 
 Mr. Brass rejoined that it would have been 
 well for the prisoner if he had thought of that 
 before, and was about to make some other 
 gloomy observations when the voice of the 
 ■jingle gentleman was heard, demanding from 
 above-stairs what was the matter, and what was 
 the cause of all that noise and hurry. Kit made 
 an involuntary start towards the door in his 
 anxiety to answer for himself, but, being speedily 
 detained by the constable, had the agony of 
 seeing Sampson Brass run out alone to tell the 
 story in his own way. 
 
 " And he can hardly believe it, either," said 
 Sampson when he returned, "nor nobody will. 
 I wish I could doubt the evidence of my senses, 
 but their depositions are unimpeachable. It's of 
 no use cross-examining my eyes," cried Sampson, 
 winking and rubbing them, " they stick to their 
 first account, and will. Now, Sarah, I hear the 
 coach in the Marks ; get on your bonnet, and 
 we'll be off. A sad errand ! a moral funeral, 
 quite ! " 
 
 "Mr. Brass," said Kit, "do me one favour. 
 Take me to Mr. Witherden's first." 
 
 Sampson shook his head irresolutely. 
 
 " Do," said Kit. " My master's there. For 
 Heaven's sake, take me there first ! " 
 
 " Well, I don't know," stammered Brass, who 
 perhaps had his reasons for wishing to show as 
 fair as possible in the eyes of the notary. 
 " How do we stand in point of time, con- 
 stable, eh?" 
 
 The constable, who had been chewing a straw 
 all this while with great philosophy, replied that 
 if they went away at once they would have time 
 enough, but that, if they stood shilly-shallying 
 there any longer, they must go straight to the 
 Mansion House ; and finally expressed his 
 opinion that that was where it was, and that was 
 all about it. 
 
 Mr. Richard Swiveller having arrived inside 
 the coach, and still remaining immovable in the 
 most commodious corner with his face to the 
 horses, Mr. Brass instructed the officer to re- 
 move his prisoner, and declared himself quite 
 ready. Therefore, the constable, still holding 
 Kit ih the same manner, and pushing him on a 
 little before him, so as to keep him at about 
 three-quarters of an arm's length in advance 
 (which is the professional mode), thrust him 
 into the vehicle, and followed himself. Miss 
 Sally entered next ; and, there being now four 
 inside, Sampson Brass got upon the box, and 
 made the coachman drive on. 
 
 Still completely stunned by the sudden and 
 terrible change which had taken place in his 
 affairs, Kit sat gazing out of the coach window, 
 
220 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 almost hoping to see some monstrous pheno- 
 menon in the streets which might give him 
 reason to beHeve he was in a dream. Alas ! 
 everything was too real and familiar : the same 
 succession of turnings, the same houses, the- 
 same streams of people running side by side in 
 different directions upon the pavement, the 
 same bustle of carts and carriages in the road, 
 the same well-remembered objects in the shop- 
 windows : a regularity in the very noise and 
 hurry which no dream ever mirrored. Dream- 
 like as the story was, it was true. He stood 
 charged with robbery ; the note had been found 
 upon him, though he was innocent in thought 
 and deed ; and they were carrying him back a 
 prisoner. 
 
 Absorbed in these painful ruminations, think- 
 ing with a drooping heart of his mother and 
 little Jacob, feeling as though even the con- 
 sciousness of innocence would be insufficient to 
 support him in the presence of his friends if they 
 believed him guilty, and sinking in hope and 
 courage more and more as they drew nearer to 
 the notary's, poor Kit was looking earnestly out 
 of the window, observant of nothing, — when all 
 at once, as though it had been conjured up by 
 magic, he became aware of the face of Quilp. 
 
 And what a leer there was upon the face ! 
 It was from the open window of a tavern that 
 it looked out; and the dwarf had so spread 
 himself over it, with his elbows on the window- 
 sill and his head resting on both his hands, that 
 what between this attitude and his being swollen 
 with suppressed laughter, he looked puffed and 
 bloated into twice his usual breadth. Mr. Brass, 
 on recognising him, immediately stopped the 
 coach. As it came to a halt directly opposite 
 to where he stood, the dwarf pulled off his hat, 
 and saluted the party with a hideous and gro- 
 tesque politeness. 
 
 " Aha ! " he cried. " Where now. Brass ? 
 where now ? Sally with you too ? Sweet Sally ! 
 And Dick? Pleasant Dick ! And Kit? Honest 
 Kit!" 
 
 " He's extremely cheerful !" said Brass to the 
 coachman. *' Very much so ! Ah, sir — a sad 
 business ! Never believe in honesty any more, 
 sir." 
 
 "Why not?" returned the dwarf. "Why 
 not, you rogue of a lawyer, why not?" 
 
 " Bank note lost in our office, sir," said Brass, 
 shaking his head. " Found in his hat, sir — he 
 previously left alone there — no mistake at all, 
 sir — chain of evidence complete — not a link 
 wanting." 
 
 , " What ! " cried the dwarf, leaning half his 
 body out of window, " Kit a thief ! Kit a thief ! 
 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Why, he's an uglier-looking thief 
 than can be seen anywhere for a penny. Eh, 
 Kit — eh ? Ha, ha, ha ! Have you taken Kit 
 into custody before he had time and opportunity 
 to beat me? Eh, Kit, eh?" And, with that, 
 he burst into a yell of laughter, manifestly to the 
 great terror of the coachman, and pointed to a 
 dyer's pole hard by, where a dangling suit of 
 clothes bore some resemblance to a man upon 
 a gibbet. 
 
 " Is it coming to that. Kit?" cried the dwarf, 
 rubbing his hands violently. " Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 What a disappointment for little Jacob, and for 
 his darling mother ! Let him have the Bethel 
 minister to comfort and console him. Brass. 
 Eh, Kit, eh ? Drive on, coachey, drive on. 
 Bye, bye, Kit ; all good go with you ; keep up 
 your spirits ; my love to the Garlands — the dear 
 old lady and gentleman. Say I inquired after 
 'em, will you ? Blessings on 'em, and on you, 
 and on everybody. Kit. Blessings on all the 
 world ! " 
 
 W^ith such good wishes and farewells, poured 
 out in a rapid torrent until they were out of 
 hearing, Quilp suffered them to depart; and, 
 when he could see the coach no longer, drew in 
 his head, and rolled upon the ground in an 
 ecstasy of enjoyment. 
 
 When they reached the notary's, which they 
 were not long in doing, for they had encountered 
 the dwarf in a by-street at a very little distance 
 from the house, Mr. Brass dismounted; and, 
 opening the coach door with a melancholy visage, 
 requested his sister to accompany him into the 
 office, with the view of preparing the good people 
 within for the mournful intelligence that awaited 
 them. Miss Sally complying, he desired Mr. 
 Swiveller to accompany them. So, into the 
 office they went ; Mr. Sampson and his sister 
 arm-in-arm ; and Mr. Swiveller following alone. 
 
 The notary was standing before the fire in the 
 outer office, talking to Mr. Abel and the elder 
 Mr. Garland, while Mr. Chuckster sat writing at 
 the desk, picking up such crumbs of their con- 
 versation as happened to fall in his way. This 
 posture of affairs Mr, Brass observed through 
 the glass door as he was turning the handle, 
 and, seeing that the notary recognised him, he 
 began to shake his head and sigh deeply while 
 that partition yet divided them. 
 
 " Sir," said Sampson, taking off his hat, and 
 kissing the two forefingers of his right-hand 
 beaver glove, "my name is Brass — Brass of 
 Bevis Marks, sir. I have had the honour and 
 pleasure, sir, of being concerned against you in 
 some little testamentary matters. How do you 
 do, sir ? " 
 
Kirs CASE GETS WORSE AND WORSE. 
 
 221 
 
 " My clerk will attend to any business you 
 may have come upon, Mr. Brass," said the 
 notary, turning away. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Brass, " thank you, I 
 am sure. Allow me, sir, to introduce my sister 
 — quite one of us, sir, although of the weaker 
 sex — of great use in my business, sir, I assure 
 you. Mr. Richard, sir, have the goodness to 
 come forward, if you please. No, really," said 
 Brass, stepping between the notary and his pri- 
 vate office (towards which he had begun to re- 
 treat), and speaking in the tone of an injured 
 man, "really, sir, I must, under favour, request 
 a word or two with you, indeed." 
 
 " Mr. Brass," said the other in a decided tone, 
 " I am engaged. You see that I am occupied 
 with these gentlemen. If you will communicate 
 your business to Mr. Chuckster yonder, you will 
 receive every attention." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Brass, laying his right 
 hand on his waistcoat, and looking towards the 
 father and son with a smooth smile — " gentle- 
 men, I appeal to you — really, gentlemen — con- 
 sider, I beg of you. I am of the law. I am 
 styled 'gentleman' by Act of Parliament. I 
 maintain the title by the annual payment of 
 twelve pounds sterling for a certificate. I am 
 not one of your players of music, stage actors, 
 writers of books, or painters of pictures, who 
 assume a station that the laws of their country 
 don't recognise. I am none of your strollers or 
 vagabonds. If any man brings his action against 
 me, he must describe me as a gentleman, or his 
 action is null and void. I appeal to you — is this 
 quite respectful ? Really, gentlemen " 
 
 "Well, will you have the goodness to state 
 your business, then, Mr. Brass ? " said the 
 notary. 
 
 "Sir," rejoined Brass, "I will. Ah, Mr. 
 
 Witherden ! you little know the But I 
 
 will not be tempted to travel from the point, 
 sir. I beheve the name of one of these gentle- 
 men is Garland." 
 
 " Of both," said the notary. 
 
 " In-deed ! " rejoined Brass, cringing exces- 
 sively. " But I might have known that from 
 the uncommon likefhess. Extremely happy, I am 
 sure, to have the honour of an introduction to 
 two such gentlemen, although the occasion is a 
 most painful one. One of you gentlemen has a 
 servant called Kit." 
 
 " Both," replied the notary. 
 
 " Two Kits?" said Brass, smiling. "Dear me ! " 
 
 " One Kit, sir," returned Mr. Witherden 
 angrily, " who is employed by both gentlemen. 
 What of him ? " 
 
 " This of him, sir," rejoined Brass, dropping 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 15. 
 
 his voice impressively. " That young man, sir, 
 that I have felt unbounded and unlimited con- 
 fidence in, and always behaved to as if he was 
 my equal — that young man has this morning 
 committed a robbery in my office, and been 
 taken almost in the fact." 
 
 " This must be some falsehood ! " cried the 
 notary. 
 
 " It is not possible," said Mr. Abel. 
 
 " I'll not believe one word of it," exclaimed 
 the old gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Brass looked mildly round upon them, 
 and rejoined : 
 
 " Mr. Witherden, sir, your words are action- 
 able, and if I was a man of low and mean stand- 
 ing, who couldn't afford to be slandered, I should 
 proceed for damages. Hows'ever, sir, being what 
 I am, I merely scorn such expressions. The 
 honest warmth of the other gentleman I respect, 
 and I'm truly sorry to be the messenger of such 
 unpleasant news. I shouldn't have put myself 
 in this painful position, I assure you, but that 
 the lad himself desired to be brought here in 
 the first instance, and I yielded to his prayers. 
 Mr. Chuckster, sir, will you have the goodness 
 to tap at the window for the constable that's 
 waiting in the coach ? " , 
 
 The three gentlemen looked at each other 
 with blank faces when these words were uttered, 
 and Mr. Chuckster, doing as he was desired, 
 and leaping off his stool with something of the 
 excitement of an inspired prophet whose fore- 
 tellings had in the fulness of time been realised, 
 held the door open for the entrance of the 
 wretched captive. 
 
 Such a scene as there was when Kit came in, 
 and, bursting into the rude eloquence with which 
 Truth at length inspired him, called Heaven to 
 witness that he was innocent, and that how the 
 property came to be found upon him he knew 
 not ! Such a confusion of tongues before the 
 circumstances were related, and the proofs dis- 
 closed ! Such a dead silence when all was told, 
 and his three friends exchanged looks of doubt 
 and amazement ! 
 
 " Is it not possible," said Mr. Witherden after 
 a long pause, " that this note may have found 
 its way into the hat by some accident, — such as 
 the removal of papers on the desk, for instance?" 
 
 But this was clearly shown to be quite im- 
 possible. Mr. Swiveller, though an unwilling 
 witness, could not help proving to demonstra- 
 tion, from the position in which it was found, 
 that it must have been designedly secreted. 
 
 " It's very distressing," said Brass, "immensely 
 distressing, I am sure. When he comes to be 
 tried, I shall be very happy to recommend him 
 
 263 
 
222 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 to mercy on account of his previous good cha- 
 racter. I did lose money before, certainly, but 
 it doesn't quite follow that he took it. The pre- 
 sumption's against him — strongly against him — 
 but we're Christians, I hope." 
 
 " I suppose," said the constable, looking 
 round, "that no gentleman here can give evi- 
 dence as to whether he's been flush of money 
 of late. Do you happen to know, sir ? " 
 
 " He has had money from time to time, cer- 
 tainly," returned Mr. Garland, to whom the man 
 had put the question. " But that, as he always 
 told me, was given him by Mr. Brass him- 
 self." 
 
 " Yes, to be sure," said Kit eagerly. " You 
 can bear me out in that, sir ? " 
 
 " Eh ? " cried Brass, looking from face to face 
 with an expression of stupid amazement. 
 
 " The money, you know, the half-crowns that 
 you gave me — from the lodger," said Kit. 
 
 " Oh dear me ! " cried Brass, shaking his head 
 and frowning heavily. "This is a bad case, I 
 find ! a very bad case indeed ! " 
 
 " What ! Did you give him no money on 
 account of anybody, sir?" asked Mr. Garland 
 with great anxiety. , 
 
 " /give^im money, sir ! " returned Sampson. 
 " Oh, come, you know, this is too barefaced ! 
 Constable, my good fellow, we had better be 
 going." 
 
 " What ! " shrieked Kit. " Does he deny that 
 he did ? Ask him,'somebody, pray. Ask him to 
 tell you whether he did or not ! " 
 
 " Did you, sir ? " asked the notary. 
 
 " I tell you what, gentlemen," replied Brass 
 in a very grave manner, "he'll not serve his 
 case this way, and really, if you feel any interest 
 in him, you had better advise him to go upon 
 some other tack. Did I, sir? Of course I 
 never did." 
 
 " Gentlemen," cried Kit, on whom a light 
 broke suddenly, " Master, Mr. Abel, Mr. Wither- 
 den, every one of you — he did it ! What I have 
 done to offend him I don't know, but this is a 
 plot to ruin me. Mind, gentlemen, it's a plot, 
 and, whatever comes of it, I will say with my 
 dying breath that he put that note in my hat 
 himself ! Look at him, gentlemen ! See how 
 he changes colour ! Which of us looks the guilty 
 person — he or I ? " 
 
 " You hear him, gentlemen ? " said Brass, 
 smiling, " you hear him ? Now, does this case 
 strike you as assuming rather a black com- 
 plexion, or does it not? Is it at all a trea- 
 cherous case, do you think, or is it one of mere 
 ordinary guilt ? Perhaps, gentlemen, if he had 
 not said this in your presence, and I had re- 
 
 ported it, you'd have held this to be impossible 
 likewise, eh ? " 
 
 With such pacific and bantering remarks did 
 Mr. Brass refute the foul aspersion on his cha- 
 racter; but the virtuous Sarah, moved by stronger 
 feelings, and having at heart, perhaps, a more 
 jealous regard for the honour of her family, flew 
 from her brother's side, without any previous 
 intimation of her design, and darted at the pri- 
 soner with the utmost fury. It would undoubt- 
 edly have gone hard with Kit's face, but that 
 the wary constable, foreseeing her design, drew 
 . him aside at the critical moment, and thus 
 placed Mr. Chuckster in circumstances of some 
 jeopardy; for that gentleman happening to be 
 next the object of Miss Brass's wrath ; and rage 
 being, like love and fortune, blind ; was pounced 
 upon by the fair enslaver, and had a false collar 
 plucked up by the roots, and his hair very much 
 dishevelled, before the exertions of the company 
 could make her sensible of her mistake. 
 
 The constable, taking warning by this des- 
 perate attack, and thinking, perhaps, that it 
 would be more satisfactory to the ends of jus- 
 tice if the prisoner were taken before a magis- 
 trate whole, rather than in small pieces, led him 
 back to the hackney coach without more ado,, 
 and, moreover, insisted on Miss Brass becoming 
 an outside passenger; to which proposal the 
 charming creature, after a little angry discus- 
 sion, yielded her consent, and so took her 
 brother Sampson's place upon the box : Mr. 
 Brass, with some reluctance, agreeing to occupy 
 her seat inside. These arrangements perfected, 
 they drove to the jystice-room with all speed, 
 followed by the notary and his two friends in 
 another coach. Mr. Chuckster alone was left 
 behind — greatly to his indignation ; for he held 
 the evidence he could have given, relative to 
 Kit's returning to work out the shilling, to be 
 so very material as bearing upon his hypocritical 
 and designing character, that he considered its 
 suppression little better than a compromise of 
 felony. 
 
 At the justice -room they found the single 
 gentleman, who had gone straight there, and 
 was expecting them with desperate impatience. 
 But, not fifty single gentlemen rolled into one 
 could have helped poor Kit, who in half an 
 hour afterwards was committed for trial, and 
 was assured by a friendly offider, on his way to 
 prison, that there was no occasion to be cast 
 down, for the sessions would soon be on, and 
 he would, in all likelihood, get his little affair 
 disposed of, and be comfortably transported, in. 
 less than a fortnight. 
 
KIT IN GAOL. 
 
 223 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 ET moralists and philosophers say 
 what they may, it is very question- 
 able whether a guilty man would 
 have felt half as much misery that 
 night as Kit did, being innocent. 
 The world, being in the constant 
 commission of vast quantities of injustice, 
 is a little too apt to comfort itself with the 
 idea that, if the victim of its falsehood and 
 malice have a clear conscience, he cannot fail 
 to be sustained under his trials, and, somehow 
 or ipther, to come right at last ; " in which case," 
 say they who have hunted him down — " though 
 we certainly don't expect it — nobody will be 
 ])etter pleased than we." Whereas, the world 
 would do well to reflect that injustice is in itself, 
 to every generous and properly-constituted 
 mind, an injury of all others the most insuffer- 
 able, the most torturing, and the most hard to 
 bear; and that many clear consciences have 
 gone to their account elsewhere, and many 
 sound hearts have broken, because of this very 
 reason ; the knowledge of their own deserts only 
 aggravating their sufferings, and rendering them 
 the less endurable. 
 
 The world, however, was not in fault in Kit's 
 case. ^ But, Kit was innocent ; and, knowing 
 this, and feeling that his best friends deemed 
 him guilty — that Mr. and Mrs. Garland would 
 look upon him as a monster of ingratitude — that 
 Barbara would associate him with all that was 
 bad and criminal — that the pony would con- 
 sider himself forsaken — and that even his own 
 mother might perhaps yield to the strong ap- 
 pearances against him, and believe him to be 
 the wretch he seemed — knowing and feeling all 
 this, he experienced, at first, an agony of mind 
 which no words can describe, and walked up 
 and down the little cell in which he was locked 
 up for the night, almost beside himself with 
 grief. 
 
 Even when the violence of these emotions 
 had in some degree subsided, and he was be- 
 ginning to grow more calm, there came into his 
 mind a new thought, the anguish of which was 
 scarcely less. The child — the bright star of the 
 simple fellow's life — she who always came back 
 upon him like a beautiful dream— who had made 
 the poorest part of his existence the happiest 
 and best — who had ever been so gentle, and 
 considerate, and good — if she were ever to hear 
 of this, what would she think? As this idea 
 occurred to him, the walls of the prison seemed 
 to melt away, and the old place to reveal itself 
 in their stead, as it was wont to be on winter 
 
 nights — the fireside, the little supper-table, the 
 old man's hat, and coat, and stick — the half- 
 opened door, leading to her little room — they 
 were all there. And Nell herself was there, and 
 he — both laughing heartily as they had often 
 done — and, when he had got as far as this, Kit 
 could go no farther, but flung himself upon his 
 poor bedstead and wept. 
 
 It was a long night, which seemed as though 
 it would have no end : but he slept too, and 
 dreamed — always of being at liberty, and roving 
 about, now with one person, and now with 
 another, but ever with a vague dread of being 
 recalled to prison ; not that prison, but one 
 which was in itself a dim idea — not of a place, 
 but of a care and sorrow : of something op- 
 pressive and always present, and yet impossible 
 to define. At last, the morning dawned, and 
 there was the gaol itself — cold, black, and 
 dreary, and very real indeed. 
 
 He was left to himself, however, and there 
 was comfort in that. He had liberty to walk in 
 a small paved yard at a certain hour, and learnt 
 from the turnkey, who came to unlock his cell 
 and show him where to wash, that there was a 
 regular time for visiting every day, and that, if 
 any of his friends came to see him, he would be 
 fetched down to the grate. When he had given 
 him this information, and a tin porringer con- 
 taining his breakfast, the man locked him up 
 again ; and went clattering along the stone pas- 
 sagCj opening and shutting a great many other 
 doors, and raising numberless loud echoes 
 which resounded through the building for a 
 long time, as if they were in prison too, and 
 unable to get out. 
 
 This turnkey had given him to understand 
 that he was lodged, like some few others in the 
 gaol, apart from the mass of prisoners ; because 
 he was not supposed to be utterly depraved and 
 irreclaimable, and had never occupied apart- 
 ments in that mansion before. Kit was thank- 
 ful for this indulgence, and sat reading the 
 Church Catechistn very attentively (though he 
 had known it by heart from a little child), until 
 he heard the key in the lock, and the man 
 entered again. 
 
 " Now then," he said, " come "on !" 
 
 "Where to, sir?" asked Kit. 
 
 The man contented himself by briefly reply- 
 ing, " Wisitors;" and, taking him by the arm 
 in exactly the same manner as the constable 
 had done the day before, led him, through 
 several winding ways and strong gates, into a 
 passage, where he placed him at a grating and 
 turned upon his heel. Beyond this grating, at the 
 distance of about four or five feet, was another. 
 
224 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 exactly like it. In the space between sat a 
 turnkey reading a newspaper ; and outside the 
 further railing, Kit saw, with a palpitating heart, 
 his mother with the baby in her arras ; Barbara's 
 mother with her never-failing umbrella; and 
 poor httle Jacob, staring in with all his might, 
 as though he were looking for the bird, or the 
 wild beast, and thought the men were mere 
 accidents with whom the bars could have no 
 possible concern. 
 
 But, when little Jacob saw his brother, and, 
 thrusting his arms between the rails to hug him, 
 found that he came no nearer, but still stood 
 afar off with his head resting on the arm by 
 which he held to one of the bars, he began to 
 cry most piteously; whereupon Kit's mother 
 and Barbara's mother, who had restrained them- 
 selves as much as possible, burst out sobbing 
 and weeping afresh. Poor Kit could not help 
 joining them, and not one of them could speak 
 a word. 
 
 During this melancholy pause the turnkey 
 read his newspaper with a waggish look (he had 
 evidently got among the facetious paragraphs), 
 until, happening to take his eyes off it for an 
 instant, as if to get by dint of contemplation at 
 the very marrow of some joke of a deeper sort 
 than the rest, it appeared to occur to him, for 
 the first time, that somebody was crying. 
 
 " Now, ladies, ladies," he said, looking round 
 with surprise, " I'd advise you not to waste time 
 like this. It's allowanced here, you know. You 
 mustn't let that child make that noise either. 
 It's against all rules." 
 
 " I'm his poor mother, sir," sobbed Mrs. 
 Nubbles, curtsying humbly, " and this is his 
 brother, sir. Oh dear me, dear me ! " 
 
 " Well ! " replied the turnkey, folding his 
 paper on his knee, so as to get with greater 
 convenience at the top of the next column. 
 " It can't be helped, you know. He an't the 
 only one in the same fix. You mustn't make a 
 noise about it !" 
 
 With that, he went on reading. The man 
 was not naturally cruel or hard-hearted. He 
 had come to look upon felony as a kind of dis- 
 order, like the scarlet fever or erysipelas : some 
 people had it — some hadn't — ^just as it might be. 
 
 " Oh ! my darling Kit," said his mother, 
 whom Barbara's mother had charitably relieved 
 of the baby, " that I should see my poor boy 
 here!" 
 
 " You don't believe I did what they accuse 
 me of, mother dear?" cried Kit in a choking 
 voice. 
 
 "/believe it!" exclaimed the poor woman, 
 "/, that never knew you tell a lie, or do a 
 
 bad action from your cradle — that have never 
 had a moment's sorrow on your account, except 
 it was for the poor meals that you have taken 
 with such good-humour and content, that I for- 
 got how little there was, when I thought how 
 kind and thoughtful you were, though you were 
 but a child ! I believe it of the son that's been 
 a comfort to me from the hour of his birth to 
 this time, and that I never laid down one night 
 in anger with ! I believe it of you. Kit ?" 
 
 "Why, then, thank God!" said Kit, clutch- 
 ing the bars with an earnestness that shook 
 them, " and I can bear it, mother ! Come what 
 may, I shall always have one drop of happine^ss 
 in my heart when I think that you said that." 
 
 At this, the poor woman fell a crying again, 
 and Barbara's mother too. And little Jacob, 
 w^hose disjointed thoughts had by this time 
 resolved themselves into a pretty distinct im- 
 pression that Kit couldn't go out for a walk if 
 he wanted, and that there were no birds, lions, 
 tigers, or other natural curiosities behind those 
 bars — nothing, indeed, but a caged brother — 
 added his tears to theirs with as little noise as 
 possible. 
 
 Kit's mother, drying her eyes (and moistening 
 them, poor soul, more than she dried them), now 
 took from the ground a small basket, and sub- 
 missively addressed herself to the turnkey, say- 
 ing, would he please to listen to her. for a 
 minute ? The turnkey, being in the very crisis 
 and passion of a joke, motioned to her with his 
 hand to keep silent one minute longer, for her 
 life. Nor did he remove his hand into its 
 former posture, but kept it in the same warning 
 attitude until he had finished the paragraph, 
 when he paused for a few seconds, with a smile 
 upon his face, as who should say, " This editor 
 is a comical blade — a funny dog," and then 
 asked her what she wanted. 
 
 " I have brought him a little something to 
 eat," said the good woman. " If you please, sir, 
 might he have it ? " 
 
 " Yes, he may have it. There's no rule 
 against that. Give it to me when you go, and 
 I'll take care he has it." 
 
 " No, but if you please, sir — don't be angry 
 with me, sir — I am his mother, and you had a 
 mother once — if I might only see him eat a 
 little bit, I should go away so much more 
 satisfied that he was all comfortable." 
 
 And again the tears of Kit's mother burst 
 forth, and of Barbara's mother, and of little 
 Jacob. As to the baby, it was crowing and 
 laughing with all its might — under the idea, ap- 
 parently, that the whole scene had been invented 
 and got up for its particular satisfaction. 
 
A CORDIAL FOR THE PRISONER. 
 
 225 
 
 The turnkey looked as if he thought the re- 
 quest a strange one, arid rather out of the 
 common way, but nevertheless he laid down 
 his paper, and coming round to where Kit's 
 mother stood, took the basket from her, and 
 after inspecting its contents, handed it to Kit, 
 and went back to his place. It may be easily 
 conceived that the prisoner had no great appe- 
 tite, but he sat down on the ground, and ate as 
 hard as he could, while, at every morsel he put 
 into his mouth, his mother sobbed and wept 
 afresh, though with a softened grief that bespoke 
 the satisfaction the sight afforded her. 
 
 While he was thus engaged, Kit made some 
 anxious inquiries about his employers, and 
 whether they had expressed any opinion con- 
 cerning him ; but all he could learn was, that 
 Mr. Abel had himself broken the intelligence to 
 his mother, with great kindness and delicacy, 
 late on the previous night, but had himself ex- 
 pressed no opinion of his innocence or guilt. 
 Kit was on the point of mustering courage to 
 ask Barbara's mother about Barbara, when the 
 turnkey who had conducted him reappeared, a 
 second turnkey appeared behind his visitors, 
 and the third turnkey with the newspaper cried, 
 "Time's up!" — adding, in the same breath, 
 " Now for the next party ! " and then plunging 
 deep into his newspaper again. Kit was taken 
 off in an instant, with a blessing from his 
 mother, and a scream from little Jacob, ringing 
 in his ears. As he was crossing the next yard 
 with the basket in his hand, under the guidance 
 of his former conductor, another officer called 
 to them to stop, and came up with a pint pot of 
 porter in his hand. 
 
 " This is Christopher Nubbles, isn't it, that 
 come in last night for felony ? " said the man. 
 
 His comrade replied that this was the chicken 
 in question. 
 
 " Then here's your beer," said the other man 
 to Christopher. "What are you looking at? 
 There an't a discharge in it." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Kit. " Who sent 
 it me ? " 
 
 " Why, your friend," replied the man. " You're 
 to have it every day, he says. And so you will, 
 if he pays for it." 
 
 " My friend ! " repeated Kit. 
 
 " You're all abroad, seemingly," returned the 
 other man. " There's his letter. Take hold ! " 
 
 Kit took it, and, when he was locked up 
 again, read as follows : 
 
 "Drink of this cup, you'll find there's a spell 
 in its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality. 
 Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 
 Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality 
 
 (Barclay and Co.'s). If they ever send it in a 
 flat state, complain to the Governor. Yours, 
 R. S." 
 
 " R. S. ! " said Kit after some consideratian. 
 " It must be Mr. Richard Swiveller. Well, it's 
 very kind of him, and I thank him heartily ! " 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 FAINT light, twinkling from the 
 window of the counting-house on 
 Quilp's wharf, and looking inflamed 
 and red through the night fog, as 
 though it suffered from it like an 
 eye, forewarned Mr. Sampson Brass, 
 as he approached the wooden cabin 
 with a cautious step, that the excellent 
 proprietor, his esteemed client, was inside, and 
 probably waiting with his accustomed patience 
 and sweetness of temper the fulfilment of the 
 appointment which now brought Mr. Brass 
 within his fair domain. 
 
 " A treacherous place to pick one's steps in 
 of a dark night," muttered Sampson as he 
 stumbled for the twentieth time over some 
 stray lumber, and limped in pain. " I believe 
 that boy strews the ground differently every day, 
 on purpose to bruise and maim one ; unless his 
 master does it with his own hands, which is 
 more than likely. I hate to come to this place 
 without Sally. She's more protection than a 
 dozen men." 
 
 As he paid this compliment to the merit of 
 the absent charmer, Mr. Brass came to a halt ; 
 looking doubtfully towards the light, and over 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " What's he about, I wonder ? " murmured 
 the lawyer, standing on tiptoe, and endeavour- 
 ing to obtain a glimpse of what was passing 
 inside, which at that distance was impossible. 
 " Drinking, I suppose, — making himself more 
 fiery and furious, and heating his malice and 
 mischievousness till they boil. I'm always 
 afraid to come here by myself, when his 
 account's a pretty large one. I don't believe 
 he'd mind throttling me, and dropping me softly 
 into the river, when the tide was at its strongest, 
 any more than he'd mind killing a rat — indeed, 
 I don't know whether he wouldn't consider it a 
 pleasant joke. Hark ! Now he's singing ! " 
 
 Mr. Quilp was certainly entertaining himself 
 with vocal exercise, but it was rather a kind of 
 chant than a song ; being a monotonous repeti- 
 tion of one sentence in a very rapid manner, 
 with a long stress upon the last word, which he 
 
226 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 swelled into a dismal roar. Nor did the burden 
 of this performance bear any reference to love, 
 or war, or wine, or loyalty, or any other the 
 standard topics o^ song, but to a subject not 
 often set to music or generally known in bal- 
 lads ; the words being these : — " The worthy 
 magistrate, after remarking that the prisoner 
 would find some difficulty in persuading a jury 
 to believe his tale, committed him to take his 
 trial at the approaching sessions ; and directed 
 the customary recognizances to be entered into 
 for the pros-e-cu-tion." 
 
 Every time he came to this concluding word, 
 and had exhausted all possible stress upon it, 
 Quilp burst into a shriek of laughter, and began 
 again. 
 
 " He's dreadfully imprudent," muttered Brass 
 after he had listened to two or three repetitions 
 of the chant. " Horribly imprudent. I wish he 
 was dumb. I wish he was deaf I wish he was 
 blind. Hang him ! " cried Brass as the chant 
 began again. " I wish he was dead !" 
 
 Giving utterance to these friendly aspirations 
 in behalf of his client, Mr. Sampson composed 
 his face into its usual state of smoothness, and, 
 waiting until the shriek came again and was 
 dying away, went up to the wooden house, and 
 knocked at the door. 
 
 " Come in ! " cried the dwarf. 
 
 " How do you do to-night, sir ? " said Samp- 
 son, peeping in. " Ha, ha, ha ! How do you 
 do, sir ? Oh dear me, how very whimsical ! 
 Amazingly whimsical to be sure ! " 
 
 " Come in, you fool ! " returned the dwarf, 
 *' and don't stand there shaking your head and 
 showing your teeth. Come in, you false witness, 
 you perjurer, you suborner of evidence, come 
 in!" 
 
 " He has the richest humour ! " cried Brass, 
 shutting the door behind him ; " the most 
 amazing vein of comicality ! But isn't it rather 
 injudicious, sir " 
 
 " What? " demanded Quilp. ''• What, Judas ?" 
 
 '' Judas ! " cried Brass. " He has such extra- 
 ordinary spirits ! His humour is so extremely 
 playful ! Judas ! Oh yes — dear me, how very 
 good ! Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 All this time Sampson was rubbing his hands, 
 and staring, with ludicrous surprise and dismay, 
 at a great, goggle-eyed, blunt nosed figure-head 
 of some old ship, which was reared up against 
 the wall in a corner near the stove, looking like 
 a goblin or hideous idol whom the dwarf wor- 
 shipped. A mass of timber on its head, carved 
 into the dim and distant semblance of a cocked- 
 hat, together with a representation of a star on 
 the left breast and epaulets on the shoulders, 
 
 denoted that it was intended for the effigy of 
 some famous admiral ; but, without those helps, 
 any observer might have supposed it the 
 authentic portrait of a distinguished merman, 
 or great sea-monster. Being originally much 
 too large for the apartment which it was now 
 employed to decorate, it had been sawn short 
 off at the waist. Even in this state it reached 
 from floor to ceiling; and thrusting itself for- 
 ward, with that excessively wide-awake aspect, 
 and air of somewhat obtrusive politeness, by 
 which figure-heads are usually characterised, 
 seemed to reduce everything else to mere 
 pigmy proportions. 
 
 " Do you know it ? " said the dwarf, watching 
 Sampson's eyes. " Do you see the likeness ? " 
 
 " Eh ? " said Brass, holding his head on one 
 side, and throwing it a little back, as connois- 
 seurs do. " Now I look at it again, I fancy I 
 see a — yes, there certainly is something in the 
 smile that reminds me of — and yet, upon my 
 word, I " 
 
 Now, the fact was, that Sampson, having 
 never seen anything in the smallest degree re- 
 sembling this substantial phantom, was much 
 perplexed; being uncertain whether Mr. Quilp 
 considered it like himself, and had therefore 
 bought it for a family portrait ; or whether he 
 was pleased to consider it as the likeness of 
 some enemy. He was not very long in doubt ; 
 for, while he was surveying it with that knowing 
 look which people assume when they are con- 
 templating for the first time portraits which 
 they ought to recognise, but don't, the dwarf 
 threw down the newspaper from which he had 
 been chanting the words already quoted, and 
 seizing a rusty iron bar, which, he used in 
 lieu of poker, dealt the figure such a stroke on 
 the nose that it rocked again. 
 
 " Is it like Kit — is it his picture, his image, 
 his very self?" cried the dwarf, aiming a shower 
 of blows at the insensible countenance, and 
 covering it with deep dimples. " Is it the exact 
 model and counterpart of the dog — is it — is it — 
 is it?" And, with every repetition of the ques- 
 tion, he battered the great image, until the per- 
 spiration streamed down his face with the violence 
 of the exercise. 
 
 Although this might have been a very comical 
 thing to look at from a secure gallery, as a bull- 
 fight is found to be a comfortable spectacle by 
 those who are not in the arena, and a house on 
 fire is better than a play to people who don't 
 live near it, there was something in the earnest- 
 ness of Mr. Quilp's manner which made his legal 
 adviser feel that the counting-house was a little 
 too small, and a deal too lonely, for the com- 
 
A GENTLE STIMULANT. 
 
 227 
 
 plete enjoyment of these humours. Therefore, 
 he stood as far off as he could while the dwarf 
 was thus engaged, whimpering out but feeble 
 applause ; and, when Quilp left off and sat 
 down again from pure exhaustion, approached 
 with more obsequiousness than ever. 
 
 " Excellent indeed !" cried Brass. " He, he ! 
 Oh, very good, sir ! You know," said Sampson, 
 looking round as if in appeal to the bruised ad- 
 miral, " he's quite a remarkable man — quite ! " 
 
 " Sit down," said the dwarf. " I bought the 
 dog yesterday. I've been screwing gimlets 
 into him, and sticking forks in his eyes, and 
 cutting my name on him. I mean to burn him 
 at last." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " cried Brass. " Extremely enter- 
 taining, indeed ! " 
 
 " Come here !" said Quilp, beckoning him to 
 draw near. " What's injudicious, hey?" 
 
 " Nothing, sir — nothing. Scarcely worth men- 
 tioning, sir ; but I thought that song — admirably 
 humorous in itself, you know — was perhaps 
 rather " 
 
 " Yes," said Quilp, '•' rather what ?" 
 
 " Just bordering, "or as one may say remotely 
 verging, upon the confines of injudiciousness, 
 perhaps, sir," returned Brass, looking timidly at 
 the dwarfs cunning eyes, which were turned 
 towards the fire, and reflected its red light. 
 
 "Why?" inquired Quilp, without looking up. 
 
 "Why, you know, sir," returned Brass, ven- 
 turing to be rnore familiar : " the fact is, sir, 
 that any allusion to these little combinings to- 
 gether of friends, for objects in themselves ex- 
 tremely laudable, but which the law terms con- 
 spiracies, are — you take me, sir? — best kept 
 snug and among friends, you know." 
 
 " Eh?" said Quilp, looking up with a perfectly 
 vacant countenance. " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Cautious, exceedingly cautious, very right 
 and proper ! " cried Brass, nodding his head. 
 " Mum, sir, even here — my meaning, sir, ex- 
 actly." 
 
 " Your meaning exactly, you brazen scare- 
 crow, — what's your meaning?" retorted Quilp. 
 " Why do you talk to me of combining together ? 
 Do / combine? Do I know anything about 
 your combinings?" 
 
 "No, no, sir — certainly not; not by any 
 means," returned Brass. 
 
 " If you so wink and nod at me," said the 
 dwarf, looking about him as if for his poker, 
 ''I'll spoil the expression of your monkey's 
 face, I will," 
 
 " Don't put yourself out of the way I beg, sir," 
 rejoined Brass, checking himself with great 
 alacrity. "You're quite right, sir, quite right. 
 
 I shouldn't have mentioned the subject, sir. 
 It's much better tiot to. You're quite right, 
 sir. Let us change it, if you please. You were 
 asking, sir, Sally to-Id me, about our lodger. He 
 has not returned, sir." 
 
 "No?" said Quilp, heating some rum in a 
 little saucepan, and watching ill|*to prevent its 
 boiHng over. " Why not ? " 
 
 "Why, sir," returned Brass, "he — dear me, 
 Mr. Quilp, sir " 
 
 " What's the matter ?" said the dwarf, stopping 
 his hand in the act of carrying the saucepan to 
 his mouth. 
 
 " You have forgotten the water, sir," said 
 Brass. " And — excuse me, sir — but it's burning 
 hot." 
 
 Deigning no other than a practical answer to 
 this remonstrance, Mr. Quilp raised the hot 
 saucepan to his lips, and deliberately drank off 
 all the spirit it contained, which might have 
 been in quantity about half a pint, and had been 
 but a moment before, when he took it off the 
 fire, bubbling and hissing fiercely. Having 
 swallowed this gentle stimulant, and shaken his 
 fist at the admiral, he bade Mr. Brass proceed. 
 
 " But first," said Quilp with his accustomed 
 grin, " have a drop yourself — a nice drop — a 
 good, warm, fiery drop." 
 
 " Why, sir," replied Brass, " if there was such 
 a thing as a mouthful of water that could be got 
 without trouble " 
 
 " There's no such thing to be had here," cried 
 the dwarf. " Water for lawyers ! Melted lead 
 and brimstone, you mean, nice hot blistering 
 pitch and tar — that's the thing for them — eh, 
 Brass, eh?" 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Brass. "Oh, 
 very biting ! and yet it's like being tickled — 
 there's a pleasure in it too, sir ! " 
 
 " Drink that," said the dwarf, who had by 
 this time heated some more. " Toss it off, don't 
 leave any heel-tap, scorch your throat and be 
 happy ! " 
 
 The wretched Sampson took a few short sips of 
 the liquor, which immediately distilled itself into 
 burning tears, and in that form came rolling down 
 his cheeks into the pipkin again, turning the colour 
 of his face and eyelids to a deep red, and giving 
 rise to a violent fit of coughing, in the midst of 
 which he was still heard to declare, with the 
 constancy of a martyr, that it was "beautiful 
 indeed ! " While he was yet in unspeakable 
 agonies, the dwarf renewed their conversation. 
 
 "The lodger," said Quilp, "what about him?" 
 
 " He is still, sir," returned Brass with intervals 
 of coughing, " stopping with the Garland family. 
 He has only been home once, sir, since the day 
 
228 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSn^y SHOP. 
 
 of the examination of that culprit. He informed 
 Mr. Richard, sir, that he couldn't bear the house 
 after what had taken place ; that he was wretched 
 in it ; and that he looked upon himself as being 
 in a certain kind of way the cause of the occur- 
 rence. — A very excellent lodger, sir. I hope we 
 may not lose Mm." 
 
 "Yah!" cried the dwarf. "Never thinking 
 of anybody but yourself. Why don't you re- 
 trench, then — scrape up, hoard, economise, eh?" 
 
 '' Why, sir," replied Brass, " upon my word I 
 
 think Sarah's as good an economiser as any 
 going. I do indeed, Mr. Quilp." 
 
 " Moisten your clay, wet the other eye, drink, 
 man ! " cried the dwarf, " You took a clerk to 
 oblige me." 
 
 _" Delighted, sir, I am sure, at any time," re- 
 pUed Sampson. " Yes, sir, I did." 
 
 " Then, now you may discharge him," said 
 Quilp, " There's a means of retrenchment for 
 you at once." 
 
 "Discharge Mr. Richard, sir?" cried Brass. 
 
 "IS'IT LIKE KIT — IS IT HIS PICTURE, HIS lilAGE, HIS VEiiY SJiLK .'■ " 
 
 " Have you more than one clerk, you parrot, 
 that you ask the question ? Yes," 
 
 " tlpon my word, sir," said Brass, " I wasn't 
 prepared for this " 
 
 " How could you be," sneered the dwarf, 
 " when / wasn't ? How often am I to tell you 
 that I brought him to you that I might always 
 have my eye on him and know where he was 
 — and that I had a plot, a scheme, a little quiet 
 piece of enjoyment afoot, of which the very 
 
 cream and essence was, that this old man and 
 grandchild (who have sunk underground I think) 
 should be, while he and his precious friend 
 believed them rich, in reality as poor as frozen 
 rats," 
 
 " I quite understood that, sir," rejoined Brass. 
 " Thoroughly." 
 
 "Well, sir," retorted Quilp, "and do you 
 understand now, that they're not poor — that 
 they can't be, if they have such men as your 
 
MR. SWIVELLER GOING OUT OF OFFICE. 
 
 229 
 
 lodger searching for them, and scouring the 
 country far and wide ?" 
 
 " Of course I do, sir," said Sampson. 
 
 " Of course you do ! " retorted the dwarf, 
 viciously snapping at his words. " Of course do 
 you understand, then, that it's no matter what 
 comes of this fellow ? Of course do you under- 
 stand that for any other purpose he's no man 
 for me, nor for you ? " 
 
 " I have frequently said to Sarah, sir," re- 
 turned Brass, " that he was of no use at all in 
 the business. You can't put any confidence in 
 him, sir. If you'll believe me, I've found that 
 fellow, in the commonest little matters of the 
 office that have been trusted to him, blurting out 
 the truth, though expressly cautioned. The 
 aggravation of that chap, sir, has exceeded any- 
 thing you can imagine, it has indeed. Nothing 
 but the respect and obligation I owe to you, 
 sir " 
 
 As it was plain that Sampson was bent on a 
 complimentary harangue, unless he received a 
 timely interruption, Mr. Quilp politely tapped 
 him on the crown of his head with the little 
 saucepan, and requested that he would be so 
 obliging as to hold his peace. 
 
 *' Practical, sir, practical," said Brass, rubbing 
 the place and smiling ; " but still extremely 
 pleasant — immensely so !" 
 
 " Hearken to me, will you ?" returned Quilp, 
 "or I'll be a little more pleasant presently. 
 There's no chance of his comrade and friend 
 returning. The scamp has been obliged to fly, 
 as I learn, for some knavery, and has found his 
 way abroad. Let him rot there." 
 
 " Certainly, sir. Quite proper. — Forcible ! " 
 cried Brass, glancing at the admiral again, as if 
 he made a third in company. " Extremely 
 forcible!" 
 
 " I hate him," said Quilp between his teeth, 
 " and have always hated him, for family reasons. 
 Besides he was an intractable ruffian ; otherwise 
 he would have been of use. This fellow is 
 pigeon-hearted, and light-headed. I don't want 
 him any longer. Let him hang or drown — 
 starve — go to the devil." 
 
 " By all means, sir," returned Brass. " When 
 would you wish him, sir, — to — ha, ha ! — to make 
 that little excursion?" 
 
 "When this trial's over," said Quilp. "As 
 soon as that's ended, send him about his busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " It shall be done, sir," returned Brass ; " by 
 all means. It will be rather a blow to Sarah, 
 sir, but she has all her feelings under control. 
 Ah, Mr. Quilp, I often think, sir, if it had only 
 pleased Providence to bring you and Sarah 
 
 together in earlier life, what blessed results would 
 have flowed from such a union ! You never 
 saw our dear father, sir ? — A charming gentle- 
 man. Sarah was his pride and joy, sir. He 
 would have closed his eyes in bliss, would Foxey, 
 Mr. Quilp, if he could have found her such a 
 partner. You esteem her, sir ? " 
 " I love her," croaked the dwarf. 
 "You're very good, sir," returned Brass, "I 
 am sure. Is there any other order, sir, that I 
 can take a note of, besides this little matter of 
 Mr. Richard ? " 
 
 " None," replied the dwarf, seizing the sauce- 
 pan. " Let us drink the lovely Sarah." 
 
 "If we could do it in something, sir, that 
 wasn't quite boiling," suggested Brass humbly, 
 " perhaps it would be better. I think it will be 
 more agreeable to Sarah's feelings, when she 
 comes to hear from me of the honour you have 
 done her, if she learns it was in liquor rather 
 cooler than the last, sir." 
 
 But to these remonstrances Mr. Quilp turned 
 a deaf ear. Sampson Brass, who was, by this 
 time, anything but sober, being compelled to 
 take further draughts of the same strong bowl, 
 found that, instead of at all contributing to his 
 recovery, they had the novel eftect of making 
 the counting-house spin round and round with 
 extreme velocity, and causing the floor and 
 ceiling to heave in a very distressing manner. 
 After a brief stupor, he awoke to a conscious- 
 ness of being partly under the table, and partly 
 under the grate. This position not being the 
 most comfortable one he could have chosen for 
 himself, he managed to stagger to his feet, and, 
 holding on by the admiral, looked round for his 
 host. 
 
 Mr. Brass's first impression was, that his host 
 was gone, and had left him there alone — per- 
 haps locked him in for the night. A strong 
 smell of tobacco, however, suggesting a new 
 train of ideas, he looked upward, and saw that 
 the dwarf was smoking in his hammock. 
 
 " Good-bye, sir," cried Brass faintly. " Good- 
 bye, sir." 
 
 " Won't you stop all night ? " said the dwarf, 
 peeping out. " Do stop all night ! " 
 
 " I couldn't indeed, sir," replied Brass, who 
 was almost dead from nausea and the closeness 
 of the room. " If you'd have the goodness to 
 show me a light, so that I may see my way 
 across the yard, sir " 
 
 Quilp was out in an instant ; not with his legs 
 first, or his head first, or his arms first, but bodily 
 — altogether, 
 
 " To be sure," he said, taking up a lantern, 
 which was now the only light in the place. 
 
230 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " Be careful how you go, my dear friend. Be 
 sure to pick your way among the timber, for all 
 the rusty nails are upwards. There's a dog in 
 the lane. He bit a man last night, and a woman 
 the night before, and last Tuesday he killed a 
 child — but that was in play. Don't go too 
 near him." 
 
 " Which side of the road is he, sir ? " asked 
 Brass in great dismay. 
 
 " He lives on the right hand," said Quilp, 
 "but sometimes he hides on the left, ready for 
 a spring. He's uncertain in that respect. Mind 
 you take care of yourself. I'll never forgive 
 you if you don't. There's the light out — never 
 mind — you know the way — straight on ! " 
 
 Quilp had slily shaded the light by holding it 
 against his breast, and now stood chuckling and 
 shaking from head to foot in a rapture of de- 
 light, as he heard the lawyer stumbling up the 
 yard, and now and then falling heavily down. 
 At length, however, he got quit of the place, and 
 was out of hearing. 
 
 The dwarf shut himself up again, and sprang 
 once more into his hammock. 
 
 CHAPTER LXHI. 
 
 HE professional gentleman who had 
 given Kit that consolatory piece of 
 information relative to the settle- 
 ment of his trifle of business at the 
 Old Bailey, and the probability of 
 its being very soon disposed of, turned 
 out to be quite correct in his prognosti- 
 cations. In eight days' time the sessions 
 commenced. In one day afterwards, the Grand 
 Jury found a True Bill against Christopher 
 Nubbles for felony ; and, in two days from that 
 finding, the aforesaid Christopher Nubbles was 
 called upon to plead Guilty or Not Guilty to an 
 Indictment for that he the said Christopher did 
 feloniously abstract and steal from the dwelling- 
 house and office of one Sampson Brass, gentle- 
 man, one Bank Note for Five Pounds issued by 
 the Governor and Company of the Bank of 
 England ; in contravention of the Statutes in 
 that case made and provided, and against the 
 peace of our Sovereign Lord the King, his 
 crown, and dignity. 
 
 To this indictment, Christopher Nubbles, in 
 a low and trembling voice, pleaded Not Guilty : 
 and here, let those who are in the habit of form- 
 ing hasty judgments from appearances, and who 
 would have had Christopher, if innocent, speak 
 out very strong and loud, observe, that confine- 
 
 ment and anxiety will subdue the stoutest 
 hearts ; and that to one who has been close 
 shut up, though it be only for ten or eleven 
 days, seeing but stone walls and a very few 
 stony faces, the sudden entrance into a great 
 hall filled with life is a rather disconcerting and 
 startling circumstance. To this it must be 
 added, that Hfe in a wig is, to a large class of 
 people, much more terrifying and impressive 
 than life with its own head of hair ; and if, in 
 addition to these considerations, there be taken 
 into account Kit's natural emotion on seeing the 
 two Mr. Garlands and the little notary looking 
 on with pale and anxious faces, it will perhaps 
 seem matter of no very great wonder that he 
 should have been rather out of sorts, and unable 
 to make himself quite at home. 
 
 Although he had never seen either of the Mr. 
 Garlands, or Mr. Witherden, since the time of 
 his arrest, he had been given to understand that 
 they had employed counsel for him. Therefore, 
 when one of the gentlemen in wigs got up and 
 said, " I am for the prisoner, my Lord," Kit 
 made him a bow ; and when another gentleman 
 in a wig got up and said, "And I'm against 
 him, my Lord," Kit trembled very much, and 
 bowed to him too. And didn't he hope in his 
 own heart that his gentleman was a match for 
 the other gentleman, and would make him 
 ashamed of himself in no time ! 
 
 The gentleman who was against him had to 
 speak first, and being in dreadfully good spirits 
 (for he had, in the last trial, very nearly pro- 
 cured the acquittal of a young gentleman who 
 had had the misfortune to murder his father), he 
 spoke up, you may be sure; telling the Jury 
 that if they acquitted this prisoner they must 
 expect to suffer no less pangs and agonies than 
 he had told the other Jury they would certainly 
 undergo if they convicted that prisoner. And 
 when he had told them all about the case, and 
 that he had never known a worse case, he 
 stopped a little while, like a man who had 
 something terrible to tell them, and then said 
 that he understood an attempt would be made 
 by his learned friend (and here he looked side- 
 ways at Kit's gentleman) to impeach the testi- 
 mony of those immaculate witnesses whom he 
 should call before them ; but he did hope and 
 trust that his learned friend would have a greater 
 respect aad veneration for the character of the 
 prosecutor ; than whom, as he well knew, there 
 did not exist, and never had existed, a more 
 honourable member of that most honourable 
 profession to which he was attached. And then 
 he said, did the Jury know Bevis Marks ? And 
 if they did know Bevis Marks (as he trusted, for 
 
TRIAL, FORENSIC INGENUITY, AND VERDICT. 
 
 231 
 
 their own characters, they did), did they know 
 the historical and elevating associations con- 
 nected with that most remarkable spot? Did 
 they believe that a man hke Brass could reside 
 in a place like Bevis Marks, and not be a vir- 
 tuous and most upright character ? And when he 
 had said a great deal to them 6n this point, he 
 remembered that it was an insult to their under- 
 standings to make any remarks on what they 
 must have felt so strongly without him, and 
 therefore called Sampson Brass into the witness- 
 box straightway. 
 
 Then up comes Mr. Brass, very brisk and 
 fresh ; and, having bowed to the judge, like a 
 man who has had the pleasure of seeing him 
 before, and who hopes he has been pretty well 
 since their last meeting, folds his arms, and 
 looks at his gentleman as much as to say, 
 " Here I am — full of evidence — tap me ! " 
 And the gentleman does tap him presently, and 
 with great discretion too ; drawing off the evi- 
 dence by little and little, and making it run 
 quite clear and bright in the eyes of all present. 
 Then, Kit's gentleman takes him in hand, but 
 can make nothing of him; and, after a great many 
 very long questions and very short answers, Mr. 
 Sampson Brass goes down in glory. 
 
 To him succeeds Sarah, who in like manner 
 is easy to be managed by Mr. Brass's gentle- 
 man, but very obdurate to Kit's. In short, 
 Kit's gentleman can get nothing out of her but 
 a repetition of what she has said before (only a 
 little stronger this time, as against his client), 
 and therefore lets her go, in some confusion. 
 Then, Mr. Brass's gentleman calls Richard 
 Swiveller, and Richard Svviveller appears ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 Now, Mr. Brass's gentleman has it whispered 
 in his ear that this witness is disposed to be 
 friendly to the prisoner — which, to say the truth, 
 he is rather glad to hear, as his strength is con- 
 sidered to lie in what is familiarly termed bad- 
 gering. Wherefore, he begins by requesting the 
 officer to be quite sure that this witness kisses 
 the book, and then goes to work at him, tooth 
 and nail. 
 
 " Mr. Swiveller," says this gentleman to Dick 
 when he has told his tale with evident reluctance, 
 and a desire to make the best of it : " pray, sir, 
 where did you dine yesterday ? " — " Where did 
 I dine yesterday?" — *'Ay, sir, where did you 
 dine yesterday — was it near here, sir?" — 
 "Oh, to be sure! — yes — just over the way." 
 "To be sure. Yes. Just over the way," re- 
 peats Mr. Brass's gentleman with a glance at the 
 Court. " Alone, sir ? " — " I beg your pardon," 
 says Mr. Swiveller, who has not caught the 
 
 question. — ^^ Alone, sir?" repeats Mr. Brass's 
 gentleman in a voice of thunder; "did you dine 
 alone ? Did you treat anybody, sir ? Come ! " 
 — " Oh yes, to be sure ! — yes, I did," says Mr. 
 Swiveller with a smile. " Have the goodness 
 to banish a levity, sir, which is very ill suited to 
 the place in which you stand (though perhaps 
 you have reason to be thankful that it's only 
 that place)," says Mr. Brass's gentleman with a 
 nod of the head, insinuating that the dock is 
 Mr. Swiveller's legitimate sphere of action ; " and 
 attend to me. You were waiting about here, 
 )'-esterday, in expectation that this trial was 
 coming on. You dined over the way. You 
 treated somebody. Now, was that somebody 
 brother to the prisoner at the bar?" — Mr. 
 Swiveller is proceeding to explain — " Yes or 
 No, sir ? " cries Mr. Brass's gentleman. — " But 
 
 will you allow me :-" — "Yes or No, sir?" — 
 
 " Yes, it was, but " — " Yes, it was," cries 
 
 the gentleman, taking him up short. " And a 
 very pretty witness you are ! " 
 
 Down sits Mr. Brass's gentleman. Kit's gen- 
 tleman, not knowing how the matter really 
 stands, is afraid to pursue- the subject. Richard 
 Swiveller retires abashed. Judge, Jury, and 
 spectators have visions of his lounging about 
 with an ill-looking, large-whiskered, dissolute 
 young fellow of six feet high. The reality is, 
 little Jacob, with the calves of his legs exposed 
 to the open air, and himself tied up in a shawl. 
 Nobody knows the truth ; everybody beUeves a 
 falsehood ; and all because of the ingenuity of 
 Mr. Brass's gentleman. 
 
 Then come the witnesses to character, and 
 here Mr. Brass's gentleman shines again. It 
 turns out that Mr. Garland has had no character 
 with Kit, no recommendation of him, but from 
 his own mother, and that he was suddenly dis- 
 missed by his former master for unknown reasons. 
 " Really, Mr. Garland," says Mr. Brass's gentle- 
 man, "for a person who has arrived at your 
 time of life, you are, to say the least of it, 
 singularly indiscreet, I think." The Jury think 
 so too, and find Kit guilty. He is taken off, 
 humbly protesting his innocence. The spectators 
 settle themselves in their places with renewed 
 attention, for there are several female witnesses 
 to be examined in the next case, and it has been 
 rumoured that Mr. Brass's gentleman will make 
 great fun in cross-examining them for the 
 prisoner. 
 
 Kit's mother, poor woman, is waiting at the 
 grate below-stairs, accompanied by Barbara's 
 mother (who, honest soul ! never does anything 
 but cfy and hold the baby), and a sad interview 
 ensues. The newspaper-reading turnkey has 
 
232 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 told them all. He don't think it will be trans- 
 portation for life, because there's time to prove 
 the good character yet, and that is sure to serve 
 him. He wonders what he did it for, " He 
 never did it!" cries Kit's mother. "Well," says 
 the turnkey, " I won't contradict you. It's all 
 one now, whether he did it or not." 
 
 Kit's mother can reach his hand through the 
 bars, and she clasps it — God, and those to whom 
 He has given such tenderness, only know in 
 how much agony. Kit bids her keep a good 
 heart, and, under pretence of having the children 
 lifted up to kiss him, prays Barbara's mother in 
 a whisper to take her home. 
 
 " Some friend will rise up for us, mother," 
 cries Kit, " I am sure. If not now, before long. 
 My innocence will come out, mother, and I shall 
 be brought back again ; I feel a confidence in 
 that. You must teach litde Jacob and the baby 
 how all this was, for if they thought I had ever 
 been dishonest, when they grew old enough to 
 understand, it would break my heart to know it, 
 if I was thousands of miles away. — Oh ! is there 
 no good gentleman here who will take care of 
 her?" 
 
 The hand slips out of his, for the poor crea- 
 ture sinks down upon the earth insensible. 
 Richard Swiveller comes hastily up, elbows the 
 bystanders out of the way, takes her (after some 
 trouble) in one arm after the manner of theatrical 
 ravishers, and, nodding to Kit, and commanding 
 Barbara's mother to follow, for he has a coach 
 waiting, bears her swiftly off. 
 
 Well ! Richard took her home. And what 
 astonishing absurdities, in the way of quotation 
 from song and poem, he perpetrated on the 
 road, no man knows. He took her home, and 
 stayed till she was recovered; and, having no 
 money to pay the coach, went back in state to 
 Bevis Marks, bidding the driver (for it was 
 Saturday night) wait at the door while he went 
 in for " change." 
 
 " Mr. Richard, sir," said Brass cheerfully, 
 " good evening ! " 
 
 Monstrous as Kit's tale had appeared at first, 
 Mr. Richard did, that night, half suspect his 
 affable employer of some deep villainy. Per- 
 haps it was but the misery he had just witnessed 
 which gave his careless nature this impulse; 
 but, be that as it may, it was very strong upon 
 him, and he said in as few words as possible 
 what he wanted. 
 
 " Money?" cried Brass, taking out his purse. 
 " Ha, ha ! To be sure, Mr. Richard, to be 
 sure, sir. All men must live. You haven't 
 change for a five-pound note, have you, sir?" 
 
 " No," returned Dick, shortly. 
 
 "Oh!" said Brass, "here's the very sum. 
 That saves trouble. You're very welcome I'm 
 sure. — Mr. Richard, sir " 
 
 Dick, who had by this time reached the door, 
 turned round. 
 
 "You needn't," said Brass, "trouble yourself 
 to come back any more, sir." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " You see, Mr. Richard," said Brass, thrusting 
 his hands in his pockets, and rocking himself to 
 and fro on his stool, " the fact is, that a man of 
 your abilities is lost, sir, quite lost, in our dry 
 and mouldy line. It's terrible drudgery — shock- 
 ing. I should say, now, that the stage, or the 
 — or the army, Mr. Richard — or something very 
 superior in the licensed victualling way — was 
 the kind of thing that would call out the genius 
 of such a man as you. I hope you'll look in to 
 see us now and then. Sally, sir, will be de- 
 lighted I'm sure. She's extremely sorry to lose 
 you, Mr. Richard, but a sense of her duty to 
 society reconciles her. An amazing creature 
 that, sir ! You'll find the money quite correct, 
 I think. There's a cracked window, sir, but 
 I've not made any deduction on that account. 
 Whenever we part with friends, Mr. Richard, 
 let us part liberally. A delightful sentiment, 
 sir!" 
 
 To all these rambling observations Mr. Sm- 
 veller answered not one word, but, returning for 
 the aquatic jacket, rolled it into a tight round 
 ball : looking steadily at Brass meanwhile, as if 
 he had some intention of bowling him down 
 with it. He only took it under his arm, how- 
 ever, and marched out of the office in profound 
 silence. When he had closed the door, he 
 reopened it, stared in again for a few moments 
 with the same portentous gravity, and nodding 
 his head once, in a slow and ghost-like manner, 
 vanished. 
 
 He paid the coachman, and turned his back 
 on Bevis Marks, big with great designs for the 
 comforting of Kit's mother and the aid of Kit 
 himself. 
 
 But, the lives of gentlemen devoted to such 
 pleasures as Richard Swiveller are extremely 
 precarious. The spiritual excitement of the last 
 fortnight, working upon a system affected in no 
 slight degree by the spirituous excitement of 
 some years, proved a little too much for him. 
 That very night Mr. Richard was seized with an 
 alarming illness, and in twenty-four hours was 
 stricken with a raging fever. 
 
MR. SWIVELLER KEEPS HIS BED, 
 
 233 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 OSSING to and fro upon his hot, 
 uneasy bed; tormented by a fierce 
 thirst which nothing could appease ; 
 unable to find, in any change of 
 posture, a moment's peace or ease ; 
 and rambling, ever, through deserts of 
 thought where there was no resting-place, 
 no sight or sound suggestive of refresh- 
 ment or repose, nothing but a dull eternal weari- 
 ness, with no change but the restless shiftings 
 of his miserable body, and the weary wanderings 
 of his mind, constant still to one ever-present 
 anxiety — to a sense of something left undone, 
 of some fearful obstacle to be surmounted, of 
 some carking care that would not be driven 
 away, and which haunted the distempered brain, 
 now in this form, now in that, always shadowy 
 and dim, but recognisable for the same phantom 
 in every shape it took : darkening every vision 
 like an evil conscience, and making slumber 
 horrible — in these slow tortures of his dread 
 disease, the unfortunate Richard lay wasting and 
 consuming inch by inch, until, at last, when he 
 seemed to fight and struggle to rise up, and to 
 be held down by devils, he sank into a deep 
 sleep, and dreamed no more. 
 
 He awoke. With a sensation of most blissful 
 rest, better than sleep itself, he began gradually 
 to remember something of these sufferings, and 
 to think what a long night it had been, and 
 whether he had not been delirious twice or 
 thrice. Happening, in the midst of these cogi- 
 tations, to raise his hand, he was astonished to 
 find how heavy it seemed, and yet how thin and 
 light it really was. Still, he felt indifferent and 
 happy ; and, having no curiosity to pursue the 
 subject, remained in the same waking slumber 
 until his attention was attracted by a cough. 
 This made him doubt whether he had locked 
 his door last night, and feel a little surprised, at 
 having a companion in the room. Still he 
 lacked energy to follow up this train of thought ; 
 and unconsciously fell, in a luxury of repose, to 
 staring at some green stripes on the bed-furni- 
 ture, and associating them strangely with patches 
 of fresh turf, while the yellow ground between 
 made gravel-walks, and so helped out a long 
 perspective of trim gardens. 
 
 He was rambling in imagination on these 
 t-erraces, and had quite lost himself among them, 
 indeed, when he heard the cough once more. 
 The walks shrunk into stripes again at the sound ; 
 and raising himself a little in the bed, and 
 holding the curtain open with one hand, he 
 looked out. 
 
 The same room certainly, and still by candle- 
 light ; but with what unbounded astonishment 
 did he see all those bottles, and basins, and 
 articles of linen airing by the fire, and such-like 
 furniture of a sick chamber — all very clean and 
 neat, but all quite different from anything he 
 had left there when he went to bed ! The 
 atmosphere, too, filled with a cool smell of herbs 
 and vinegar ; the floor n'ewly sprinkled ; the — 
 the what ? The Marchioness ? 
 
 Yes; playing cribbage with herself at the 
 table. There she sat, intent upon her game, 
 coughing now and then in a subdued manner as 
 if she feared to disturb him — shuffling the cards, 
 cutting, dealing, playing, counting, pegging — 
 going through all the mysteries of cribbage as if 
 she had been in full practice from her cradle ! 
 
 Mr. Swiveller contemplated these things for 
 a short time, and, suffering the curtain to fall 
 into its former position, laid his head on the 
 pillow again. 
 
 " I'm dreaming," thought Richard, " that's 
 clear. When I went to bed, my hands were 
 not made of egg-shells ; and now I can almost 
 see through 'em. If this is not a dream, I have 
 woke up, by mistake, in an Arabian Night, in- 
 stead of a London one. But I have no doubt 
 I'm asleep. Not the least." 
 
 Here the small servant had another cough. 
 
 " Very remarkable ! " thought Mr. Swiveller. 
 " I never dreamt such a real cough as that before. 
 I don't knov/, indeed, that I ever dreamt either a 
 cough or a sneeze. Perhaps it's part of the 
 philosophy of dreams that one never does. 
 There's another — and another — I say ! — I'm 
 dreaming rather fast ! " 
 
 For the purpose of testing his real condition, 
 Mr. Swiveller, g.fter some reflection, pinched 
 himself in the arm. 
 
 " Queerer still ! " he thought. " I came to 
 bed rather plilmp than otherwise, and now there's 
 nothing to lay hold of. I'll take another survey." 
 
 The result of this additional inspection was, 
 to convince Mr. Swiveller that the objects by 
 which he was surrounded were real, and that he 
 saw them, beyond all question, with his waking 
 eyes. 
 
 "It's an Arabian Night; that's what it is," 
 said Richard. " I'm in Damascus or Grand 
 Cairo. The Marchioness is a Genie, and having 
 had a wager with another Genie about who is 
 the handsomest young man alive, and the wor- 
 thiest to be the husband of the Princess of China, 
 has brought me away, room and all, to compare 
 us together. Perhaps," siid Mr, Swiveller, turn- 
 ing languidly round on his pillow, and looking 
 on that side of his bed which was next the 
 
234 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 
 
 wall, " the Princess may be still No, she's 
 
 gone." 
 
 Not feeling quite satisfied with this explana- 
 tion, as, even taking it to be the correct one, it 
 still involved a little mystery and doubt, Mr. 
 Swiveller raised the curtain again, determined to 
 take the first favourable opportunity of address- 
 ing his companion. An occasion soon pre- 
 sented itself. The Marchioness dealt, turned 
 up a knave, and omitted to take the usual 
 advantage ; upon which Mr. Swiveller called out 
 as loud as he could — " Two for his heels ! " 
 
 The Marchioness jumped up quickly, and 
 clapped her hands. " Arabian Nights, certainly," 
 thought Mr. Swiveller; *' they always clap their 
 hands instead of ringing the bell. Now for the 
 two thousand black slaves, with jars of jewels 
 on their heads !" 
 
 It appeared, however, that she had only clapped 
 her hands for joy; as, directly afterwards, she 
 began to laugh, and then to cry; declaring, not 
 in choice Arabic, but in familiar English, that 
 she was " so glad, she didn't know what to do." 
 
 " Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller thought- 
 fully, " be pleased to draw nearer. First of all, 
 will you have the goodness to inform me where 
 I shall find my voice ; and secondly, what has 
 become of my flesh ?" 
 
 The Marchioness only shook her head mourn- 
 lully, and cried again ; whereupon Mr. Swiveller 
 (being very weak) felt his own eyes affected 
 likewise. 
 
 " I begin to infer, from your manner and these 
 appearances. Marchioness," said Richard after a 
 pause, and smiling with a trembling lip, " that 
 I have been ill." 
 
 " You just have ! " replied the small servant, 
 wiping her eyes. "And haven't you been a 
 talking nonsense !" 
 
 "Oh!" said Dick. "Very ill, Marchioness, 
 have I been ?" 
 
 " Dead, all but," repHed the small servant. 
 " I never thought you'd get better. Thank 
 Heaven you have ! " 
 
 Mr. Swiveller was silent for a long while. By- 
 and-by he* began to talk again : inquiring how 
 long he had been there. 
 
 " Three weeks to-morrow," replied the small 
 servant. 
 
 " Three what ?" said Dick. 
 
 " Weeks," returned the Marchioness emphati- 
 cally; "three long, slow weeks." 
 
 The bare thought of having been in such 
 extremity caused Richard to fall into another 
 silence, and to lie flat down again at his full 
 length. The Marchioness, having arranged the 
 bedclothes more comfortably, and felt that his 
 
 hands and forehead were quite cool — a discovery 
 that filled her with delight — cried a little more, 
 and then applied herself to getting tea ready, 
 and making some thin dry toast. 
 
 While she was thus engaged, Mr. Swiveller 
 looked on with a grateful heart, very much 
 astonished to see how thoroughly at home she 
 made herself, and attributing this attention, in 
 its origin, to Sally Brass, whom, in his own mind, 
 he could not thank enough. When the Mar- 
 chioness had finished her toasting, she spread a 
 clean cloth on a tray, and brought him some 
 crisp slices and a great basin of weak tea, with 
 which (she said) the doctor had left word he 
 might refresh himself when he awoke. She 
 propped him up with pillows, if not as skilfully 
 as if she had been a professional nurse all her 
 life, at least as tenderly; and looked on with 
 unutterable satisfaction while the patient — stop- 
 ping every now and then to shake her by the 
 hand — took his poor meal with an appetite and 
 relish, which the greatest dainties of the earth, 
 under any other circumstances, would have 
 failed to provoke. Having cleared away, and 
 disposed everything comfortably about him again, 
 she sat down at the table to take her own tea. 
 
 "Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "how's 
 Sally ?" 
 
 The small servant screwed her face into an 
 expression of the very uttermost entanglement 
 of slyness, and shook her head. 
 
 "What, haven't you seen her lately?" said 
 Dick. 
 
 " Seen her !" cried the small servant. " Bless 
 you, I've run away ! " 
 
 Mr. Swiveller immediately laid himself down 
 again quite flat, and so remained for about five 
 minutes. By slow degrees he resumed his 
 sitting posture after that lapse of time, and 
 inquired : 
 
 " And where do you live. Marchioness ? " 
 
 " Live !" cried the small servant. " Here !" 
 
 " Oh !" said Mr. Swiveller. 
 
 And with that he fell down flat again, as sud- 
 denly as if he had been shot. Thus he re- 
 mained, motionless and bereft of speech, until 
 she had finished her meal, put everything in its 
 place, and swept the hearth; when he motioned 
 her to bring a chair to the bedside, and, being 
 propped up again, opened a farther conversation. 
 
 " And so," said Dick, "you have run away?" 
 
 "Yes," said the Marchioness, "and they've 
 been a tizing of me," 
 
 "Been — I beg your pardon," said Dick — 
 "what have they been doing?" 
 
 " Been a tizing of me — tizing you know — in 
 the newspapers," rejoined the Marchioness. 
 
THE MARCHIONESS EXPLAINS. 
 
 235 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Dick, " advertising?" 
 
 The small servant nodded, and winked. Her 
 eyes were so red with waking and crying, that 
 the Tragic Muse might have winked with greater 
 consistency. And so Dick felt. 
 
 "Tell me," said he, "how it was that you 
 thought of coming here." 
 
 " Why, you see," returned the Marchioness, 
 " when you was gone, I hadn't any friend at all, 
 because the lodger he never come back, and I 
 didn't know where either him or you was to be 
 found, you know. But one morning, when I 
 
 "Was near a keyhole?" suggested Mr. Swi- 
 veller, observing that she faltered. 
 
 " Well, then," said the small servant, nodding; 
 " when I was near the office keyhole — as you 
 see me through, you know — I heard somebody 
 saying that she lived here, and was the lady 
 whose house you lodged at, and that you was 
 took very bad, and wouldn't nobody come and 
 take care of you. Mr. Brass, he says, ' It's no 
 business of mine,' he says ; and Miss Sally, she 
 says, ' He's a funny chap, but it's no business of 
 mine;' and the lady went away, and slammed 
 the door to, when she went out, I can tell you. 
 So I ran away that night, and come here, and 
 told 'em you was my brother, and they believed 
 me, and I've been here ever since." 
 
 " This poor little Marchioness has been wear- 
 ing herself to death ! " cried Dick. 
 
 " No, I haven't," she returned, " not a bit of 
 it. Don't you mind about me. I like sitting 
 up, and I've often had a sleep, bless you, in one 
 of them chairs. But if you could have seen how 
 you tried to jump out o' window, and if you 
 could have heard how you used to keep on 
 singing and making speeches, you wouldn't have 
 believed it. I'm so glad you're better, Mr. 
 Liverer." 
 
 " Liverer, indeed ! " said Dick thoughtfully. 
 " It's well I am a liverer. I strongly suspect I 
 should have died. Marchioness, but for you." 
 
 At this point Mr. Swiveller took the small 
 servant's hand in his again, and being, as we 
 have seen, but poorly, might, in struggling to 
 express his thanks, have made his eyes as red 
 as hers, but that she quickly changed the theme 
 by making him lie down, and urging him to 
 keep very quiet. 
 
 " The doctor," she told him, " said you was to 
 keep quite still, and there was to be no noise 
 nor nothing. Now take a rest, and then we'll 
 talk again. I'll sit by you, you know. If you 
 shut your eyes, perhaps you'll go to sleep. You'll 
 be all the better for it if you do." 
 
 The Marchioness, in saying these words, 
 
 brought a Uttle table to the bedside, took her 
 seat at it, and began to work away at the con- 
 coction of some cooling drink with the address 
 of a score of chemists. Richard Swiveller, being 
 indeed fatigued, fell into a slumber, and, waking 
 in about half an hour, inquired what time it was. 
 
 " Just gone half-after six," repHed his small 
 friend, helping him to sit up again. 
 
 "Marchioness," said Richard, passing his hand 
 over his forehead and turning suddenly round, 
 as though the subject but that moment flashed , 
 upon him, " what has become of Kit ? " 
 
 He had been sentenced to transportation for 
 a great many years, she said. 
 
 " Has he gone ?" asked Dick. " His mother 
 — how is she — what has become of her?" 
 
 His nurse shook her head, and answered 
 that she knew nothing about them. " But if I 
 thought," said she, very slowly, "that you'd 
 keep quiet, and not put yourself into another 
 fever, I could tell you — but I won't now." 
 
 " Yes, do," said Dick. "It will amuse me." 
 
 "Oh! would it, though?" rejoined the small 
 servant with a horrified look. " I know better 
 than that. Wait till you're better, and then I'll 
 tell you." 
 
 Dick looked very earnestly at his little friend : 
 and his eyes, being large and hollow from ill- 
 ness, assisted the expression so much, that she 
 was quite frightened, and besought him not to 
 think any more about it. What had already 
 fallen from her, however, had not only piqued 
 his curiosity, but seriously alarmed him, where- 
 fore he urged her to tell him the worst at once. 
 
 " Oh ! there's no worst in it," said the small 
 servant. " It hasn't anything to do with you." 
 
 " Has it anything to do with — is it anything 
 you heard through chinks or keyholes — and that 
 you were not intended to hear?" asked Dick in 
 a breathless state. 
 
 " Yes," replied the small servant, 
 
 " In — in Bevis Marks?" pursued Dick hastily. 
 " Conversations between Brass and Sally?" 
 
 " Yes," cried the small servant again. 
 
 Richard Swiveller thrust his lank arm out of 
 bed, and, griping her by the wrist and drawing 
 her close to him, bade her out with it, and 
 freely too, or he would not answer for the con- 
 sequences ; being wholly unable to endure that 
 state of excitement and expectation. She, see- 
 ing that he was greatly agitated, and that the 
 effects of postponing her revelation might be 
 much more injurious than any that were likely 
 to ensue from its being made at once, promised 
 compliance, on condition that the patient kept 
 himself perfectly quiet, and abstained from 
 starting up or tossing about. 
 
236 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " But, if you begin to do that," said the small 
 servant, " I'll leave off. And so I tell you." 
 
 " You can't leave off till you have gone on," 
 said Dick. " And do go on, there's a darling. 
 Speak, sister, speak. Pretty Polly, say. Oh, 
 tell me when, and tell me where, pray, Mar- 
 chioness, I beseech you ! " 
 
 Unable to resist these fervent adjurations, 
 which Richard Swiveller poured out as pas- 
 sionately as if they had been of the most 
 solemn and tremendous nature, his companion 
 spoke thus : 
 
 " Well ! Before I run away, I used to sleep 
 in the kitchen — where we played cards, you 
 know. Miss Sally used to keep the key of the 
 kitchen door in her pocket, and she always 
 come down at night to take away the candle 
 and rake out the fire. When she had done that, 
 she left me to go to bed in the dark, locked the 
 door on the outside, put the key in her pocket 
 again, and kept me locked up till she come 
 down in the morning — very early I can tell you 
 — and let me out. I was terrible afraid of being 
 kept like this, because, if there was a fire, I 
 
 •THE MARCHIONESS JUMPED UP QUICKLY, AND CLAPPED HER HANDS." 
 
 thought they might forget me, and only take 
 care of themselves, you know. So, whenever I 
 see an old rusty key anywhere, I picked it up, 
 and tried if it would fit the door, and, at last I 
 found in the dust-cellar a key that did fit it." 
 
 Here Mr. Swiveller made a violent demon- 
 stration with his legs. But the small servant 
 immediately pausing in her talk, he subsided 
 again, and, pleading a momentary forgetfulness 
 of their compact, entreated her to proceed. 
 
 " They kept me very short," said the small 
 servant. " Oh ! you can't think how short they 
 
 kept me ! So I used to come out at night after 
 they'd gone to bed, and feel about in the dark 
 for bitjB of biscuit, or sangwitches that you'd 
 left in the office, or even pieces of orange-peel 
 to put into cold water and make believe it was 
 wine. Did you ever taste orange-peel and 
 water?" 
 
 Mr. Swiveller replied that he had never tasted 
 that ardent liquor; and once more urged his 
 friend to resume the thread of her narrative. 
 
 " If you make believe very much, it's quite 
 nice," said the small servant ; " bnt if you dori't, 
 
THE MARCHIONESS AN ACCREDITED AGENT. 
 
 237 
 
 you know, it seems as if it would bear a little 
 more seasoning, certainly. Well, sometimes I 
 used to come out after they'd gone to bed, and 
 sometimes before, you know ; and one or two 
 nights before there was all that precious noise 
 in the office — when the young man was took, I 
 mean — 1 come up-stairs while Mr. Brass and 
 Miss Sally was a sittin' at the office fire ; and 
 I'll tell you the truth, that I come to listen again 
 about the key of the safe." 
 
 Mr. Swiveller gathered up his knees so as to 
 make a great cone of the bedclothes, and con- 
 veyed into his countenance an expression of the 
 utmost concern. But, the small servant paus- 
 ing, and holding up her finger, the cone gently 
 disappeared, though the look of concern did 
 not. 
 
 " There was him and her," said the small 
 servant, " a sittin' by the fire, and talking softly 
 together. Mr. Brass says to Miss Sally, ' Upon 
 my word,' he says, ' it's a dangerous thing, and 
 it might get us into a world of trouble, and I 
 don't half like it.' She says — you know her 
 way — she says, ' You're the chickenest-hearted, 
 feeblest, faintest man I ever see, and I think,' 
 she says, ' that I ought to have been the brother, 
 and you the sister. Isn't Quilp,' she says, ' our 
 principal support?' 'He certainly is,' says Mr. 
 Brass. 'And an't we,' she says, 'constantly 
 ruining somebody or other in the way of busi- 
 ness ?' * We certainly are,' says Mr. Brass. 
 ' Then does it signify,' she says, ' about ruining 
 this Kit when Quilp desires it?' 'It certainly 
 does not signify,' says Mr. Brass. Then, they 
 whispered and laughed for a long time about 
 there being no danger if it was well done, and 
 then Mr. Brass pulls out his. pocket-book, and 
 says, ' Well,' he says, ' here it is — Quilp's own 
 five-pound note. We'll agree that way, then,' 
 he says. ' Kit's coming to-morrow morning, I 
 know. While he's up-stairs, you'll get out of 
 the way, and I'll clear off Mr. Richard. Having 
 Kit alone, I'll hold him in conversation, and 
 put this property in his hat. I'll manage so, 
 besides,' he says, ' that Mr. Richard shall find it 
 there, and be the evidence. And if that don't 
 get Christopher out of Mr. Quilp's way, and 
 satisfy Mr. Quilp's grudges,' he says, ' the Devil's 
 in it.' Miss Sally laughed, and said that was 
 the plan, and as they seemed to be moving 
 away, and I was afraid to stop any longer, I 
 went down -stairs again. — There !" 
 
 The small servant had gradually worked her- 
 self into as much agitation as Mr. Swiveller, and 
 therefore made no effort to restrain him when 
 he sat up in bed and hastily demanded whether 
 this story had been told to anybody. 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 16. 
 
 " How could it be ?" repHed his nurse. " I 
 was almost afraid to think about it, and hoped 
 the young man would be let off. When I heard 
 'em say they had found him guilty of what he 
 didn't do, you was gone, and so was the lodger 
 — though I think I should have been frightened 
 to tell him, even if he'd been there. Ever since 
 I come here, you've been out of your senses, 
 and what would have been the good of telling 
 you then ?" 
 
 " Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, plucking 
 off his nightcap, and flinging it to the other end 
 of the room ; " if you'll do me the favour to 
 retire for a few minutes, and see what sort of a 
 night it is, I'll get up." 
 
 " You mustn't think of such a thing," cried his 
 nurse. 
 
 " I must indeed," said the patient, looking 
 round the room. ' ' Whereabouts are my clothes ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad — you haven't got any ! " 
 replied the Marchioness. 
 
 " Ma'am ! " said Mr. Swiveller in great asto- 
 nishment. 
 
 " I've been obliged to sell them, every one, to 
 get the things that was ordered for you. But 
 don't take on about that," urged the Marchio- 
 ness, as Dick fell back upon his pillow. " You're 
 too weak to stand, indeed." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Richard dolefully, " that 
 you're right. What ought I to do ? What is to 
 be done?" 
 
 It naturally occurred to him, on very little 
 reflection, that the first step to take would be to 
 communicate with one of the Mr. Garlands 
 instantly. It was very possible that Mr. Abel 
 had not yet left the office. In as little time as 
 it takes to tell it, the small servant had the 
 address in pencil on a piece of paper ; a verbal 
 description of father and son, which would 
 enable her to recognise either without difficulty ; 
 and a special caution to be shy of Mr. Chuckster, 
 in consequence of that gentleman's known anti- 
 pathy to Kit. Armed with these slender powers, 
 she hurried away, commissioned to bring either 
 old Mr. Garland or Mr. Abel, bodily, to that 
 apartment. 
 
 " I suppose," said Dick as she closed the door 
 slowly, and peeped into the room again, to make 
 sure that he was comfortable, " I suppose there's 
 nothing left — not so much as a waistcoat even ?" 
 
 " No, nothing." 
 
 " It's embarrassing," said Mr. Swiveller, " in 
 case of fire — even an umbrella would be some- 
 tiding — but you did quite right, dear Marchio- 
 ness. I should have died without you ! " 
 
 264 
 
238 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 ' T was well for the small servant that 
 she was of a sharp, quick nature, or 
 the consequence of sending her out 
 alone, from the very neighbourhood 
 in which it was most dangerous for 
 her to appear, would probably have 
 been the restoration of Miss Sally Brass 
 to the supreme authority over her per- 
 son. Not unmindful of the risk she ran, how- 
 ever, the Marchioness no sooner left the house 
 than she dived into the first dark by-way that 
 presented itself, and, without any present refer- 
 ence to the point to which her journey tended, 
 made it her first business to put two good miles 
 of brick and mortar between herself and Bevis 
 Marks. 
 
 When she had accomplished this object, she 
 began to shape her course for the notary's office, 
 to which — shrewdly inquiring of apple-women 
 and oyster-sellers at street corners, rather than 
 in lighted shops or of well-dressed people, at the 
 hazard of attracting notice — she easily procured 
 a direction. As carrier pigeons, on being first 
 let loose in a strange place, beat the air at ran- 
 dom for a short time, before darting oif towards 
 the spot for which they are designed, so did the 
 Marchioness flutter round and round until she 
 believed herself in safety, and then bear swiftly 
 down upon the port for which she was bound. 
 
 She had no bonnet — nothing on her head but 
 a great cap which, in some old time, had been 
 worn by Sally Brass, whose taste in head-dresses 
 was, as we have seen, peculiar — and her speed 
 was rather retarded than assisted by her shoes, 
 which, being extremely large and slipshod, flew 
 off every now and then, and were difficult to find 
 again among the crowd of passengers. Indeed, 
 the poor little creature experienced so much 
 trouble and delay from having to grope for these 
 articles of dress in mud and kennel, and suffered 
 in these researches so much jostling, pushing, 
 squeezing, and bandying from hand to hand, 
 that by the time she reached the street in which 
 the notary lived, she was fairly worn out and 
 exhausted, and could not refrain from tears. 
 
 But to have got there at last was a great com- 
 fort, especially as there were lights still burning 
 in the office window, and therefore some hope 
 that she was not too late. So, the Marchioness 
 dried her eyes with the backs of her hands, and, 
 steahng softly up the steps, peeped in through 
 the glass door. 
 
 Mr. Chuckster was standing behind the lid of 
 his desk, making such preparations towards 
 finishing off for the night as pulling down his 
 
 wristbands and pulling up his shirt collar, settling 
 his neck more gracefully in his stock, and secretly 
 arranging his whiskers by the aid of a little 
 triangular bit of looking-glass. Before the ashes 
 of the fire stood two gentlemen, one of whom 
 she rightly judged to be the notary, and the 
 other (who was buttoning his great-coat, and 
 was evidently about to depart immediately) Mr. 
 Abel Garland. 
 
 Having made these observations, the small 
 spy took counsel with herself, and resolved to 
 wait in the street until Mr. Abel came out, as 
 there would be then no fear of having to speak 
 before Mr. Chuckster, and less difficulty in de- 
 livering her message. With this purpose she 
 slipped out again, and, crossing the road, sat 
 down upon a door-step just opposite. 
 
 She had hardly taken this position, when 
 there came dancing up the street, with his legs 
 all wrong, and his head everywhere by turns, a 
 pony. This pony had a little phaeton behind 
 him, and a man in it; but, neither man nor 
 phaeton seemed to embarrass him in the least, as 
 he reared up on his hind-legs, or stopped, or 
 went on, or stood still again, or backed, or went 
 sideways, without the smallest reference to them, 
 — just as the fancy seized him, and as if he were 
 the freest animal in creation. When they came 
 to the notary's door, the man called out in a 
 very respectful manner, " Woa then," — intimat- 
 ing that, if he might venture to express a wish, 
 it would be that they stopped there. The pony 
 made a moment's pause ; but, as if it occurred 
 to him that to stop when he was required might 
 be to establish an inconvenient and dangerous 
 precedent, he immediately started off again, 
 rattled at a fast trot to the street corner, wheeled 
 round, came back, and then stopped of his own 
 accord. 
 
 " Oh ! you're a precious creatur' ! " said the 
 man — who didn't venture, by-the-bye, to come 
 out in his true colours until he was safe on the 
 pavement. " I wish I had the rewarding of 
 you, — I do." 
 
 " What has he been doing?" said Mr. Abel, 
 tying a shawl round his neck as he came down 
 the steps. 
 
 " He's enough to fret a man's heart out," 
 replied" the hostler. " He is the most wicious 
 rascal Woa then, will you ? " 
 
 " He'll never stand still if you call him 
 names," said Mr. Abel, getting in, and taking 
 the reins. "He's a very good fellow if you 
 know how to manage him. This is the first 
 time he has been out this long while, for he has 
 lost his old driver, and wouldn't stir for anybody 
 else till this morning. The lamps are right, are 
 
SOLEMN DISCLOSURE OF THE MARCHIONESS. 
 
 239 
 
 they ? That's \\t\\. Be here to take him to- 
 morrow, if you please. Good night ! " 
 
 And, after one or two strange plunges, quite 
 of his own invention, the pony yielded to Mr. 
 Abel's mildness, and trotted gently off. 
 
 All this time Mr. Chuckster had been stand- 
 ing at the door, and the small servant had been 
 afraid to approach. She had nothing for it now, 
 therefore, but to run after the chaise, and to call 
 to Mr. Abel to stop. Being out of breath when 
 she came up with it, she was unable to make 
 him hear. The case was desperate; for the 
 pony was quickening his pace. The Mar- 
 chioness hung on behind for u few moments, 
 and, feeling that she could go no farther, and 
 must soon yield, clambered by a vigorous effort 
 into the hinder seat, and in so doing lost one of 
 the shoes for ever. 
 
 Mr. Abel being in a thoughtful frame of mind, 
 and having quite enough to do to keep the pony 
 going, went jogging on without looking round : 
 little dreaming of the strange figure that was 
 close behind him, until the Marchioness, having 
 in some degree recovered her breath, and the 
 loss of her shoe, and the novelty of her position, 
 uttered close into his ear the words : 
 
 " I say, sir " 
 
 He turned his head quickly enough then, 
 and, stopping the pony, cried, with some trepi- 
 dation, "God bless me, what is this?" 
 
 " Don't be frightened, sir," replied the still 
 panting messenger. " Oh, I've run such a way 
 after you ! " 
 
 " What do you want with me ? " said Mr. 
 Abel. " How did you come here ? " 
 
 " I got in behind," replied the Marchioness. 
 " Oh, please drive on, sir — don't stop — and go 
 towards the City, will you ? And oh, do please 
 make haste, because it's of consequence ! 
 There's somebody wants to see you there. He 
 sent me to say would you come directly, and 
 that he knowed all about Kit, and could save 
 him yet, and prove his innocence." 
 
 "What do you tell me, child?" 
 
 "The truth, upon my word and honour I 
 do. But please to drive on — quick, please ! 
 I've been such a time gone, he'll think I'm 
 lost." 
 
 Mr. Abel involuntarily urged the pony for- 
 ward. The pony, impelled by some secret 
 sympathy or some new caprice, burst into a 
 great pace, and neither slackened it, nor in- 
 dulged in any eccentric performances, until they 
 arrived at the door of Mr. Swiveller's lodging, 
 where, marvellous to relate, he consented to 
 stop when Mr. Abel checked him. 
 
 " See ! It's that room up there," said the 
 
 Marchioness, pointing to one where there was a 
 faint light. " Come ! " 
 
 Mr. Abel, who was one of the simplest and 
 most retiring creatures in existence, and natu- 
 rally timid withal, hesitated ; for he had heard 
 of people being decoyed into strange places to 
 be robbed and murdered, under circumstances 
 very like the present, and, for anything he knew 
 to the contrary, by guides very like the Mar- 
 chioness. His regard for Kit, however, over- 
 came every other consideration. So, intrusting 
 Whisker to the charge of a man who was linger- 
 ing hard by in expectation of the job, he suf- 
 fered his companion to take his hand, and to 
 lead him up the dark and narrow stairs. 
 
 He was not a little surprised to find himself 
 conducted into a dimly-lighted sick chamber, 
 where a man was sleeping tranquilly in bed. 
 , " An't it nice to see him lying there so 
 quiet?" said his guide in an earnest whisper. 
 " Oh ! you'd say it was, if you had only seen 
 him two or three days ago." 
 
 Mr. Abel made no answer, and, to say the 
 truth, kept a long way from the bed, and very 
 near the door. His guide, who appeared to 
 understand his reluctance, trimmed the candle, 
 and, taking it in her hand, approached the bed. 
 As she did so, the sleeper started up, and he 
 recognised in the wasted face the features of 
 Richard Swiveller. 
 
 " Why, how is this ? " said Mr. Abel kindl)^, 
 as he hurried towards him. " You have been 
 ill?" 
 
 " Very," replied Dick. " Nearly dead. You 
 might have chanced to hear of your Richard on 
 his bier, but for the friend I sent to fetch you. 
 Another shake of the hand, Marchioness,, if you 
 please. Sit down, sir." 
 
 Mr. Abel seemed rather astonished to hear 
 of the quality of his guide, and took a chair by 
 the bedside. 
 
 " I have sent for you, sir," said Dick — " but 
 she told you on what account ? " 
 
 " She did. I am quite bewilfiered by all this. 
 I really don't know what to say or think," re- 
 plied Mr. Abel. 
 
 "You'll say that presently," retorted Dick. 
 " Marchioness, take a seat on the bed, will you ? 
 Now, tell this gentleman all that you told me ; 
 and be particular. Don't you speak another 
 word, sir." 
 
 The story was repeated; it was, in effect, 
 exactly the same as before, without any devia- 
 tion or omission. Richard Swiveller kept his 
 eyes fixed on his visitor during its narration, 
 and, directly it was concluded, took the word 
 again. 
 
240 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " You have heard it all, and you'll not forget 
 it. I'm too giddy and too queer to suggest 
 anything; but you and your friends will know 
 what to do. After this long delay, every minute 
 is an age. . vlf ever you went home fast in your 
 life, go home fast to-night. Don't stop to say 
 one word to me, but go. She will be found 
 here, whenever she's wanted ; and as to me, 
 you're pretty sure to find me at home for a 
 week or two. There are more reasons than 
 
 one for that. Marchioness, a light ! If you 
 lose another minute in looking at me, sir, I'll 
 never forgive you ! " 
 
 Mr. Abel needed no more remonstrance or 
 persuasion. He was gone in an instant ; and 
 the Marchioness, returning from lighting him 
 down-stairs, reported that the pony, without 
 any preliminary objection whatever, had dashed 
 away at full gallop. 
 
 " That's right ! " said Dick ; " and hearty of 
 
 "SHE HAD NOTHING I'OR IT NOW, THEREFORE, BUT TO RUN AFTER THE CHAISE. 
 
 him; and I honour him from this time. But 
 get some supper and a mug of beer, for I am 
 sure you must be tired. Do have a mug of 
 beer. It will do me as much good to see you 
 take it as if I might drink it myself." 
 
 Nothing but this assurance could have pre- 
 vailed upon the small nurse to indulge in such 
 a luxury. Having eaten and drunk to Mr. 
 Swiveller's extreme contentment, given him his 
 drink, and put everything in neat order, she 
 
 wrapped herself in an old coverlet, and lay 
 down upon the rug before the fire. 
 
 Mr. Swiveller was by that time murmuring in 
 his sleep, "Strew then, oh strew, a bed of 
 rushes. Here will we stay till morning blushes. 
 Good night. Marchioness ! " 
 
MR. SWIVELLER'S BREAKFAST. 
 
 241 
 
 CHAPTER LXVI. 
 
 N awaking in the morning, Richard 
 Swiveller became conscious, by slow 
 degrees, of whispering voices in his 
 room. Looking out between the 
 curtains, he espied Mr. Garland, 
 Mr, Abel, the notary, and the single 
 gentleman gathered round the Mar- 
 chioness, and talking to her with great 
 earnestness, but in very subdued tones — fearing, 
 no doubt, to disturb him. He lost no time in 
 letting them know that this precaution was un- 
 necessary, and all four gentlemen directly ap- 
 pixsached his bedside. Old Mr. Garland was 
 the first to stretch out his hand and inquire how 
 he felt. 
 
 Dick was about to answer that he felt much 
 better, though still as weak as need be, when 
 his little nurse, pushing the visitors aside and 
 pressing up to his pillow as if in jealousy of 
 their interference, set his breakfast before him, 
 and insisted on his taking it before he under- 
 went the fatigue of speaking or of being spoken 
 to. Mr. Swiveller, who was perfectly ravenous, 
 and had had, all night, amazingly distinct and 
 consistent dreams of mutton chops, double 
 stout, and similar deHcacies, felt even the weak 
 t>ea and dry toast such irresistible temptations, 
 that he consented to eat anti drink on one 
 condition. 
 
 " And that is," said Dick, returning the 
 pressure of Mr. Garland's hand, "that you 
 answer me this question truly, before I take a 
 bit or drop. Is it too late ? " 
 
 " For completing the work you began so well 
 last night ? " returned the old gentleman. " No. 
 Set your mind at rest on that point. It is not, 
 I assure you." 
 
 Comforted by this intelligence, the patient 
 applied himself to his food with a keen appetite, 
 though evidently not with a greater zest in the 
 eating than his nurse appeared to have in seeing 
 him eat. The manner of his meal was this : — 
 lAx. Swiveller, holding the slice of toast or cup 
 of tea in his left hand, and taking a bite or 
 drink, as the case might be, constantly kept, in 
 his right, one palm of the Marchioness tight 
 locked ; and to shake or even to kiss this im- 
 prisoned hand, he would stop every now and 
 then, in the very act of swallowing, with perfect 
 seriousness of intention, and the utmost gravity. 
 As often as he put anything into his mouth, 
 whether for eating or drinking, the face of the 
 Marchioness lighted up beyond all description ; 
 but, whenever he gave her one or other of these 
 tokens of recognition, her countenance became 
 
 overshadowed, and she began to sob. Now, 
 whether she was in her laughing joy, or in her 
 crying one, the Marchioness could not help 
 turning to the visitors with an appealing look, 
 which seemed to say, "You see this fellow — 
 can I help this ? " — and they, being thus made, 
 as it were, parties to the scene, as regularly 
 answered by another look, " No. Certainly 
 not." This dumb-show, taking place during the 
 whole time of the invalid's breakfast, and the 
 invalid himself, pale and emaciated, performing 
 no small part in the same, it may be fairly ques- 
 tioned whether at any meal, where no word, 
 good or bad, was spoken from beginning to end, 
 so much was expressed by gestures in them- 
 selves so slight and unimportant. 
 
 At length — and, to say the truth, before very 
 long — Mr. Swiveller had dispatched as much 
 toast and tea as in that stage of his recovery it 
 was discreet to let him have. But the cares of 
 the Marchioness did not stop here; for, dis- 
 appearing for an instant, and presently returning 
 with a basin of fair water, she laved his face 
 and hands, brushed his hair, and, in short, made 
 him as spruce and smart as anybody under such 
 circumstances could be made ; and all this in as 
 brisk and business-like a manner as if he were a 
 very little boy, and she his grown-up nurse. To 
 these various attentions Mr. Swiveller submitted 
 in a kind of grateful astonishment beyond the 
 reach of language. When they were at last 
 brought to an end, and the Marchioness had 
 withdrawn into a distant corner to take her own 
 poor breakfast (cold enough by that time), he 
 turned his face away for some few moments, 
 and shook hands heartily with the air. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Dick, rousing himself from 
 this pause, and turning round again, " you'll ex- 
 cuse me. Men who have been brought so low 
 as I have been are easily fatigued. I am fresh 
 again now, and fit for talking. We're short of 
 chairs here, among other trifles, but if you'll do 
 me the favour to sit upon the bed " 
 
 " What can we do for you ? " said Mr. Gar- 
 land kindly. 
 
 " If you could make the Marchioness yonder 
 a Marchioness in real, sober earnest," returned 
 Dick, " I'd thank you to get it done oft-hand. 
 But as you can't, and as the question is not 
 what you will do for me, but what you will do 
 for somebody else, who has a better claim upon 
 you, pray, sir, let me know what you intend 
 doing." 
 
 " It's chiefly on that account that we have 
 come just now," said the single gentleman, "for 
 you will have another visitor presently. We 
 feared you would be anxious unless you knew 
 
242 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 from ourselves what steps we intended to take, 
 and therefore came to you before we stirred in 
 the matter." 
 
 '' Gentlemen," returned Dick, " I thank you. 
 Anybody in the helpless state that you see me 
 in is naturally anxious. Don't let me interrupt 
 you, sir." 
 
 " Then, you see, my good fellow," said the 
 single gentleman, " that while we have no doubt 
 whatever of the truth of this disclosure, which 
 has so providentially come to light " 
 
 " — Meaning hers ? " said Dick, pointing 
 towards the Marchioness. 
 
 " Meaning hers, of course. While we have 
 no doubt of that, or that a proper use of it 
 would procure the poor lad's immediate pardon 
 and liberation, we have a great doubt whether 
 it would, by itself, enable us to reach Quilp, the 
 chief agent in this villainy. I should tell you 
 that this doubt has been confirmed into some- 
 thing very nearly approaching certainty by the 
 best opinions we have been enabled, in this 
 short space of time, to take upon the subject. 
 You'll agree with us, that to give him even the 
 most distant chance of escape, if we could help 
 it, would be monstrous. You say with us, no 
 doubt, if somebody must escape, let it be any 
 one but he." 
 
 " Yes," returned Dick, " certainly. That is, 
 if somebody must — but, upon my word, I'm un- 
 willing that anybody should. Since laws were 
 made for every degree, to curb vice in others as 
 well as in me — and so forth you know — doesn't 
 it strike you in that light?" 
 
 The single gentleman smiled as if the light in 
 which Mr. Swiveller had put the question were 
 not the clearest in the world, and proceeded to 
 explain that they contemplated proceeding by 
 stratagem in the first instance; and that their 
 design was to endeavour to extort a confession 
 from the gentle Sarah. 
 
 "When she finds how much we know, and 
 how we know it," he said, "and that she is 
 clearly compromised already, we are not without 
 strong hopes that we may be enabled, through 
 her means, to punish the other two effectually. 
 If we could do that, she might go scot-fee for 
 aught I cared." 
 
 Dick received this project in anything but a 
 gracious manner, representing, with as much 
 warmth as he was then capable of showing, that 
 they would find the old buck (meaning Sarah) 
 more difficult to manage than Quilp himself — 
 that, for any tampering, terrifying, or cajolery, 
 she was a very unpromising and unyielding suId- 
 ject — that she was of a kind of brass not easily 
 melted or moulded into shape — in short, that 
 
 they were no match for her, and would be sig- 
 nally defeated. But, it was in vain to urge them 
 to adopt some other course. TJie single gentle- 
 man has been described as explaining their joint 
 intentions, but it should have been written that 
 they all spoke together; that if any one of them 
 by chance held his peace for a moment, he stood 
 gasping and panting for an opportunity to strike 
 in again ; in a word, that they had reached that 
 pitch of impatience and anxiety where men can 
 neither be persuaded nor reasoned with; and 
 that it would have been as easy to turn the most 
 impetuous wind that ever blew, as to prevail on 
 them to reconsider their determination. So, after 
 telling Mr. Swiveller how they had not lost sight 
 of Kit's mother and the children ; how they had 
 never once even lost sight of Kit himself, but 
 had been unremitting in their endeavours to 
 procure a mitigation of his sentence ; how they 
 had been perfectly distracted between the strong 
 proofs of his guilt, and their own fading hopes 
 of his innocence; and how he, Richard Swiveller, 
 might keep his mind at rest, for everything should 
 be happily adjusted between that time and night ; 
 — after telling him all this, and adding a great 
 many kind and cordial expressions, personal to 
 himself, which it is unnecessary to recite, Mr. 
 Garland, the notary, and the single gentleman 
 took their leaves at a very critical time, or Richard 
 Swiveller must assuredly have been driven into 
 another fever, whereof the results might have 
 been fatal. 
 
 Mr. Abel remained behind, very often looking 
 at his watch and at the room-door, until Mr. 
 Swiveller was roused from a short nap by the 
 setting down on the landing-place outside, as 
 from the shoulders of a porter, of some giant 
 load, which seemed to shake the house, and 
 make the little physic bottles on the mantel- 
 shelf ring again. Directly this sound reached 
 his ears, Mr. Abel started up, and hobbled to 
 the door, and opened it ; and behold ! there 
 stood a strong man, with a mighty hamper, 
 which, being hauled into the room and pre- 
 sently unpacked, disgorged such treasures of 
 tea, and coffee, and wine, and rusks, and 
 oranges, and grapes, and fowls ready trussed 
 for boiling, and calves'-foot jelly, and arrow- 
 root,, and sago, and other delicate restoratives, 
 that the small servant, who had never thought 
 it possible that such things could be, except in 
 shops, stood rooted to the spot in her one shoe, 
 with her mouth and eyes watering in unison, and 
 her power of speech quite gone. But, not so 
 Mr. Abel; or the strong man who emptied the 
 hamper, big as it was, in a twinkling ; and not 
 so the nice old lady, who appeared so suddenly 
 
CONFERENCE WITH SALLY BRASS. 
 
 243 
 
 that she might have come out of the hamper too 
 (it was quite large enough), and who, busthng 
 about on tiptoe and without noise — now here, 
 now there, now everywhere at once — began to 
 fill out the jelly in teacups, and to make chicken 
 broth in small saucepans, and to peel oranges 
 for the sick man, and to cut them up in little 
 pieces, and to ply the small servant with glasses 
 of wine and choice bits of everything until more 
 substantial meat could be prepared for her re- 
 freshment. The whole of which appearances 
 were so unexpected and bewildering, that Mr. 
 Swivel] er, when he had taken two oranges and 
 a little jelly, and had seen the strong man walk 
 off with the empty basket, plainly leaving all 
 that abundance for his use and benefit, was fain 
 to lie down and fall to sleep again, from sheer 
 inability to entertain such wonders in his 
 mind. 
 
 Meanwhile, the single gentleman, the notary, 
 and Mr. Garland repaired to a certain coffee- 
 house, and from that place indited and sent a 
 letter to Miss Sally Brass, requesting her, in 
 terms mysterious and brief, to favour an un- 
 known friend, who wished to consult her, with 
 her company there as speedily as possible. The 
 communication performed its errand so well, 
 that within ten minutes of the messenger's re- 
 turn and report of its delivery. Miss Brass herself 
 was announced. 
 
 " Pray, ma'am," said the single gentleman, 
 whom she found alone in the room, "take a 
 chair." 
 
 Miss Brass sat herself down in a very stiff 
 and frigid state, and seemed — as indeed she 
 was — not a little astonished to find that the 
 lodger and her mysterious correspondent were 
 one and the same person. 
 
 " You did not expect to see me," said the 
 single gentleman. 
 
 " I didn't think much about it," returned the 
 beauty. " I supposed it was business of some 
 kind or other. If it's about the apartments, of 
 course you'll give my brother regular notice, you 
 know — or money. That's very easily settled. 
 You're a responsible party, and in such a case 
 lawful money and lawful notice are pretty much 
 the same." 
 
 " I am obliged to you for your good opinion," 
 retorted the single gentleman, " and quite concur 
 in those sentiments. But, that is not the subject 
 on which I wish to speak with you." 
 _ " Oh ! " said Sally. " Then just state the par- 
 ticulars, will you ? I suppose it's professional 
 business ? " 
 
 " Why, it is connected with the law, certainly." 
 
 " Very well," returned Miss Brass, " My 
 
 brother and I are just the same. I can take 
 any instructions, or give you any advice." 
 
 " As there are other parties interested besides 
 myself," said the single gentleman, rising and 
 opening the door of an inner room, "we had 
 better confer together. Miss Brass is here, gen- 
 tlemen !" 
 
 Mr. Garland and the notary walked in, look- 
 ing very grave : and, drawing up two chairs, one 
 on each side of the single gentleman, formed a 
 kind of fence round the gentle Sarah, and 
 penned her into a corner. Her brother Samp- 
 son, under such circumstances, would certainly 
 have evinced some confusion or anxiety, but 
 she — all composure — pulled out the tin box, 
 and calmly took a pinch of snuff. 
 
 " Miss Brass," said the notary, taking the 
 word at this crisis, "we professional people 
 understand each other, and, when we choose, 
 can say what we have to say in very few words. 
 You advertised a runaway servant the other 
 day?" . 
 
 " Well," returned Miss Sally with a sudden 
 flush overspreading her features, "what of that ?" 
 
 " She is found, ma'am," said the notary, pulling 
 out his pocket-handkerchief with a flourish. 
 " She is found." 
 
 " Who found her?" demanded Sarah hastily. 
 
 " We did, ma'am — we three. Only last night, 
 or you would have heard from us before." 
 
 " And now I have heard from you," said Miss 
 Brass, folding her arms as though she were 
 about to deny something to the death, " what 
 have you got to say ? Something you have got 
 into your heads about her, of course. Prove it, 
 will you? — that's all. Prove it. You have 
 found her, you say. I can tell you (if you don't 
 know it) that you have found the most artful, 
 lying, pilfering, devilish little minx that was 
 ever born. — Have you got her here ?" she added, 
 looking sharply round. 
 
 " No, she is not here at present," returned 
 the notary. " But she is quite safe." 
 
 " Ha !" cried Sally, twitching a pinch of snuff 
 out of her box, as spitefully as if she were in the 
 very act of wrenching off the small servant's 
 nose ; " she shall be safe enough from this time, 
 I warrant you." 
 
 " I hope so," replied the notary. — " Did it 
 occur to you for the first time, when you found 
 she had run away, that there were two keys to 
 your kitchen door?" 
 
 Miss Sally took another pinch, and, putting 
 her head on one side, looked at her questioner, 
 with a curious kind of spasm about her mouth, 
 but with a cunning aspect of immense expres- 
 sion. 
 
244 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " Two keys," repeated the notary ; " one of 
 which gave her the opportunities of roaming 
 through tlie house at nights when you supposed 
 her fast locked up, and of overhearing confi- 
 dential consultations — among others, that par- 
 ticular conference, to be described to-day before 
 a justice, which you will have an opportunity of 
 hearing her relate; that conference which you 
 and Mr. Brass held together, on the night before 
 that most unfortunate and innocent young man 
 was accused of robbery, by a horrible device of 
 which I will only say that it may be charac- 
 terised by the epithets you have applied to this 
 wretched little witness, and by a few stronger 
 ones besides." 
 
 Sally took another pinch. Although her face 
 was wonderfully composed, it was apparent that 
 she was wholly taken by surprise, and that what 
 she had expected to be taxed with, in connection 
 with her small servant, was something very dif- 
 ferent from this. 
 
 " Come, come. Miss Brass," said the notary, 
 " you have great command of feature, but you 
 feel, I see, that by a chance which never entered 
 your imagination, this base design is revealed, 
 and two of its plotters must be brought to jus- 
 tice. Now, you know the pains and penalties 
 you are liable to, and so I need not dilate upon 
 them, but I have a proposal to make to you. 
 You have the honour of being sister to one of 
 the greatest scoundrels unhung ; and, if I may 
 venture to say so to a lady, you are in every 
 respect quite worthy of him. But, connected 
 with you two is a third party, a villain of the 
 name of Quilp, the prime mover of the whole 
 diabolical device, who I believe to be worse 
 than either. For his sake. Miss Brass, do us 
 the favour to reveal the whole history of this 
 affair. Let me remind you that your doing so, 
 at our instance, will place you in a safe and 
 comfortable position — your present one is not 
 desirable — and cannot injure your brother ; for 
 against him and you we have quite sufficient 
 evidence (as you hear) already. I will not say 
 to you that we suggest this course in mercy (for, 
 to tell you the truth, we do not entertain any 
 regard for you), but it is a necessity to which 
 we are reduced, and I recommend it to you as 
 a matter of the very best policy. Time," said 
 Mr. Witherden, pulling out his watch, "in a 
 business like this, is exceedingly precious. Fa- 
 vour us with your decision as speedily as pos- 
 sible, ma'am." 
 
 With a smile upon her face, and looking at 
 each of the three by turns. Miss Brass took two 
 or three more pinches of snuff, and having by 
 this time very little left, travelled round and 
 
 round the box with her forefinger and thumb, 
 scraping up another. Having disposed of this 
 likewise, and put the box carefully in her pocket, 
 she said : 
 
 '' I am to accept or reject at once, am I?" 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Witherden. 
 
 The charming creature was opening her lips 
 to speak in reply, when the door was hastily 
 opened too, and the head of Sampson Brass was 
 thrust into the room. 
 
 " Excuse me," said that gentleman hastily. 
 "Wait a bit!" 
 
 So saying, and quite indifferent to the astonish- 
 ment his presence occasioned, he crept in, shut 
 the door, kissed his greasy glove as servilely 
 as if it were the dust, and made a most abject 
 bow. 
 
 "Sarah," said Brass, "hold your tongue, if 
 you please, and let me speak. Gentlemen, if I 
 could express the pleasure it gives me to see 
 three such men in a happy unity of feeling and 
 concord of sentiment, I think you would hardly 
 believe me. But though I am unfortunate — nay, 
 gentlemen, criminal, if we are to use harsh ex- 
 pressions in a company like this — still, I have 
 my feelings like other men. I have heard of a 
 poet who remarked that feeUngs were the com- 
 mon lot of all. If he could have been a pig, 
 gentlemen, and have uttered that sentiment, he 
 would still have been immortal." 
 
 " If you're not an idiot," said Miss Brass 
 harshly, " hold your peace." 
 
 " Sarah, my dear, "returned her brother, "thank 
 you. But I know what I am about, my love, 
 and will take the liberty of expressing myself 
 accordingly. Mr. Witherden, sir, your hand- 
 kerchief is hanging out of your pocket — would 
 you allow me to " 
 
 As Mr. Brass advanced to remedy this acci- 
 dent, the notary shrunk from him with an air of 
 disgust. Brass, who, over and above his usual 
 prepossessing qualities, had a scratched face, a 
 green shade over one eye, and a hat grievously 
 crushed, stopped short, and looked round with 
 a pitiful smile. ■ 
 
 " He shuns me," said Sampson, " even when 
 I would, as I may say, heap coals of fire upon 
 his head. Well ! Ah ! But I am a falling 
 house, and the rats (if I may be allowed the ex- 
 pression in reference to a gentleman I respect 
 and love beyond everything) fly from me ! Gen- 
 tlemen — regarding your conversation just now, 
 I happened to see my sister on her way here, 
 and, wondering where she could be going to, 
 and being — may I venture to say? — naturally of 
 a suspicious turn, followed her. Since then I 
 have been listening." 
 
MR. BRASS OFFERS HIS ASSISTANCE. 
 
 245 
 
 *' If you're not mad," interposed Miss Sally, 
 " stop there, and say no more." 
 
 " Sarah, my dear," rejoined Brass with undi- 
 minished politeness, " I thank you kindly, but 
 will still proceed. Mr. Witherden, sir, as we 
 have the honour to be members of the same 
 profession — to say nothing of that other gentle- 
 man having been my lodger, and having partaken, 
 as one may say, of the hospitality of my roof — I 
 think you might have given me the refusal of 
 this offer in the first instance. I do indeed. 
 Now, my dear sir,' cried Brass, seeing that the 
 notary was about to interrupt him, " suffer me 
 to speak, I beg." 
 
 Mr. Witherden was silent, and Brass went 
 on. 
 
 " If you will do me the favour," he said, hold- 
 ing up the green shade, and revealing an eye 
 most horribly discoloured, " to look at this, you 
 will naturally inquire, in your own minds, how 
 did I get it ? If you look from that to my face, 
 y-ou will wonder what could have been the cause 
 of all these scratches. And if from them to my 
 hat, how it came into the state in which you 
 see it. Gentlemen," said Brass, striking the 
 hat fiercely with his clenched hand, " to all 
 these questions I answer — Quilp !" 
 
 The three gentlemen looked at each other, 
 but said nothing. 
 
 " I say," pursued Brass, glancing aside at his 
 sister, as though he were talking for her informa- 
 tion, and speaking with a snarling malignity, in 
 violent contrast to his usual smoothness, " that 
 I answer to all these questions, — Quilp — Quilp, 
 who deludes me into his infernal den, and takes 
 a delight in looking on and chuckling while I 
 scorch, and burn, and bruise, and maim myself 
 — Quilp, who never once, no, never once, in all 
 our communications together, has treated me 
 otherwise than as a dog — Quilp, whom I have 
 always hated with my whole heart, but never so 
 much as lately. He gives me the cold shoulder 
 on this very matter, as if he had had nothing to 
 do with it, instead of being the first to pro- 
 pose it. I can't trust him. In one of his 
 howling, raving, blazing humours, I believe he'd 
 let it out, if it was murder, and never think of 
 himself so long as he could terrify me. Now," 
 said Brass, picking up his hat again, replacing 
 the shade over his eye, and actually crouching 
 down in the excess of his servility, " what does 
 all this lead me to ? — what should you say it led 
 me to, gentlemen ? — could you guess at all near 
 the mark?" 
 
 Nobody spoke. Brass stood smirking for a 
 little while, as if he had propounded some choice 
 conundrum : and then said : 
 
 " To be short with you, then, it leads me to 
 this. If the truth has come out, as it plainly has 
 in a manner that there's no standing up against — 
 and a very sublime and grand thing is Truth, 
 gentlemen, in its way, though, like other sublime 
 and grand things, such as thunder-storms and 
 that, we're not always over and above glad to 
 see it— I had better turn upon this man than let 
 this man turn upon me. It's clear to me that I 
 am done for. Therefore, if anybody is to split, 
 I had better be the person, and have the advan- 
 tage of it. Sarah, my dear, comparatively speak- 
 ing, you're safe. I relate these circumstances 
 for my own profit." 
 
 With that, Mr. Brass, in a great hurry, revealed 
 the whole story ; bearing as heavily as possible 
 on his amiable employer, and making himself 
 out to be rather a saint-like and holy character, 
 though subject — he acknowledged — to human 
 weaknesses. He concluded thus : 
 
 " Now, gentlemen, I am not a man who does 
 things by halves. Being in for a penny, I am 
 ready, as the saying is, to be in for a pound. 
 You must do with me what you please, and take 
 me where you please. If you wish to have this 
 in writing, we'll reduce it into manuscript imme- 
 diately. You will be tender with me, I am sure. 
 I am quite confident you will be tender with me. 
 You are men of honour, and have feeling 
 hearts. I yielded from necessity to Quilp, for 
 though necessity has no law, she has her lawyers. 
 I yield to you from necessity too ; from policy 
 besides ; and because of feelings that have been 
 a pretty long time working within me. Punish 
 Quilp, gentlemen. Weigh heavily upon him. 
 Grind him down. Tread him under foot. He 
 has done as much by me, for many and many a 
 day." 
 
 Having now arrived at the conclusion of his 
 discourse, Sampson checked the current of his 
 wrath, kissed his glove again, and smiled as 
 only parasites and cowards can. 
 
 " And this," said Miss Brass, raising her 
 head, with which she had hitherto sat resting 
 on her hands, and surveying him from head to 
 foot with a bitter sneer, " this is my brother, is 
 it ? This is my brother, that I have worked 
 and toiled for, and believed to have had some- 
 thing of the man in him ! " 
 
 " Sarah, my dear," returned Sampson, rubbing 
 his hands feebly; "you disturb our friends. 
 Besides, you — you're disappointed, Sarah, and, 
 not knowing what you say, expose yourself." 
 
 " Yes, you pitiful dastard," retorted the lovely 
 damsel, " I understand you. You feared that 
 I should be beforehand with you. But do you 
 think that /would have been enticed to say a 
 
246 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 word ? I'd have scorned it, if they had tried 
 and tempted me for twenty years." 
 . " He, he ! " simpered Brass, Avho, in his deep 
 debasement, really seemed to have changed 
 sexes with his sister, and to have made over to 
 her any spark of manliness he might have pos- 
 sessed. *' You think so, Sarah, you think so, 
 perhaps ; but you would have acted quite dif- 
 ferent, my good fellow. You will not have for- 
 gotten that it was a maxim with Foxey — our 
 revered father, gentlemen — 'Always suspect 
 everybody.' That's the maxim to go through 
 life with ! If you were not actually about to 
 purchase your own safety when I showed my- 
 self, I suspect you'd have done it by this time. 
 And therefore I've done it myself, and spared 
 you the trouble as well as the shame. The 
 shame, gentlemen," added Brass, allowing him- 
 self to be slightly overcome, " if there is any, is 
 mine. It's better that a female should be spared 
 it." 
 
 With deference to the better opinion of Mr. 
 Brass, and more particularly to the authority of 
 his Great Ancestor, it may be doubted, with 
 humility, whether the elevating principle laid 
 down by the latter gentleman, and acted upon 
 by his descendant, is always a prudent one, or 
 attended in practice with the desired results. 
 This is, beyond question, a bold and presump- 
 tuous doubt, inasmuch as many distinguished 
 characters, called men of the world, long-headed 
 customers, knowing dogs, shrewd fellows, capital 
 hands at business, and the like, have made, and 
 do daily make, this axiom their polar star and 
 compass. Still, the doubt may be gently in- 
 sinuated. And in illustration it may be observed 
 that if Mr. Brass, not being over-suspicious, had, 
 without prying and listening, left his sister to 
 manage the conference on their joint behalf, or, 
 prying and Hstening, had not been in such a 
 mighty hurry to anticipate her (which he would 
 not have been, but for his distrust and jealousy), 
 he would probably have found himself much 
 better off in the end. Thus, it will always 
 happen that these men of the world, who go 
 through it in armour, defend themselves from 
 quite as much good as evil ; to say nothing of 
 the inconvenience and absurdity of mounting 
 guard with a microscope at all times, and of 
 wearing a coat of mail on the most innocent 
 occasions. 
 
 The three gentlemen spoke together apart for 
 a few moments. At the end of their consulta- 
 tion, which was very brief, the notary pointed 
 to the writing materials on the table, and in- 
 formed Mr. Brass that, if he wished to make 
 any statement in writing, he had the oppor- 
 
 tunity of doing so. At the same time he felt 
 bound to tell him that they would require his 
 attendance, presently, before a justice of the 
 peace, and that, in what he did or said, he was 
 guided entirely by his own discretion, 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Brass, drawing off his 
 gloves, and crawling in spirit upon the ground 
 before them, " I will justify the tenderness with 
 which I know I shall be treated ; and as, with- 
 out tenderness, I should, now that this dis- 
 covery has been made, stand in the worst posi- 
 tion of the three, you may depend upon it I will 
 make a clean breast. Mr. Witherden, sir, a 
 kind of faintness is upon my spirits — if you 
 would do me the favour to ring the bell and 
 order up a glass of something warm and spicy, 
 I shall, notwithstanding what has passed, have 
 a melancholy pleasure in drinking your good 
 health. I had hoped," said Brass, looking 
 round with a mournful smile, "to have seen 
 you three gentlemen, one day or another, with 
 your legs under the mahogany in my humble 
 parlour in the Marks. But hopes are fleeting. 
 Dear me ! " 
 
 Mr. Brass found himself so exceedingly 
 affected at this point, that he could say or do 
 nothing more until some refreshment arrived. 
 Having partaken of it, pretty freely for one in 
 his agitated state, he sat down to write. 
 
 The lovely Sarah, now with her arms folded, 
 and now with her hands clasped behind her, 
 paced the room with many strides while her 
 brother was thus employed, and sometimes 
 stopped to pull out her snuff-box and bite the 
 lid. She continued to pace up and down until 
 she was quite tired, and then fell asleep on a 
 chair near the door. 
 
 It has been since supposed, with some rea- 
 son, that this slumber was a sham or feint, as 
 she contrived to slip away unobserved in the 
 dusk of the afternoon. Whether this was an 
 intentional and waking departure, or a somnam- 
 bulistic leave-taking and walking in her sleep, 
 may remain a subject of contention; but, on 
 one point (and indeed the main one), all parties 
 are agreed. In whatever state she walked 
 away, she certainly did not walk back again. 
 
 Mention having been made of the dusk of 
 the afternoon, it will be inferred that Mr. Brass's 
 task occupied some time in the completion. 
 It was not finished until evening; but, being 
 done at last, that worthy person and the three 
 friends adjourned in a hackney coach to the 
 private office of a justice, who, giving Mr. Brass 
 a warm reception, and detaining him in a secure 
 place that he might insure to himself the plea- 
 sure of seeing him on the morrow, dismissed 
 
MR. SWIVELLER HEARS NEWS HE LITTLE EXPECTED. 
 
 247 
 
 the others with the cheering assurance that a 
 warrant could not fail to be granted next day for 
 the apprehension of Mr. Quilp, and that a 
 proper application and statement of all the 
 circumstances to the secretary of state (who 
 was fortunately in town) would no doubt pro- 
 cure. Kit's free pardon and liberation without 
 delay. 
 
 And now, indeed, it seemed that Quilp's 
 malignant career was drawing to a close, and 
 that retribution, which often travels slowly — 
 especially when heaviest — had tracked his foot- 
 steps with a sure and certain scent, and was 
 gaining on him fast. Unmindful of her stealthy 
 tread, her victim holds his course in fancied 
 triumph. Still at his heels she comes, and, 
 once afoot, is never turned aside ! 
 
 Their business ended, the three gentlemen 
 hastened back to the lodgings of Mr. Swiveller, 
 whom they found progressing so favourably in 
 his recovery as to have been able to sit up for 
 half an hour, and to have conversed with cheer- 
 fulness. Mrs. Garland had gone home some 
 time since, but Mr. Abel was still sitting with 
 him. After telling him all they had done, the 
 two Mr. Garlands and the single gentleman, as 
 if by some previous understanding, took their 
 leaves for the night, leaving the invalid alone 
 with the notary and the small servant. 
 
 "As you are so much better," said Mr. 
 Witherden, sitting down at the bedside, " I may 
 venture to communicate to you a piece of news 
 which has come to me professionally." 
 
 The idea of any professional intelligence from 
 a gentleman connected with legal matters ap- 
 peared to afford Richard anything but a pleas- 
 ing anticipation. Perhaps he connected it in 
 his own mind with one or two outstanding 
 accounts, in reference to which he had already 
 received divers threatening letters. His coun- 
 tenance fell as he replied : 
 
 " Certainly, sir. I hope it's not anything of 
 a very disagreeable nature, though ? " 
 
 " If I thought it so, I should choose some 
 better time for communicating it," repHed the 
 notary. " Let me tell you, first, that my friends 
 who have been here to-day know nothing of it, 
 and that their kindness to you has been quite 
 spontaneous, and with no hope of return. It 
 may do a thoughtless; careless man good to 
 know that." 
 
 Dick thanked him, and said he hoped it 
 would. 
 
 "I have been making some inquiries about 
 you," said Mr. Witherden, " little thinking that 
 I should find you under such circumstances as 
 those which have brought us together. You 
 
 are the nephew of Rebecca Swiveller, spinster, 
 deceased, of Cheselbourne in Dorsetshire." 
 
 " Deceased ! " cried Dick. 
 
 " Deceased. If you had been another sort 
 of nephew, you would have come into posses- 
 sion (so says the will, and I see no reason to 
 doubt it) of five-and-twenty thousand pounds. 
 As it is, you have fallen into an annuity of one 
 hundred and fifty pounds a year ; but I think I 
 may congratulate you even upon that." 
 
 " Sir," said Dick, sobbing and laughing 
 together, "you may. For, please God, we'll 
 make a scholar of the poor Marchioness yet ! 
 And she shall walk in silk attire, and siller have 
 to spare, or may I never rise from this bed 
 again ! " 
 
 CHAPTER LXVII. 
 
 NCONSCIOUS of the proceedings 
 faithfully narrated in the last chapter, 
 and little dreaming of the mine which 
 had been sprung beneath him (for, 
 to the end that he should have no 
 warning of the business afoot, the 
 (r(M^ profoundest secrecy was observed in the 
 ^M) whole transaction), Mr. Quilp remained 
 shut up in his hermitage, undisturbed by any 
 suspicion, and extremely well satisfied with the 
 result of his machinations. Being engaged in 
 the adjustment of some accounts — an occupa- 
 tion to which the silence and solitude of his 
 retreat were very favourable — he had not strayed 
 from his den for two whole days. The third day 
 of his devotion to this pursuit found him still 
 hard at work, and little disposed to stir abroad. 
 It was the day next after Mr. Brass's confes- 
 sion, and, consequently, that which threatened 
 the restriction of Mr. Quilp's liberty, and the 
 abrupt communication to him of some very un- 
 pleasant and unwelcome facts. Having no in- 
 tuitive perception of the cloud which lowered 
 upon his house, the dwarf was in his ordinary 
 state of cheerfulness ; and, when he found he 
 was becoming too much engrossed by business 
 with a due regard to his health and spirits, he 
 varied its monotonous routine with a little 
 screeching, or howling, or some other innocent 
 relaxation of that nature. 
 
 He was attended, as usual, by Tom Scott, 
 who sat crouching over the fire after the manner 
 of a toad, and, from time to time, when his 
 master's back was turned, imitated his grimaces 
 with a fearful exactness. The figure-head had 
 not yet disappeared, but remained in its old 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 place. The face, horribly seared by the frequent 
 application of the red-hot poker, and further 
 ornamented by the insertion, in the tip of the 
 nose, of a tenpenny nail, yet smiled blandly in 
 its less lacerated parts, and seemed, like a sturdy 
 martyr, to provoke its tormentor to the com- 
 mission of new outrages and insults. 
 
 The day, in the highest and brightest quarters 
 of the town, was damp, dark, cold, and gloomy. 
 In that low and marshy spot the fog filled every 
 nook and corner with a thick dense cloud. 
 Every object was obscured at one or two yards' 
 distance. The warning lights and fires upon the 
 river were powerless beneath this pall, and but 
 for a raw and piercing chilness in the air, and 
 now and then the cry of some bewildered boat- 
 man as he rested on his oars and tried to make 
 out where he was, the river itself might have 
 been miles away. 
 
 The mist, though sluggish and slow to move, 
 was of a keenly searching kind. No muffling 
 'Up in furs and broadcloth kept it out. It seemed 
 to penetrate into the very bones of the shrinking 
 wayfarers, and to rack them with cold and pains. 
 Everything was wet and clammy to the touch. 
 The warm blaze alone defied it, and leaped and 
 sparkled merrily. It was a day to be at home, 
 crowding about the fire, telling stories of tra- 
 vellers who had lost their way in such weather 
 on heaths and moors ; and to love a warm 
 hearth more than ever. 
 
 The dwarf's humour, as we know, was to have 
 a fireside to himself; and, when he was disposed 
 to be convivial, to enjoy himself alone. By no 
 means insensible to the comfort of being within 
 <ioors, he ordered Tom Scott to pile the little 
 stove with coals, and, dismissing his work for 
 that day, determined to be jovial. 
 
 To this end, he lighted up fresh candles and 
 heaped more fuel on the fire ; and having dined 
 off a beef-steak, which he cooked himself in 
 somewhat of a savage and cannibal-like manner, 
 brewed a great bowl of hot punch, lighted his 
 pipe, and sat down to spend the evening. 
 
 At this moment a low knocking at the cabin 
 door arrested his attention. When it had been 
 twice or thrice repeated, he softly opened the 
 little window, and thrusting his head out, de- 
 manded who was there. 
 
 " Only me, Quilp," replied a woman's voice. 
 
 "Only you!" cried the dwarf, stretching his 
 neck to obtain a better view of his visitor. " And 
 what brings you here, you jade? How dare 
 you approach the ogre's castle, eh ?" 
 
 " I have come with some news," rejoined his 
 spouse. " Don't be angry with me." 
 
 " Is it good news, pleasant news, news to 
 
 make a man skip and snap his fingers?" said 
 the dwarf. " Is the dear old lady dead ?" 
 
 " I don't know what news it is, or whether it's 
 good or bad," rejoined his wife. 
 
 " Then she's alive," said Quilp, "and there's 
 nothing the matter with her. Go home again, 
 you bird of evil note, go home !" 
 
 " I have brought a letter " cried the meek 
 
 little woman. 
 
 " Toss it in at the window here, and go your 
 ways," said Quilp, interrupting her, " or I'll 
 come out and scratch you." 
 
 " No, but please, Quilp — do hear me speak," 
 urged his submissive wife in tears. " Please do ! " 
 
 " Speak, then," growled the dwarf with a 
 malicious grin. " Be quick and short about it. 
 Speak, will you?" 
 
 " It was left at our house this afternoon," said 
 Mrs. Quilp, trembling, " by a boy who said he 
 didn't know from whom it came, but that it was 
 given to him to leave, and that he was told to 
 say it must be brought on to you directly, for it 
 was of the very greatest consequence. — But 
 please," she added, as her husband stretched out 
 his hand for it, '•' please let me in. You don't 
 know how wet and cold I am, or how many 
 times I have lost my way in coming here through 
 this thick fog. Let me dry myself at the fire for 
 five minutes. I'll go away directly you tell me 
 to, Quilp. Upon my word I will." 
 
 Her amiable husband hesitated for a few 
 moments ; but, bethinking himself that the letter 
 might require some answer, of which she could 
 be the bearer, closed the window, opened the 
 door, and bade her enter. Mrs, Quilp obeyed 
 right willingly, and, kneeling down before the 
 fire to warm her hands, delivered into his a little 
 packet. 
 
 " I'm glad you're wet," said Quilp, snatching 
 it, and squinting at her. " I'm glad you're cold. 
 I'm glad you've lost your way. I'm glad your 
 eyes are red with crying. It does my heart 
 good to see your little nose so pinched and 
 frosty." 
 
 " Oh, Quilp ! " sobbed his wife. " How cruel 
 it is of you !" 
 
 "Did she think I was dead?" said Quilp, 
 wrinkling his face into a most extraordinary 
 series of grimaces. " Did she think she was 
 going to have all the money, and to marry 
 somebody she liked ? Ha, ha, ha ! Did she ?" 
 
 These taunts elicited no reply from the poor 
 little woman, who remained on her knees, warm- 
 ing her hands, and sobbing, to Mr. Quilp's great 
 delight. But, just as he was contemplating her, 
 and chuckling excessively, he happened to ob- 
 serve that Tom Scott was delighted too ; where- 
 
WARNING FROM MISS BRASS. 
 
 249 
 
 fore, that he might have no presumptuous partner 
 in his glee, the dwarf instantly collared him, 
 dragged him to the door, and, after a short 
 scuffle, kicked him into the yard. In return for 
 this mark of attention, Tom immediately walked 
 upon his hands to the window, and — if the ex- 
 pression be allowable — looked in with his shoes : 
 besides rattling his feet upon the glass like a 
 Banshee upside down. As a matter of course, 
 Mr. Quilp lost no time in resorting to the in- 
 fallible poker, with which, after some dodging 
 and lying in ambush, he paid his young friend 
 
 one or two such unequivocal compliments that 
 he vanished precipitately, and left him in quiet 
 possession of the field. 
 
 " So ! That little job being disposed of," said 
 the dwarf coolly, " I'll read my letter. Humph !" 
 he muttered, looking at the direction. " I ought 
 to know this writing. Beautiful Sally !" 
 
 Opening it, he read, in a fair, round, legal 
 hand, as follows : 
 
 "Sammy has been practised upon, and has 
 broken confidence. It has all come out. You 
 had better not be in the way, for strangers are 
 
 "TOM IMMEDIATELY WALKED UPOX HIS HANDS TO THE WINDOW, AND — IF THE EXPRESSIOxV BE ALLOWABLE 
 
 — LOOKED IN WITH HIS SHOES." 
 
 going to call upon you. They have been very 
 quiet as yet, because they mean to surprise you. 
 Don't lose time. I didn't. I am not to be 
 found anvwhere. If I was you, I wouldn't be, 
 either. S. B., late of B. M." 
 
 To describe the changes that passed over 
 Quilp's face, as he read this letter half-a-dozen 
 times, would require some new language : such, 
 for power of expression, as was never written, 
 read, or spoken. For a long time he did not 
 utter one word : but, after a considerable in- 
 terval, during which Mrs. Quilp was almost 
 
 paralysed with the alarm his looks engendered, 
 he contrived to gasp out : 
 
 " If I had him here ! If I only had him 
 here " 
 
 "Oh, Quilp!" said his wife, "what's the 
 matter? Who are you angry with ? " 
 
 "I should drown him," said the dwarf, not 
 heeding her. " Too easy a death, too short, too 
 quick — but the river runs close at hand. Oh ! 
 If I had him here ! Just to take him to the 
 brink, coaxingly and pleasantly — holding him 
 by the button-hole — ^joking with him — and, with 
 
250 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 a sudden push, to send him splashing down ! 
 Drowning men come to the surface three times 
 they say. Ah ! To see him those three times, 
 and mock him as his face came bobbing up, — 
 oh, what a rich treat that would be ! " 
 
 "Quilp!" stammered his wife, venturing at 
 the same time to touch him on the shoulder : 
 " what has gone wrong ?" 
 
 She was so terrified by the relish with which 
 he pictured this pleasure to himself, that she 
 could scarcely make herself intelligible, 
 
 " Such a bloodless cur ! " said Quilp, rubbing 
 his hands very slowly, and pressing them tight 
 together. " I thought his cowardice and ser- 
 vihty were the best guarantee for his keeping 
 silence. Oh, Brass, Brass — my dear, good, 
 affectionate, faithful, complimentary, charming 
 friend — if I only had you here !" 
 
 His wife, who had retreated lest she should 
 seem to listen to these mutterings, ventured to 
 approach him again, and was about to speak, 
 when he hurried to the door and called Tom 
 Scott, who, remembering his late gentle admoni- 
 tion, deemed it prudent to appear immediately. 
 
 "There!" said the "dwarf, pulHng him in. 
 " Take her home. Don't come here to-morrow, 
 for this place will be shut up. Come back no 
 more till you hear from me or see me. Do you 
 mind?" 
 
 Tom nodded sulkily, and beckoned Mrs. 
 Quilp to lead the way. 
 
 " As for you," said the dwarf, addressing him- 
 self to her, " ask no questions about me, make 
 no search for me, say nothing concerning me. 
 I shall not be dead, mistress, and that'll comfort 
 you. He'll take care of you." 
 
 " But, Quilp ! What is the matter ? Where 
 are you going ? Do say something more." 
 
 " I'll say that," said the dwarf, seizing her by 
 the arm, " and do that too, which undone and 
 unsaid would be best for you, unless you go 
 directly." 
 
 " Has anything happened ?" cried his wife. 
 "Oh! Do tell me that!" 
 
 "Yes," snarled the dwarf. "No. What 
 matter which? I have told you what to do. 
 Woe betide you if you fail to do it, or disobey 
 me by a hair's breadth. Will you go ? " 
 
 " I am going, I'll go directly ; but," faltered 
 his wife, " answer me one question first. Has 
 this letter any connection with dear little Nell ? 
 I must ask you that— I must indeed, Quilp. 
 You cannot think what days and nights of sor- 
 row I have had through having once deceived 
 that child. I don't know what harm I may 
 have brought about, but, great or little, I did it 
 for you, Quilp. My conscience misga^^e me 
 
 when I did it. Do answer me this question, if 
 you please." 
 
 The exasperated dwarf returned no answer, 
 but turned round and caught up his usual 
 weapon with such vehemence, that Tom Scott 
 dragged his charge away by main force, and as 
 swiftly as he could. It was well he did so, for 
 ' Quilp, who was nearly mad with rage, pursued 
 them to the neighbouring lane, and might have 
 prolonged the chase but for the dense mist 
 which obscured them from his view, and ap- 
 peared to thicken every moment. 
 
 " It will be a good night for traveUing anony- 
 mously," he said as he returned slowly : being 
 pretty well breathed with his run. " Stay. We 
 may look better here. This is too hospitable 
 and free." 
 
 By a great exertion of strength he closed the 
 two old gates, which were deeply sunken in the 
 mud, and barred them with a heavy beam. 
 That done, he shook his matted hair from about 
 his eyes, and tried them.- — Strong and fast. 
 
 " The fence between this wharf and the next 
 is easily climbed," said the dwarf when he had 
 taken these precautions. " There's a back-lane, 
 too, from there. That shall be my way out. A 
 maH need know his road well to find it in this 
 lovely place to-night. I need fear no unwel- 
 come visitors while this lasts, I think." 
 
 Almost reduced to the necessity of groping 
 his way with his hands (it had grown so dark, 
 and the fog had so much increased), he returned 
 to his lair ; and, after musing for some time over 
 the fire, busied himself in preparations for a 
 speedy departure. 
 
 While he was collecting a few necessaries, 
 and cramming them into his pockets, he never 
 once ceased communing with himself in a low 
 voice, or unclenched his teeth: which he had 
 ground together on finishing Miss Brass's note. 
 
 " Oh, Sampson ! " he muttered, " good, worthy 
 creature — if I could but hug you ! If I could 
 only fold you in my arms, and squeeze your 
 ribs, as I could squeeze them if I once had 
 you tight — what a meeting there would be be- 
 tween us ! If we ever do cross each other 
 again, Sampson, we'll have a greeting not easily 
 to be forgotten, trust me. This time, Sampson, 
 this moment when all had gone on so well, was 
 so nicely chosen ! It was so thoughtful of you, 
 so penitent, so good. Oh, if we were face to 
 face in this room again, my white-livered man 
 of law, how well contented one of us would be !" 
 
 There he stopped ; and raising the bowl of 
 punch to his lips, drank a long deep draught, 
 as if it were fair water and cooling to his parched 
 mouth. Setting it down abruptly, and re- 
 
DROWNED! 
 
 '■5^ 
 
 suming his preparations, he went on with his 
 soliloquy. 
 
 " There's Sally," he said with flashing eyes ; 
 "the woman has spirit, determination, purpose 
 — was she asleep, or petrified ? She could have 
 stabbed him — poisoned him safely. She might 
 have seen this coming on. Why does she give 
 me notice when it's too late? When he sat 
 there, — yonder there, over there, — with his white 
 face, and red head, and sickly smile, why didn't 
 I know what was passing in his heart ? It should 
 have stopped beating that night, if I had been 
 in his secret, or there are no drugs to lull a man 
 to sleep, and no fire to bum him ! " 
 
 Another draught from the bowl ; and, cower- 
 ing over the fire with a ferocious aspect, he mut- 
 tered to himself again. 
 
 " And this, like every other trouble and anxiety 
 I have had of late times, springs from that old 
 dotard and his darling child — two wretched 
 feeble wanderers ! I'll be their evil genius yet. 
 And you, sweet Kit, honest Kit, virtuous, inno- 
 cent Kit, look to yourself Where I hate, I 
 bite. I hate you, my darling fellow, with good 
 cause, and, proud as you are to-night, I'll have 
 my turn. — What's that ?" 
 
 A knocking at the gate he had closed. A 
 loud and violent knocking. Then, a pause ; as 
 if those who knocked had stopped to listen. 
 Then, the noise again, more clamorous and 
 importunate than before. 
 
 " So soon ! " said the dwarf. " And so eager ! 
 I am afraid I shall disappoint you. It's well 
 I'm quite prepared. Sally, I thank you ! " 
 
 As he spoke, he extinguished the candle. In 
 his impetuous attempts to subdue the brightness 
 of the fire, he overset the stove, which came 
 tumbling forward, and fell with a crash upon the 
 burning embers it had shot forth in its descent, 
 leaving the room in pitchy darkness. The noise 
 at the gate still continuing, he felt his way to 
 the door, and stepped into the open air. 
 
 At that moment the knocking ceased. It was 
 about eight o'clock ; but the dead of the darkest 
 night would have been as noonday, in com- 
 parison with the thick cloud which then rested 
 upon the earth, and shrouded everything from 
 view. He darted forward for a few paces, as if 
 into the mouth of some dim, yawning cavern ; 
 then, thinking he had gone wrong, changed the 
 direction of his steps; then, stood still, not 
 knowing where to tufn. 
 
 " If they would knock again," said Quilp, try- 
 ing to peer into the gloom by which he was 
 surrounded, " the sound might guide me. Come ! 
 Batter the gate once more ! " 
 
 He stood listening intently, but the noise was 
 
 not renewed. Nothing was to be heard in that 
 deserted place but, at intervals, the distant 
 barkings of dogs. The sound was far away — 
 now in one quarter, now answered in another — 
 nor was it any guide, for it often came from ship- 
 board, as he knew. 
 
 " If I could find a wall or fence," said the 
 dwarf, stretching out his arms, and walking slowly 
 on, " I should know which way to turn. A good, 
 black, devil's night this, to have my dear friend 
 here ! If I had but that wish, it might, for any- 
 thing I cared, never be day again." 
 
 As the word passed his lips, he staggered and 
 fell — and next moment was fighting with the 
 cold dark water ! 
 
 For all its bubbling up and rushing in his ears, 
 he could hear the knocking at the gate again — 
 could hear a shout that followed it — could recog- 
 nise the voice. For all his struggling and plash- 
 ing, he could understand that they had lost 
 their way, and had wandered back to the point 
 from which they started ; that they were all but 
 looking on, while he was drowned; that they 
 were close at hand, but could not make an effort 
 to save him ; that he himself had shut and barred 
 them out. He answered the shout — with a yell, 
 which seemed to make the hundred fires that 
 danced before his eyes tremble and flicker as if 
 a gust of wind had stirred them. It was of no 
 avail. The strong tide filled his throat, and 
 bore him on upon its rapid current. 
 
 Another mortal struggle, and he was up again, 
 beating the water with his hands, and looking 
 out, with wild and glaring eyes that showed him 
 some black object he was drifting close upon. 
 The hull of a ship ! He could touch its smooth 
 and slippery surface with his hand. One loud 
 
 cry now But the resistless water bore him 
 
 down before he could give it utterance, and, 
 driving him under it, it carried away a corpse. 
 
 It toyed and sported with its ghastly freight, 
 now bruising it against the slimy piles, now 
 hiding it in mud or long rank grass, now drag- 
 ging it heavily over rough stones and gravel, 
 now feigning to yield it to its own element, 
 and in the same action luring it away, until, 
 tired of the ugly plaything, it flung it on a 
 swamp — a dismal place where pirates had swung 
 in chains through many a wintry night — and left 
 it there to bleach. 
 
 And there it lay alone. The sky was red 
 with flame, and the water that bore it there had 
 been tinged with the sullen light as it flowed 
 along. The place, the deserted carcase had left 
 so recently a living man, was now a blazing ruin. 
 There was something of the glare upon its face. 
 The hair, stirred by the damp breeze, played in 
 
25- 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 a kind of mockery of death — such a mockery as 
 the dead man himself would have delighted in 
 when alive— about its head, and its dress flut- 
 tered idly in the night wind. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIIL 
 
 IGHTED rooms, bright fires, cheer- 
 ful faces, the music of glad voices, 
 words of love and welcome, warm 
 hearts, and tears of happiness — 
 what a change is this ! But it is to 
 , such delights that Kit is hastening. 
 They are awaiting him, he knows. He 
 fears he will die of joy before he gets 
 among them. 
 
 They have prepared him for this, all day. 
 He is not to be carried off to-morrow with the 
 rest, they tell him first. By degrees they let 
 him know that doubts have arisen, that inquiries 
 are to be made, and perhaps he may be par- 
 doned after all. At last, the evening being 
 come, they bring him to a room where some 
 gentlemen are assembled. Foremost among 
 them is his good old master, who comes and 
 takes him by the hand. He hears that his 
 innocence is established, and that he is par- 
 doned. He cannot see the speaker, but he 
 turns towards the voice, and, in trying to 
 answer, falls down insensible. 
 
 They recover him again, and tell him he must 
 be composed, and bear this like a man. Some- 
 body says he must think of his poor mother. 
 It is because he does think of her so much that 
 the happy news has overpowered him. They 
 crowd about him, and tell him that the truth has 
 gone abroad, and that all the town and country 
 ring with sympathy for his misfortunes. He has 
 no ears for this. His thoughts, as yet, have no 
 wider range than home. Does she know it? 
 what did she say? who told her? He can 
 speak of nothing else. 
 
 They make him drink a little wine, and talk 
 kindly to him for awhile, until he is more col- 
 lected, and can listen, and thank them. He is 
 free to" go. Mr. Garland thinks, if he feels 
 better, it is time they went away. The gentle- 
 men cluster round him, and shake hands with 
 him. He feels very grateful to them for the 
 interest they have in him, and for the kind pro- 
 mises they make ; but the power of speech is 
 gone again, and he has much ado to keep his 
 feet, even though leaning on his master's arm. 
 As they come through the dismal passages, 
 
 some officers of the gaol who are in waiting 
 there congratulate him, in their rough way, on 
 his release. The newsmonger is of the number, 
 but his manner is not quite hearty — there is 
 something of surliness in his compliments. He 
 looks upon Kit as an intruder, as one who has 
 obtained admission to that place on false pre- 
 tences, who has enjoyed a privilege without 
 being duly qualified. He may be a very good 
 sort of young man, he thinks, but he has no 
 business there, and the sooner he is gone the 
 better. 
 
 The last door shuts behind them. They 
 have passed the outer wall, and stand in the 
 open air — in the street he has so often pictured 
 to himself when hemmed in by the gloomy 
 stones, and which has been in all his dreams. 
 It seems wider and more busy than it used to 
 be. The night is bad, and yet how cheerful and 
 gay in his eyes ! One of the gentlemen, in 
 taking leave of him, pressed some money into 
 his hand. He has not counted it ; but, when 
 they have gone a few paces beyond the box for 
 poor Prisoners, he hastily returns and drops 
 it in. 
 
 Mr. Garland has a coach waiting in a neigh- 
 bouring street, and, taking Kit inside with him, 
 bids the man drive home. At first, they can 
 only travel at a foot-pace, and then with torches 
 going on before, because of the heavy fog. But, 
 as they get farther from the river, and leave the 
 closer portions of the town behind, they are 
 able to dispense with this precaution, and ta 
 proceed at a brisker rate. On the road, hard 
 galloping would be too slow for Kit ; but, when 
 they are drawing near their journey's end, he 
 begs they may go more slowly, and, when the 
 house appears in sight, that they may stop — 
 only for a minute or two, to give him time to 
 breathe. 
 
 But there is no stopping then, for the old 
 gentleman speaks stoutly to him, the horses 
 mend their pace, and they are already at the 
 garden-gate. Next minute they are at the door. 
 There is a noise of tongues, and tread of feet, 
 inside. It opens. Kit rushes in, and finds his 
 mother clinging round his neck. 
 
 And there, too, is the ever-faithful Barbara's 
 mother, still holding the baby as if she had 
 never put it down since that sad day when they 
 Httle hoped to have such joy as this — there she 
 is. Heaven bless her, crying her eyes out, and 
 sobbing as never woman sobbed before ; and 
 there is Httle Barbara — poor little Barbara, so 
 much thinner and so much paler, and yet so 
 very pretty — trembling like a leaf, and support- 
 ing herself against the wall ; and there is Mrs. 
 
KIT IS FREE. 
 
 253 
 
 Garland, neater and nicer than ever, fainting 
 away stone dead with nobody to help her; and 
 there is Mr. Abel, violently blowing his nose, 
 and wanting to embrace everybody; and there 
 is the single gentleman hovering round them all, 
 and constant to nothing for an instant; and 
 there is that good, dear, thoughtful little Jacob, 
 sitting all alone by himself on the bottom stair, 
 with his hands on his knees like an old man, 
 roaring fearfully without giving any trouble to 
 
 anybody ; and each and all of them are for the 
 time clean out^of their wits, and do jointly and 
 severally commit all manner of follies. 
 
 And even when the rest have in some mea- 
 sure come to themselves again, and can find 
 words and smiles, Barbara — that soft-hearted, 
 gentle, foolish little Barbara — is suddenly missed, 
 and found to be in a swoon by herself in the 
 back-parlour, from which swoon she falls into 
 hysterics, and from which hysterics into a swoon 
 
 "THE STRONG TIDE FILLED HIS THROAT, AND BORE HIM ON UPON ITS RAPID CURRENT." 
 
 again, and is, indeed, so bad that, despite a 
 mortal quantity of vinegar and cold water, she 
 is hardly a bit better at last than she was at 
 first. Then, Kit's mother comes in and says, 
 will he come and speak to her ? and Kit says 
 " Yes," and goes ; and he says in a kind voice 
 "Barbara ! " and Barbara's mother tells her that 
 " it's only Kit ; " and Barbara says (with her 
 eyes closed all the time), " Oh ! but is it him 
 indeed?" and Barbara's mother says, "To be 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 17. 
 
 sure it is, my dear ; there's nothing the matter 
 now." And, in further assurance that he's safe 
 and sound. Kit speaks to her again ; and then 
 Barbara goes ofif into another fit of laughter, and 
 then into another fit of crying ; and then Bar- 
 bara's mother and Kit's mother nod to each 
 other, and pretend" to scold her — but only to 
 bring her to herself the faster, bless you ! — and 
 being experienced matrons, and acute at per- 
 ceiving the first dawning symptoms of recovery, 
 
 265 
 
254 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 they comfort Kit with the assurance that " she'll 
 do now," and so dismiss him to the place from 
 whence he came. 
 
 Well ! In that place (which is the next 
 room) there are decanters of wine, and all that 
 sort of thing, set out as grand as if Kit and his 
 friends were first-rate company; and there is 
 little Jacob, walking, as the popular phrase is, 
 into a home-made plum-cake at a most surpris- 
 ing pace, and keeping his eye on the figs and 
 oranges which are to follow, and making the 
 best use of his time, you may believe. Kit no 
 sooner comes in than that single gentleman 
 (never was such a busy gentleman) charges all 
 the glasses — bumpers — and drinks his health, 
 and tells him he shall never want a friend while 
 he lives ; and so does Mr. Garland, and so does 
 Mrs. Garland, and so does Mr, Abel. But, 
 even this honour and distinction is not all, for 
 the single gentleman forthwith pulls out of his 
 pocket a massive silver watch — going hard, and 
 right to half a second — and upon the back of 
 this watch is engraved Kit's name, with flou- 
 rishes all over ; and, in short, it is Kit's watch, 
 bought expressly for him, and presented to him 
 on the spot. You may rest assured that Mr, 
 and Mrs, Garland can't help hinting about their 
 present in store, and that Mr, Abel tells out- 
 right that he has his ; and that Kit is the hap- 
 piest of the happy. 
 
 There is one friend he has not seen yet, and, 
 as he cannot be conveniently introduced into 
 the family circle, by reason of his being an iron- 
 shod quadruped. Kit takes the first opportunity 
 of slipping away and hurrying to the stable. 
 The moment he lays his hand upon the latch, 
 the pony neighs the loudest pony's greeting; 
 before he has crossed the threshold, the pony is 
 capering about his loose box (for he brooks not 
 the indignity of a halter), mad to give him wel- 
 come ; and, when Kit goes up to caress and pat 
 him, the pony rubs his nose against his coat, 
 and fondles him more lovingly than ever pony 
 fondled man. It is the crowning circumstance 
 of his earnest, heartfelt reception; and Kit 
 fairly puts his arm round Whisker's neck and 
 hugs him. 
 
 But how comes Barbara to trip in there? 
 And how smart she is again ! She has been at 
 her glass since she recovered. How comes 
 Barbara in the stable, of all places in the world ? 
 Why, since Kit has been away, the pony would 
 take his food from nobody but her, and Bar- 
 bara, you see, not dreaming Christopher was 
 there, and just looking in to see that everything 
 was right, has come upon him unawares. Blush- 
 ing little Barbara ! 
 
 It may be that Kit has caressed the pony 
 enough ; it may be that there are even better 
 things to caress than ponies. He leaves him 
 for Barbara at any rate, and hopes she is better. 
 Yes. Barbara is a great deal better. She is 
 afraid — and here Barbara looks down and 
 blushes more — that he must have thought her 
 very foolish. " Not at all," says Kit. Barbara 
 is glad of that, and coughs — Hem ! — ^just 
 the slightest cough possible — not more than 
 that. 
 
 What a discreet pony when he chooses ! He 
 is as quiet, now, as if he were of marble. He 
 has a very knowing look, but that he always 
 has. " We have hardly had time to shake hands, 
 Barbara," says Kit. Barbara gives him hers. 
 Why, she is trembling now ! Foolish, fluttering 
 Barbara ! 
 
 Arm's length ? The length of an arm is not 
 much. Barbara's was not a long arm, by any 
 means, and besides, she didn't hold it out 
 straight, but bent a little. Kit was so near her 
 when they shook hands, that he could see a 
 small tiny tear, yet trembling on an eyelash. 
 It was natural that he should look at it, un- 
 known to Barbara. It was natural that Barbara, 
 should raise her eyes unconsciously, and find 
 him out. Was it natural that at that instant, 
 without any previous impulse or design, Kit 
 should kiss Barbara ? He did it, whether or no. 
 Barbara said " For shame," but let him do it too 
 — twice. He might have done it thrice, but the 
 pony kicked up his heels and shook his head, 
 as if he were suddenly taken with convulsions 
 of delight, and Barbara, being frightened, ran 
 away — not straight to where her mother and 
 Kit's mother were, though, lest they should see 
 how red her cheeks were, and should ask her 
 why. Sly little Barbara ! 
 
 When the first transports of the whole party 
 had subsided, and Kit and his mother, and 
 Barbara and her mother, with little Jacob and 
 the baby to boot, had had their suppers together 
 — which there was no hurrying over, for they 
 were going to stop there all night — Mr. Garland 
 called Kit to him, and, taking him into a room 
 where they could be alone, told him that he 
 had something yet to say, which would surprise 
 him greatly. Kit looked so anxious and turned 
 so pale on hearing this, that the old gentleman 
 hastened to add, he would be agreeably sur- 
 prised; and asked him if he would be ready 
 next morning for a journey. 
 
 " For a journey, sir ! " cried Kit. 
 
 " In company with me and my friend in the 
 next room. Can you guess its purpose ?" 
 
 Kit turned paler yet, and shook his head. 
 
PREPARATION FOR A JOURNEY. 
 
 255 
 
 " Oh yes ! I think you do already," said his 
 master. " Try." 
 
 Kit murmured something rather rambhng and 
 unintelligible, but he plainly pronounced the 
 words " Miss Nell " three or four times — shaking 
 his head while he did so, as if he would add that 
 there was no hope of that. 
 
 But Mr. Garland, instead of saying "Try 
 again," as Kit had made sure he would, told him, 
 very seriously, that he had guessed right. 
 
 " The place of their retreat is indeed dis- 
 covered," he said, " at last. And that is our 
 journey's end." 
 
 Kit faltered out such questions as, where was 
 it, and how had it been found, and how long 
 since, and was she well and happy ? 
 
 " Happy she is, beyond all doubt," said Mr. 
 Garland.' " And well, I — I trust she will be 
 soon. She has been weak and ailing, as I learn, 
 but she was better when I heard this morning, 
 and they were full of hope. Sit you down, and 
 you shall hear the rest." 
 
 ' Scarcely venturing to draw his breath. Kit did 
 as he was told. Mr. Garland then related to 
 him how he had a brother (of whom he would 
 remember to have heard him speak, and whose 
 picture, taken when he was a young man, hung 
 in the best room), and how this brother lived a 
 long way off, in a country place, with an old 
 clergyman who had been his early friend. How, 
 although they loved each other as brothers 
 should, they had not met for many years, but 
 had communicated by letter from time to time, 
 always looking forward to some period when 
 they would take each other by the hand once 
 more, and still letting the Present time steal on, 
 as it was the habit of men to do, and suffering 
 the Future to melt into the Past. How this 
 brother, whose temper was very mild and quiet 
 and retiring — such as Mr. Abel's — was greatly 
 beloved b)^ the simple people among whom he 
 dwelt, who quite revered the Bachelor (for so 
 they called him), and had every one experienced 
 his charity and benevolence. How even those 
 slight circumstances had come to his knowledge 
 very slowly and in course of years, for the Bache- 
 lor was one of those whose goodness shuns the 
 light, and who have more pleasure in discover- 
 ing and extolling the good deeds of others than 
 in trumpeting their own, be they never so com- 
 mendable. How, for that reason, he seldom 
 told them of his village friends ; but how, for 
 all that, his mind had become so full of two 
 among them — a child and an old man, to whom 
 he had been very kind— that, in a letter received 
 a few days before, he had dwelt upon them 
 from first to last, and had told such a tale of 
 
 their wandering, and mutual love, that few could 
 read it without being moved to tears. How he, 
 the recipient of that letter, was directly led to 
 the belief that these must be the very wanderers 
 for whom so much search had been made, and 
 whom Heaven had directed to his brother's care. 
 How he had written for such further information 
 as would put the fact beyond all doubt ; how it 
 had that morning arrived; had confirmed his 
 first impression into a certainty; and was the 
 immediate cause of that journey being planned, 
 which they were to take to-mofrow. 
 _ " In the meantime," said the old gentleman^ 
 rising, and laying his hand on Kit's shoulder, 
 " you have great need of rest ; for such a day as 
 this would wear out the strongest man. Good 
 night, and Heaven send our journey may have 
 a prosperous ending !" 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 IT was no sluggard next morning, but, 
 springing from his bed some time 
 before day, began to prepare for his 
 welcome expedition. The hurry of 
 spirits consequent upon the events 
 of yesterday, and the unexpected in- 
 telligence he had heard at night, had 
 troubled his sleep through the long dark 
 hours, and summoned such uneasy dreams about 
 his pillow that it was rest to rise. 
 
 But had it been the beginning of some great 
 labour with the same end in view — had it been 
 the commencement of a long journey, to be per- 
 formed on foot in that inclement season of the 
 year, to be pursued under every privation and 
 difficulty, and to be achieved only with great 
 distress,, fatigue, and suffering — had it been the 
 dawn of some painful enterprise, certain to task 
 his utmost powers of resolution and endurance, 
 and to need his utmost fortitude, but only likely 
 to end, if happily achieved, in good fortune and 
 delight to Nell — Kit's cheerful zeal would have 
 been as highly roused : Kit's ardour and im- 
 patience would have been, at least, the same. 
 
 Nor was he alone excited and eager. Before 
 he had been up a quarter of an hour the whole 
 house was astir and busy. Everybody hurried 
 to do something towards facilitating the prepa- 
 rations. The single gentleman, it is true, could 
 do nothing himself, but he overlooked everybody 
 else, and was more locomotive than anybody. 
 The work of packing and making ready went 
 briskly on, and by daybreak every preparation 
 
256 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 for the journey was completed. Then, Kit 
 began to wish they had not been quite so nimble ; 
 for the travelling carriage which had been hired 
 for the occasion was not to arrive until nine 
 o'clock, and there was nothing but breakfast to 
 fill up the intervening blank of one hour and a 
 half. 
 
 Yes, there was, though. There was Barbara. 
 Barbara was busy, to be sure, but so much the 
 better — Kit could help her, and that would pass 
 away the time better than any m6ans that could 
 be devised. Barbara had no objection to this 
 arrangement, and Kit, tracking out the idea 
 which had come upon him so suddenly over- 
 night, began to think that surely Barbara was 
 fond of him, and surely he was fond of Barbara. 
 
 Now, Barbara, if the truth must be told — as it 
 must and ought to be — Barbara seemed, of all 
 the little household, to take least pleasure in the 
 bustle of the occasion ; and when Kit, in the 
 openness of his heart, told her how glad and 
 overjoyed it made him, Barbara became more 
 downcast still, and seemed to have even less 
 pleasure in it than before. 
 
 " You have not been home so long, Christo- 
 pher," said Barbara — and it is impossible to tell 
 how carelessly she said it — " you have not been 
 home so long, that you need be glad to go away 
 again, I should think." 
 
 " But for such a purpose," returned Kit. "To 
 bring back Miss Nell ! To see her again ! Only 
 think of that ! I am so pleased, too, to think 
 that you will see her, Barbara, at last." 
 
 Barbara did not absolutely say that she felt 
 no great gratification on this point, but she ex- 
 pressed the sentiment so plainly by one little 
 toss of her head, that Kit was quite disconcerted, 
 and wondered, in his simplicity, why she was 
 so cool about it. 
 
 " You'll say she has the sweetest and beauti- 
 fuUest face you ever saw, I know," said Kit, 
 rubbing his hands. " I'm sure you'll say that ! " 
 
 Barbara tossed her head again. 
 
 "What's the matter, Barbara?" said Kit. 
 
 " Nothing,'' cried Barbara. And Barbara 
 pouted — not sulkily, or in an ugly manner, but 
 just enough to make her look more cherry-lipped 
 than ever. 
 
 There is no school in which a pupil gets on 
 so fast as that in which Kit became a scholar 
 when he gave Barbara the kiss. He saw what 
 Barbara meant now — he had his lesson by heart 
 all at once — she was the book — there it was 
 before him, as plain as print, 
 
 " Barbara," said Kit, " you're not cross with 
 me?" 
 
 Oh dear no ! Why should Barbara be cross ? 
 
 And what right had she to be cross ? And what 
 did it matter whether she was cross or no ? 
 Who minded /ler ? 
 
 " Why, / do," said Kit. " Of course I do." 
 
 Barbara didn't see why it was of course, at all. 
 
 Kit was sure she must. Would she think 
 again ? 
 
 Certainly Barbara would think again. No, 
 she didn't see why it was of course. She didn't 
 understand what Christopher meant. And be- 
 sides, she was sure they wanted her up-stairs by 
 this time, and she must go, indeed 
 
 " No, but, Barbara," said Kit, detaining her 
 gently, "let us part friends. I was always think- 
 ing of you in my troubles. I should have been 
 a great deal more miserable than I was, if it 
 hadn't been for you." 
 
 Goodness gracious, how pretty Barbara was 
 when she coloured — and when she trembled, 
 like a little shrinking bird ! 
 
 " I am telling you the truth, Barbara, upon 
 my word, but not half so strong as I could wish," 
 said Kit. " When I want you to be pleased 
 to see Miss Nell, it's only because I should 
 like you to be pleased with what pleases me — 
 that's all. As to her, Barbara, I think I could 
 almost die to do her service, but you would 
 think so too, if you knew her as I do. I am 
 sure you would." 
 
 Barbara was touched, and sorry to have ap- 
 peared indiff"erent. 
 
 " I have been used^ you see," said Kit, '•' to 
 talk and think of her almost as if she was an 
 angel. When I look forward to meeting her 
 again, I think of her smiling as she used to do, 
 and being glad to see me, and putting out her 
 hand and saying, ' It's my own old Kit,' or some 
 such words as those — like what she used to say. 
 I think of seeing her happy, and with friends about 
 her, and brought up as she deserves, and as she 
 ought to be. When I think of myself, it's as 
 her old servant, and one that loved her dearly, 
 as his kind, good, gentle mistress ; and who 
 would have gone — yes, and still would go — 
 through any harm to serve her. Once I couldn't 
 help being afraid that, if she came back with 
 friends about her, she might forget, or be ashamed 
 of having known, a humble lad like me, and so 
 might speak coldly, which would have cut me, 
 Barbara, deeper than I can tell. But when I 
 came to think again, I felt sure that I was doing 
 her wrong in this ; and so I went on, as I did at 
 first, hoping to see her once more, just as she 
 used to be. Hoping this, and remembering what 
 she was, has made me feel as if I would always 
 try to please her, and always be what I should 
 like to seem to her if I was still her servant. 
 
ON THE JO URNE V. 
 
 257 
 
 If I'm the better for that — and I don't think 
 I'm the worse — I am grateful to her for it, and 
 love and honour her the more. That's the plain 
 honest truth, dear Barbara, upon my word it is ! " 
 
 Little Barbara was not of a wayward or capri- 
 cious nature, and, being full of remorse, melted 
 into tears. To what more conversation this 
 might have led, we need not stop to inquire ; for 
 the wheels of the carriage were heard at that 
 moment, and, being followed by a smart ring at 
 the garden-gate, caused the bustle in the house, 
 which had lain dormant for a short time, to burst 
 again into tenfold life and vigour. 
 
 Simultaneously with the travelling equipage 
 arrived Mr. Chuckster in a hackney cab, with 
 certain papers and supplies of money for the 
 single gentleman, into whose hands he delivered 
 them. This duty discharged, he subsided into 
 the bosom of the family : and, entertaining him- 
 self with a strolling or peripatetic breakfast, 
 watched with a genteel indifference the process 
 of loading the carriage. 
 
 '' Snobby's in this I see, sir ?" he said to Mr. 
 Abel Garland. " I thought he wasn't in the last 
 trip because it was expected that his presence 
 wouldn't be acceptable to the ancient buffalo." 
 
 " To whom, sir ? " demanded Mr. Abel. 
 
 " To the old gentleman," returned Mr. Chuck- 
 ster, slightly abashed. 
 
 " Our client prefers to take him now," said 
 Mr. Abel drily. " There is no longer any need 
 for that precaution, as my father's relationship 
 to a gentleman in whom the objects of his 
 search have full confidence will be a sufficient 
 guarantee for the friendly nature of their errand." 
 
 " Ah ! " thought Mr. Chuckster, looking out 
 of window, " anybody but me ! Snobby before 
 me, of course. He didn't happen to take that 
 particular five-pound note, but I have not the 
 smallest doubt that he's always up to something 
 of that sort. I always said it, long before this 
 came out. Devilish pretty girl that ! 'Pon my 
 soul, an amazing little creature ! " 
 
 Barbara was the subject of Mr. Chuckster's 
 commendations : and, as she was lingering near 
 the carriage (all being now ready for its depar- 
 ture), that gentleman was suddenly seized with 
 a strong interest in the proceedings, which im- 
 pelled him to swagger down the garden, and 
 take up his position at a convenient ogling dis- 
 tance. Having had great experience of the sex, 
 and being perfectly acquainted with all those 
 little artifices which find the readiest road to 
 their hearts, Mr. Chuckster, on taking his ground, 
 planted one hand on his hip, and with the other 
 adjusted his flowing hair. This is a favourite 
 attitude in the polite circles, and, accompanied 
 
 with a graceful whistling, has been known to do 
 immense execution. 
 
 Such, however, is the difference between town 
 and country, that nobody took the smallest notice 
 of this insinuating figure ; the wretches being 
 wholly engaged in bidding the travellers fare- 
 well, in kissing hands to each other, waving 
 handkerchiefs, and the like tame and vulgar 
 practices. For, now, the single gentleman and 
 Mr. Garland were in the carriage, and the post- 
 boy was in the saddle, and Kit, well wrapped 
 and muffled up, was in the rumble behind j and 
 Mrs. Garland was there, and Mr. Abel was 'there, 
 and Kit's mother was there, and litde Jacob was 
 there, and Barbara's mother was visible in remote 
 perspective, nursing the ever-wakeful baby ; and 
 all were nodding, beckoning, curtsying, or crying 
 out, "Good-bye !" with all the energy they could 
 express. In another minute the carriage was out 
 of sight ; and Mr. Chuckster remained alone on 
 the spot where it had lately been, with a vision 
 of Kit standing up in the rumble waving his 
 hand to Barbara, and of Barbara in the full light 
 and lustre of his eyes — /lis eyes — Chuckster's — 
 Chuckster the successful — on whom ladies of 
 quality had looked with favour from phaetons in 
 the parks on Sundays — waving hers to Kit. 
 
 How Mr, Chuckster, entranced by this mon- 
 strous fact, stood for some time rooted to the 
 earth, protesting within himself that Kit was the 
 Prince of felonious characters, and very Emperor 
 or Great Mogul of Snobs, and how he clearly 
 traced this revolting circumstance back to that 
 old villainy of the shilling, are matters foreign 
 to our purpose; which is to track the rolling 
 wheels, and bear the travellers company on their 
 cold, bleak journey. 
 
 It was a bitter day. A keen wind was blowing, 
 and rushed against them fiercely : bleaching the 
 hard ground, shaking the white frost from the 
 trees and hedges, and whirling it away like dust. 
 But, little Kit cared for weather. There was a 
 freedom and freshness in the wind, as it came 
 howling by, which, let it cut never so sharp, was 
 welcome. As it swept on with its cloud of frost, 
 bearing down the dry twigs and boughs and 
 withered leaves, and carrying them away pell- 
 mell, it seemed as though some general sym- 
 pathy had got abroad, and everything was in a 
 hurry, like themselves. The harder the gusts, 
 the better progress they appeared to make. It 
 was a good thing to go struggling and fighting 
 forward, vanquishing them one by one ; to watch 
 them driving up, gathering strength and fury as 
 they came along ; to bend for a moment as they 
 whistled past ; and then to look back and see 
 them speed away, their hoarse noise dying in 
 
2sB 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 
 
 the distance, and the stout trees cowering down 
 before them. 
 
 All day long it blew without cessation. The 
 night was clear and starlight, but the wind had 
 not fallen, and the cold was piercing. Some- 
 times — towards the end of a long stage — Kit 
 could not help wishing -it were a little warmer : 
 but when they stopped to change horses, and he 
 had had a good run, and what with that, and the 
 bustle of paying the old postillion, and rousing 
 the new one, and running to and fro again until 
 the horses were put to, he was so warm that the 
 blood singled and smarted in his fingers' ends — 
 then he felt as if to have it one degree less cold 
 would be to lose half the delight and glory of 
 the journey : and up he jumped again, right 
 •cheerily, singing to the merry music of the wheels 
 as they rolled away, and, leaving the townspeople 
 in their warm beds, pursued their course along 
 the lonely road. 
 
 Meantime the two gentlemen inside, who were 
 little disposed to sleep, beguiled the time with 
 ■conversation. As both were anxious and ex- 
 pectant, it naturally turned upon the subject of 
 their expedition, on the manner in which it had 
 been brought about, and on the hopes and fears 
 they entertained respecting it. Of the former 
 they had many, of the latter few — none, perhaps, 
 beyond that indefinable uneasiness which is in- 
 separable from suddenly -awakened hope and 
 protracted expectation. 
 
 In one of the pauses of their discourse, and 
 when half the night had worn away, the single 
 gentleman, who had gradually become more and 
 more silent and thoughtful, turned to his com- 
 panion, and said, abruptly : 
 
 " Are you a good listener ? " 
 
 " Like most other men, I suppose," returned 
 Mr, Garland, smiling. " I can be, if I am in- 
 terested; and, if not interested, I should still 
 try to appear so. Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " I have a short narrative on my lips," re- 
 joined his friend, "and will try you with' it. It 
 is very brief." 
 
 Pausing for no reply, he laid his hand on the 
 old gentleman's sleeve, and proceeded thus : 
 
 " There were once two brothers, who loved 
 each other dearly. There was a disparity in 
 their«ages — some twelve years. I am not sure 
 but they may insensibly have loved each other 
 the better for that reason. Wide as the interval 
 between them was, however, they became rivals 
 too soon. The deepest and strongest affection 
 of both their hearts settled upon one object. 
 
 " The youngest — there were reasons for his 
 being sensitive and watchful — was the first to 
 find this out. I will not tell you what misery 
 
 he underwent, what agony of soul he knew, how 
 great his mental struggle was. He had been a 
 sickly child. His brother, patient and con- 
 siderate in the midst of his own high health 
 and strength, had many and many a day denied 
 himself the sports he loved, to sit beside his 
 couch, telling him old stories till his pale face 
 lighted up with an unwonted glow ; to carry him 
 in his arms to some green spot, where he could 
 tend the poor pensive boy as he looked upon 
 the bright summer day, and saw all nature 
 healthy but himself ; to be, in any way, his fond 
 and faithful nurse. I may not dwell on all he 
 did to make the poor, weak creature love him, 
 or my tale would have no end. But, when the 
 time of trial came, the younger brother's heart 
 was full of those old days. Heaven strengthened 
 it to repay the sacrifices of inconsiderate youth 
 by one of thoughtful manhood. He left his 
 brother to be happy. The truth never passed 
 his lips, and he quitted the country, hoping to 
 die abroad. 
 
 " The elder brother married her. She was. in 
 Heaven before long, and left him with an infant 
 daughter. 
 
 " If you have seen the picture-gallery of any 
 one old family, you will remember how the same 
 face and figure — often the fairest and slightest 
 of them all — come upon you in different genera- 
 tions; and how you trace the same sweet girl 
 through a long line of portraits — never growing 
 old or changing — the Good Angel of the race — • 
 abiding by them in all reverses — redeeming all 
 their sins. 
 
 " In this daughter the mother lived again. 
 You may judge with what devotion he who lost 
 that mother almost in the winning, clung to this 
 girl, her breathing image. She grew to woman- 
 hood, and gave her heart to one who could not 
 know its worth. Well ! Her fond father could 
 not see her pine and droop. He might be more 
 deserving than he thought him. He surely might 
 become so, with a wife like her. He joined their 
 hands, and they were married. 
 
 "Through all the misery that followed this 
 union; through all the cold neglect and unde- 
 served reproach ; through all the poverty he 
 brought upon her ; through all the struggles of 
 their daily life, too mean and pitiful to tell, but 
 dreadful to endure ; she toiled on, in the deep 
 devotion of her spirit, and in her better nature, 
 as only women can. Her means and substance 
 wasted ; her father nearly beggared by her hus- 
 band's hand, and the hourly witness (for they 
 lived now under one roof) of her ill-usage and 
 unhappiness, — she never, but for him, bewailed 
 her fate. Patient, and upheld by strong affec- 
 
STILL ON THE JOURNEY. 
 
 259 
 
 tion to the last, she died a widow of some three 
 weeks' date, leaving to her father's care two 
 orphans ; one a son of ten or twelve years old ; 
 the other a girl — such another infant child — the 
 same in helplessness, in age, in form, in feature 
 — as she had been herself when her young 
 mother died. 
 
 " The elder brother, grandfather to these t>vo 
 children, was now a broken man ; crushed and 
 borne down, less by the weight of years than by 
 the heavy hand of sorrow. With the wreck of 
 his possessions, he began to trade — in pictures 
 first, and then in curious ancient things. He 
 had entertained a fondness for such matters 
 from a boy, and the tastes he had cultivated 
 were now to yield him an anxious and pre- 
 carious subsistence. 
 
 " The boy grew like his father in mind and 
 person ; the girl so like her mother, that when 
 the old man had her on his knee, and looked 
 into her mild blue eyes, he felt as if awakening 
 from a wretched dream, and his daughter were 
 a little child again. The wayward boy soon 
 spurned the shelter of his roof, and sought asso- 
 ciates more congenial to his taste. The old 
 man and the child dwelt alone together. 
 
 " It was then, when the love of two dead 
 people who had been nearest and dearest to his 
 heart was all transferred to this slight creature ; 
 when her face, constantly before him, reminded 
 him, from hour to hour, of the too early change 
 he had seen in such another — of all the suffer- 
 ings he had watched and known, and all his 
 -child had undergone ; when the young man's 
 profligate and hardened course drained him of 
 money as his father's had, and even sometimes 
 occasioned them temporary privation and dis- 
 tress ; it was then that there began to beset him, 
 and to be ever in his mind, a gloomy dread of 
 poverty and want. He had no thought for him- 
 self in this. His fear was for the child. It was 
 a spectre in his house, and haunted him night 
 and day. 
 
 " The younger brother had been a traveller in 
 many countries, and had made his pilgrimage 
 through life alone. His voluntary banishment 
 had been misconstrued, and he had borne (not 
 without pain) reproach and slight, for doing that 
 which had wrung his heart, and cast a mournful 
 shadow on his path. Apart from this, commu- 
 nication between him and the elder was difficult 
 and uncertain, and often failed ; still, it was not 
 so wholly broken off but that he learnt — with 
 long blanks and gaps between each interval of 
 information — all that I have told you now. 
 
 " Then, dreams of their young, happy life — 
 happy to him, though laden with pain and early 
 
 care — visited his pillow yet oftener than before ; 
 and every night, a boy again, he was at his 
 brother's side. With the utmost speed he could 
 exert, he settled his affairs ; converted into 
 money all the goods he had ; and, with honour- 
 able wealth enough for both, with open heart 
 and hand, with limbs that trembled as they bore 
 him on, with emotion such as men can hardly 
 bear and live, arrived one evening at his brother's 
 door!" 
 
 The narrator, whose voice had faltered lately, 
 stopped. " The rest," said Mr. Garland, press- 
 ing his hand after a pause, " I know." 
 
 "Yes," rejoined his friend, "we may spare 
 ourselves the sequel. You know the poor result 
 of all my search. Even when, by dint of such 
 inquiries as the utmost vigilance and sagacity 
 could set on foot, we found they had been seen 
 with two poor travelling showmen — and in time 
 discovered the men themselves — and in time the 
 actual place of their retreat ; even then we were 
 too late. Pray God we are not too late again ! " 
 
 " We cannot be," said Mr. Garland. " This 
 time we must succeed." 
 
 " I have believed and hoped so," returned 
 the other. " I try to believe and hope so still. 
 But a heavy weight has fallen on my spirits, my 
 good friend, and the sadness that gathers over 
 me will yield to neither hope nor reason." 
 
 " That does not surprise me," said Mr. Gar- 
 land ; " it is a natural consequence of the events 
 you have recalled; of this dreary time and 
 place; and, above all, of this wild and dismal 
 night. A dismal night indeed ! Hark ! how 
 the wind is howling !" 
 
 CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 I AY broke, and found them still upon 
 their way. Since leaving home, 
 they had halted here and there for 
 necessary refreshment, and had fre- 
 quently been delayed, especially in 
 night-time, by waiting for fresh 
 horses. They had made no other stop- 
 pages, but the weather continued rough, 
 and the roads were often steep and heavy. It 
 would be night again before they reached their 
 place of destination. 
 
 Kit, all bluff and hardened with the cold, went 
 on manfully; and, having enough to do to keep' 
 his blood circulating, to picture to himself the 
 happy end of this adventurous journey, and to 
 look about him and be amazed at everything. 
 
26o 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 had little spare time for thinking of discomforts. 
 Though his impatience, and that of his fellow- 
 travellers, rapidly increased as the day waned, 
 the hours did not stand still. The short day- 
 light of winter soon faded away, and it was 
 dark again when they had yet many miles to 
 travel. 
 
 As it grew dusk, the wind fell ; its distant 
 moanings were more low and mournful ; and, as 
 it came creeping up the road, and rattling 
 covertly among the dry brambles on either 
 hand, it seemed like some great phantom for 
 whom the way was narrow, whose garments 
 rustled as it stalked along. By degrees it lulled 
 and died away, and then it came on to snow. 
 
 The flakes fell fast and thick, soon covering 
 the ground some inches deep, and spreading 
 abroad a solemn stillness. The rolling wheels 
 were noiseless, and the sharp ring and clatter of 
 the horses' hoofs became a dull, muffled tramp. 
 The life of their progress seemed to be slowly 
 hushed, and something death-hke to usurp its 
 place. 
 
 Shading his eyes from the falling snow, which 
 froze upon their lashes, and obscured his sight, 
 Kit often tried to catch the earliest glimpse of 
 twinkling hglits denoting their approach to some 
 not distant town. He could descry objects 
 enough at such times, but none correctly. Now, 
 a tall church spire appeared in view, which pre- 
 sently became a tree, a barn, a shadow on the 
 ground, thrown on it by their own bright lamps. 
 Now, there were horsemen, foot-passengers, 
 carriages going on before, or meeting them in 
 narrow ways ; which, when they were close upon 
 them, turned to shadows too. A wall, a ruin, a 
 sturdy gable-end, would rise up in the road; 
 and, when they were plunging headlong at it, 
 would be the road itself. Strange turnings, too, 
 bridges, and sheets of water, appeared to start 
 up here and there, making the way doubtful and 
 uncertain ; and yet they were on the same bare 
 road, and these things, Hke the others, as they 
 were passed, turned into dim illusions. 
 
 He descended slowly from his seat — for his 
 limbs were numbed — when they arrived at a lone 
 posting-house, and inquired how far they had to 
 go to reach their journey's end. It was a late 
 hour in such by-places, and the people were 
 abed ; but a voice answered from an upper 
 window, Ten miles. The ten minutes that 
 ensued appeared an hour; but, at the end of 
 that time, a shivering figure led out the horses 
 they required, and, after another brief delay, 
 they were again in motion. 
 
 It was a cross-country road, full, after the first 
 three or four miles, of holes and cart-ruts, which. 
 
 being covered by the snow, were so many pit- 
 falls to the trembling horses, and obliged them 
 to keep a foot-pace. As it was next to impos- 
 sible for men so much agitated as they were by 
 this time to sit still and move so slowly, all three 
 got out and plodded on behind the carriage. 
 The distance seemed interminable, and the walk 
 was most laborious. As each was thinking 
 within himself that the driver must have lost his 
 way, a church bell, close at hand, struck the 
 hour of midnight, and the carriage stopped. It 
 had moved softly enough, but, when it ceased to 
 crunch the snow, the silence was as startling as 
 if some great noise had been replaced by perfect 
 stillness. 
 
 " This is the place, gentlemen," said the 
 driver, dismounting from his horse, and knock- 
 ing at the door of a little inn. " Halloa ! Past 
 twelve o'clock is the dead of night here." 
 
 The knocking was loud and long, but it failed 
 to rouse the drowsy inmates. All continued 
 dark and silent as before. They fell back a 
 little, and looked up at the windows, which were 
 mere black patches in the whitened house-front. 
 No light appeared. The house might have been 
 deserted, or the sleepers dead, for any air of life 
 it had about it. 
 
 They spoke together, with a strange incon- 
 sistency, in whispers ; unwilling to disturb again, 
 the dreary echoes they had just now raised. 
 
 " Let us go on," said the younger brother, 
 *'' and leave this good fellow to wake them, if he 
 can. I cannot rest until I know that we are 
 not too late. Let us go on, in the name of 
 Heaven ! " 
 
 They did so, leaving the postillion to order 
 such accommodation as the house afforded, and 
 to renew his knocking. Kit accompanied them 
 with a little bundle, which he had hung in the 
 carriage when they left home, and had not for- 
 gotten since — the bird in his old cage — ^just as 
 she had left him. She would be glad to see her 
 bird, he knew. 
 
 The road wound gently downward. As they 
 proceeded, they lost sight of the church whose 
 clock they had heard, and of the small village 
 clustering round it. The knocking, which was 
 now renewed, and which in that stillness they 
 could plainly hear, troubled them. They wished 
 the man would forbear, or that they had told 
 him not to break the silence until they returned. 
 
 The old church tower, clad in a ghostly garb 
 of pure cold white, again rose up before them, 
 and a few moments brought them close beside 
 it. A venerable building — grey, even in the 
 midst of the hoary landscape. An ancient sun- 
 dial on the belfry wall was nearly hidden by the 
 
NEAR THE JOURNEY'S END. 
 
 261 
 
 snow-drift, and scarcely to be known for what it 
 was. Time itself seemed to have grown dull 
 and old, as if no day were ever to displace the 
 melancholy night, 
 
 A wicket-gate was close at hand, but there 
 was more than one path across the churchyard 
 to which it led, and, uncertain which to take, 
 they came to a stand again. 
 
 The village street — if street that could be 
 called which was an irregular cluster of poor 
 cottages of many heights and ages, some with 
 their fronts, some with their backs, and some 
 with gable-ends towards the road, with here and 
 there a sign-post, or a shed encroaching on the 
 path — was close at hand. There was a faint 
 light in a chamber window not far off, and Kit 
 ran towards that house to ask their way. 
 
 His first shout was answered by an old man 
 within, who presently appeared at the casement, 
 wrapping some garment round his throat as a 
 protection from the cold, and demanded who 
 was abroad at that unseasonable hour wanting 
 him. 
 
 '"Tis hard weather this," he grumbled, "and 
 not a night to .call me up in. My trade is not 
 of that kind that I need be roused from bed. 
 The business on which folks want me .will keep 
 cold, especially at this season. What do you 
 want?" 
 
 " I would not have roused you if I had known 
 you were old and ill," said Kit. 
 
 " Old ! " repeated the other peevishfy. '• How 
 do you know I am old? Not so old as you 
 think, friend, perhaps. As to being ill, you will 
 find many young people in worse case than I 
 am. More's the pity that it should be so — not 
 that I should be strong and hearty for my years, 
 I mean, but that they should be weak and 
 tender. I ask your pardon, though," said the 
 old man, " if I spoke rather rough at first. My 
 eyes are not good at night — that's neither age 
 nor illness ; they never were — and I didn't see 
 you were a stranger." 
 
 " I am sorry to call you from your bed," said 
 Kit, " but those gentlemen you may see by the 
 churchyard gate are strangers too, who have 
 just arrived from a long journey, and seek the 
 parsonage-house. You can direct us ? " 
 
 " I should be able to," answered the old 
 man in a trembling voice, " for, come next 
 summer, I have been sexton here good fifty 
 years. The right-hand path, friend, is the road. 
 — There is no ill news for our good gentleman, 
 I hope?" 
 
 Kit thanked him, and made him a hasty 
 answer in the negative. He was turning back, 
 when his attention was caught by the voice of 
 
 a child. Looking up, he saw a very little crea- 
 ture at a neighbouring window. 
 
 " What is that ? " cried the child earnestly. 
 " Has my dream come true ? Pray speak ta 
 me, whoever that is awake and up." 
 
 " Poor boy ! " said the sexton, before Kit 
 could answer, " how goes it, darling ? " 
 
 " Has my dream come true ? " exclaimed the 
 child again, in a voice so fervent that it might 
 have thrilled to the heart of any listener. " But 
 no, that can never be ! How could it be ? Oh ! 
 how could it ? " 
 
 " I guess his meaning," said the sexton. " Ta 
 bed again, poor boy ! " 
 
 " Ay ! " cried the child in a burst of despair. 
 " I knew it could never be ; I felt too sure of 
 that, before I asked ! But, all to-night, and. 
 last night too, it was the same. I never fall 
 asleep but that cruel dream comes back." 
 
 " Try to sleep again," said the old man sooth- 
 ingly. " It will go in time." 
 
 " No, no, I would rather that it stayed — cruel 
 as it is, I would rather that it stayed," rejoined 
 the child. " I am not afraid to have it in my 
 sleep, but I am so sad — so very, very sad." 
 
 The old man blessed him, the child in tears 
 replied Good night, and Kit was again alone. 
 
 He hurried back, moved by what he had 
 heard, though more by the child's manner than 
 by anything he had said, as his meaning was 
 hidden from him. They took the path indicated 
 by the sexton, and soon arrived before the 
 parsonage wall. Turning round to look about 
 them when they had got thus far, they saw, 
 among some ruined buildings at a distance, one 
 single solitary light. 
 
 It shone from what appeared to be an old 
 oriel window, and being surrounded by the deep 
 shadows of overhanging walls, sparkled -. like a. 
 star. Bright and glimmering as the stars above 
 their heads, lonely and motionless as they, it 
 seemed to claim some kindred with the eternal 
 lamps of Heaven, and to burn in fellowship with 
 them. 
 
 "What light is that?" said the younger 
 brother. 
 
 " It is surely," said Mr. Garland, " in the 
 ruin where they live. I see no other ruin 
 hereabouts." 
 
 " They cannot," returned the brother hastily,. 
 " be waking at this late hour " 
 
 Kit interposed directly, and begged that, while 
 they rang and waited at the gate, they would 
 let him make his way to where this light was 
 shining, and try to ascertain if any people were 
 about. Obtaining the permission he desired, 
 he darted off with breathless eagerness, and, 
 
262 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. ■ 
 
 still carrying the bird-cage in his hand, iflade 
 straight towards the spot. 
 
 It was not easy to hold that pace among the 
 graves, and at another time he might have gone 
 more slowly, or round by the path. Unmindful 
 of all obstacles, however, he pressed forward 
 without slackening his speed, and soon arrived 
 within a few yards of the window. 
 
 He approached as softly as he could, and, 
 advancing so near the wall as to brush the 
 whitened ivy with his dress, hstened. There 
 was no sound inside. The church itself was 
 not more quiet. Touching the glass with his 
 ■cheek, he listened again. No. And yet there 
 was such a silence all around that he felt sure 
 he could have heard even the breathing of a 
 sleeper, if there had been one there. 
 
 A strange circumstance, a light in such a 
 place at that time of night, with no one near it. 
 
 A curtain was drawn across the lower portion 
 of the window, and he could not see into the 
 room. But there was no shadow thrown upon 
 it from within. To have gained a footing on 
 the wall, and tried to look in from above, would 
 have been attended with some danger — certainly 
 with some noise, and the chance of terrifying 
 the child, if that really were her habitation. 
 Again and again he listened ; again and again 
 the same wearisome blank. 
 
 Leaving the spot with slow and cautious steps, 
 and skirting the ruin for a few paces, he came 
 at length to a door. He knocked. No answer. 
 But there was a curious noise inside. It was 
 difficult to determine what it was. It bore a 
 resemblance to the low moaning of one in pain, 
 but it was not that, being far too regular and 
 constant. Now it seemed a kind of song, now 
 a wail — seemed, that is, to his changing fancy, 
 for the sound itself was never changed or 
 checked. It was unlike anything he had ever 
 heard; and in its tone there was something 
 fearful, chilling, and unearthly. 
 
 The hstener's blood ran colder now than ever 
 it had done in frost and snow, but he knocked 
 again. There was no answer, and the sound 
 went on without any interruption. He laid his 
 hand softly upon the latch, and put his knee 
 against the door. It was secured on the inside, 
 but yielded to the pressure, and turned upon 
 its hinges. He saw the glimmering of a fire 
 upon the old walls, and entered. 
 
 . CHAPTER LXXI. 
 
 HE dull, red glow of a wood fire — 
 for no lamp or candle burnt within 
 the room — showed him a figure, 
 seated on the hearth with its back 
 towards him, bending over the fitful 
 light. The attitude was that of one who 
 sought the heat. It was, and yet was 
 not. The stooping posture and the 
 cowering form were there, but no hands were 
 stretched out to meet the grateful warmth, no 
 shrug or shiver compared its luxury with the 
 piercing cold outside. With limbs huddled 
 together, head bowed down, arms crossed upon 
 the breast, and fingers tightly clenched, it rocked 
 to and fro upon its seat without a moment's 
 pause, accompanying the action with the mourn- 
 ful sound he had heard. 
 
 The heavy door had closed behind him, on 
 his entrance, with a crash that made him start. 
 The figure neither spoke, nor turned to look, 
 nor gave in any other way the faintest sign of 
 having heard the noise. The form was that of 
 an old man, his white head akin in colour to the 
 mouldering embers upon which he gazed. He, 
 and the failing light and dying fire, the time- 
 worn room, the solitude, the wasted life, and 
 gloom, were all in fellowship. Ashes, and dust, 
 and ruin ! 
 
 Kit tried, to speak, and did pronounce some 
 words, though what they were he scarcely knew. 
 Still the same terrible low cry went on — still the 
 same rocking in the chair — the same stricken 
 figure was there, unchanged and heedless of his 
 presence. 
 
 He had his hand upon the latch, when some- 
 thing in the form — distinctly seen as one log 
 broke and fell, and, as it fell, blazed up — arrested 
 it. He returned to where he had stood before 
 — advanced a pace — another — another still. 
 Another, and he saw the face. Yes ! Changed 
 as it was, he knew it well. 
 
 " Master ! " he cried, stooping on one knee 
 and catching at his hand. " Dear master ! 
 Speak to me ! " 
 
 The old man turned slowly towards him; and 
 muttered in a hollow voice : 
 
 " This is another ! — How many of these spirits 
 there have been to-night ! " 
 
 " No spirit, master. No one but your old 
 servant. You know me now, I am sure ? Miss 
 Nell — where is she — where is she?" 
 
 " They all say that ! " cried the old man. 
 " They all ask the same question. A spirit ! " 
 
 " Where is she ? " demanded Kit. " Oh, tell 
 me but that — but that, dear master ! " 
 
THE JOURNEY'S END.\ 
 
 2G3 
 
 ** She is asleep — yonder — in there." 
 
 " Thank God ! " 
 
 " Ay ! Thank God ! " returned the old man. 
 " I have prayed to Him many, and many, and 
 many a livelong night, when she has been 
 asleep. He knows. Hark ! Did she call?" 
 
 " I heard no voice." 
 
 " You did. You hear her now. Do you tell 
 ine that you don't hear that 1 " 
 
 He started up, and listened again. 
 
 " Nor that ? " he cried with a triumphant 
 smile. " Can anybody know that voice so well 
 as I ? Hush ! hush ! " 
 
 Motioning to him to be silent, he stole away 
 into another chamber. After a short absence 
 (during which he could be heard to speak in a 
 softened soothing tone) he returned, bearing in 
 his hand a lamp. 
 
 " She is still asleep," he whispered. " You 
 were right. She did not call — unless she did so 
 in her slumber. She has called to me in her 
 sleep before now, sir ; as I have sat by watching, 
 I have seen her lips move, and have known, 
 though no sound came from them, that she 
 spoke of me. I feared the light might dazzle 
 her eyes and wake her, so I brought it here." 
 
 He spoke rather to himself than to the visitor, 
 but, when he had put the lamp upon the table, 
 he took it up, as if impelled by some momentary 
 recollection or curiosity, and held it near his 
 face. Then, as if forgetting his motive in the 
 very action, he turned away, and put it down 
 again. 
 
 " She is sleeping soundly," he said ; " but no 
 wonder. Angel hands have strewn the ground 
 deep with snow, that the lightest footstep may 
 be lighter yet; and the very birds are dead, 
 that they may not wake her. She used to feed 
 them, sir. Though never so cold and hungry, 
 the timid things would fly from us. They never 
 flew from her ! " 
 
 Again he stopped to listen, and scarcely 
 drawing breath, Hstened for a long, long time. 
 That fancy past, he opened an old chest, took 
 out some clothes as fondly as if they had been 
 living things, and began to smooth and brush 
 them with his hand. 
 
 " Why dost thou lie so idle there, dear Nell," 
 he murmured, " when there are bright red berries 
 out of doors waiting for thee to pluck them ? 
 Why dost thou He so idle there, when thy little 
 friends come creeping to the door, crying, 
 'Where is Nell — sweet Nell?' — and sob and 
 weep because they do not see thee ? She was 
 always gentle with children. The wildest would 
 do her bidding — she had a tender way with 
 them, indeed she had ! " 
 
 Kit had no power to speak. His eyes were 
 filled with tears. 
 
 '' Her little homely dress, — her favourite ! " 
 cried the old man, pressing it to his breast, and 
 patting it with his shrivelled hand. " She will 
 miss it when she wakes. They have hid it here 
 in sport, but she shall have it — she shall have 
 it. I would not vex my darling for the wide 
 world's riches. See here — these shoes — how 
 worn they are ! — she kept them to remind her 
 of our last long journey. You see where the 
 little feet went bare upon the ground. They 
 told me afterwards that the stones had cut and 
 bruised them. She never told me that. No, 
 no^ God bless her ! and,. I have remembered 
 since, she walked behind me, sir, that I might 
 not see how lame she was — but yet she had my 
 hand in hers, and seemed to lead me still." 
 
 He pressed them to his lips, and, having care- 
 fully put them back again, went on communing 
 with himself — looking wistfully from time to 
 time towards the chamber he had lately visited. 
 
 " She was not wont to be a lie-abed ; but she 
 was well then. We must have patience. When 
 she is well again, she will rise early as she used 
 to do, and ramble abroad in the healthy morn- 
 ing-time. I often tried to track the way she 
 had gone, but her small footstep left no print 
 upon the dewy ground to guide me. — Who is 
 that ? Shut the door. Quick ! Have we not 
 enough to do to drive away that marble cold, 
 and keep her warm ? " 
 
 The door was indeed opened for the entrance 
 of Mr. Garland and his friend, accompanied by 
 two other persons. These were the school- 
 master and the bachelor. The former held a 
 light in his hand. He had, it seemed, but gone 
 to his own cottage to replenish the exhausted 
 lamp, at the moment when Kit came up and 
 found the old man alone. ■'; .!•■. 
 
 He softened again at sight of these two 
 friends, and, laying aside the angry manner — 
 if to anything so feeble and so sad the term can 
 be applied — in which he had spoken when the 
 door opened, resumed his former seat, and sub- 
 sided, by little and little, into the old action, 
 and the old, dull, wandering sound. 
 
 Of the strangers he took no heed whatever. 
 He had seen them, but appeared quite incapable 
 of interest or curiosity. The younger brother 
 stood apart. The bachelor drew a chair towards 
 the old man, and sat down close beside him. 
 After a long silence, he ventured to speak. 
 
 "Another night, and not in bed! "he said 
 softly. " I hoped you would be more mindful 
 of your promise to me. Why do you not take 
 some rest ? " 
 
264 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 " Sleep has left me," returned the old man. 
 " It is all with her ! " 
 
 " It would pain her very much to know that 
 you were watching thus," said the bachelor. 
 " You would not give her pain ? " 
 
 " I am not so sure of that, if it would only 
 rouse her. She has slept so very long. And 
 yet I am rash to say so. It is a good and happy 
 sleep — eh ? " 
 
 " Indeed it is," returned the bachelor. " In- 
 deed, indeed it is ! " 
 
 " That's well !— and the waking " faltered 
 
 the old man. 
 
 " Happy too. Happier than tongue can tell, 
 or heart of man conceive." 
 
 They watched him as he rose and stole on 
 tiptoe to the other chamber, where the lamp 
 had been replaced. They listened as he spoke 
 again within its silent walls. They looked into 
 the faces of each other, and no man's cheek was 
 free from tears. He came back, whispering that 
 she was still asleep, but that he thought she had 
 
 master!" he cried, stooping on one knee and catching at his hand. 
 
 speak to me ! " 
 
 " DEAR master; 
 
 moved. It was her hand, he said — a little — a 
 very, very little — but he was pretty sure she had 
 moved it — perhaps in seeking his. He had 
 known her do that, before now, though in the 
 deepest sleep the while. And, when he had 
 said this, he dropped into his chair again, and, 
 clasping his hands above his head, uttered a cry 
 never to be forgotten. 
 
 The poor schoolmaster motioned to the 
 bachelor that he would come on the other 
 side, and speak to him. They gently unlocked 
 his fingers, which he had twisted in his grey 
 hair, and pressed them in their own. 
 
 '•' He will hear me," said the schoolmaster, " I 
 am sure. He will hear either me or you if we 
 beseech him. She would at all times." 
 
 " I will hear any voice she liked to hear," 
 cried the old man. " I love all she loved ! " 
 
 " I know you do," returned the schoolmaster. 
 " I am certain of it. Think of her ; think of all 
 the sorrows and afflictions you have shared 
 together \ of all the trials, and all the peaceful 
 pleasures, you have jointly known." 
 
 " I do. I do. I think of nothing else." 
 
 " I would have you think of nothing else to- 
 night — of nothing but those things which will 
 
HER DESOLATE GRANDFATHER. 
 
 265 
 
 soften your heart, dear friend, and open it to 
 old affections and old times. It is so that she 
 would speak to you herself, and in her name it 
 is that I speak now." 
 
 " You do well to speak softly," said the old 
 man. " We will not wake her. I should be 
 glad to see her eyes again, and to see her smile. 
 There is a smile upon her young face now, but 
 it is fixed and changeless. I would have it come 
 and go. That shall be in Heaven's good time. 
 We will not Avake her." 
 
 " Let us not talk of her in her sleep, but as 
 she used to be when you were journeying toge- 
 ther, far away — as she was at home, in the old 
 house from which you fled together — as she was 
 in the old cheerful time," said the schoolma^er. 
 
 "She was always cheerful — very cheerful," 
 cried the old man, looking steadfal^tly at him. 
 "There was ever something mild and quiet 
 about her, I remember, from the first ; but she 
 was of a happy nature." 
 
 "We have heard you say," pursued the 
 schoolmaster, " that in this, and in all good- 
 ness, she was like her mother. You can think 
 of and remember her ? " 
 
 He maintained his steadfast look, but gave 
 no answer. 
 
 " Or even one before her," said the bachelor. 
 "It is many years ago, and affliction makes the 
 time longer, but you have not forgotten her 
 whose death contributed to make this child so 
 dear to you, even before you knew her worth or 
 could read her heart? Say, that you could 
 carry back your thoughts to very distant days 
 — to the time of your early life — when, unlike 
 this fair flower, you did not pass your youth 
 alone. Say, that you could remember, long 
 ago, another child who loved you dearly, you 
 being but a child yourself. Say, that you had a 
 brother, long forgotten, long unseen, long sepa- 
 rated from you, who now, at last, in your 
 utmost need came back to comfort and con- 
 sole you " 
 
 " To be to you what you were once to him," 
 cried the younger, falling on his knee before him ; 
 " to repay your old affection, brother dear, by 
 constant care, solicitude,, and love ; to be, at 
 your right hand, what he has never ceased to be 
 when oceans rolled between us ; to call to wit- 
 ness his unchanging truth and mindfulness of 
 bygone days, whole years of desolation. Give 
 me but one word of recognition, brother — and 
 never — no, never, in the brightest moment of 
 our youngest days, when, poor silly boys, we 
 thought to pass our lives together — have we 
 beeft half as dear and precious to each other as 
 we shall be from this time hence ! " 
 
 The old man looked from face to face, and 
 his lips moved ; but no sound came from them 
 in reply. 
 
 " If we were knit together then," pursued the 
 younger brother, " what will be the bond be- 
 tween us now ! Our love and fellowship began 
 in childhood, when life was all before us, and 
 will be resumed when we have proved it, and 
 are but children at the last. As many restless 
 spirits, who have hunted fortune, fame, or plea- 
 sure through the world, retire in their decline to 
 where they first drew breath, vainly seeking to 
 be children once again before they die, so we, 
 less fortunate than they in early life, but happier 
 in its closing scenes, will set up our rest again 
 among our boyish haunts, and going home with 
 no hope realised, that had its growth in man- 
 hood — carrying back nothing that we brouglit 
 away, but our old yearnings to each other — 
 saving no fragment from the wreck of life, but 
 tltat which first endeared it — may be indeed but 
 children as at first. And even," he added in an 
 altered voice, "even if what I dread to name 
 has come to pass — even if that be so, or is to 
 be (which Heaven forbid and spare us !) — still, 
 dear brother, we are not apart, and have that 
 comfort in our great afiiiction." 
 
 By little and little the old man had drawn 
 back towards the inner chamber while these 
 words were spoken. He pointed there, as he 
 replied, with trembling lips : 
 
 " You plot among you to wean my heart from 
 her. You never will do that — never while I 
 have life. I have no relative or friend but her 
 — I never had — I never will have. She is all 
 in all to me. It is too late to part us now." 
 
 Waving them off with his hand, and calling 
 softly to her as he went, he stole into the room. 
 They who were left behind drew close together, 
 and after a few whispered words — not unbroken 
 by emotion, or easily uttered — followed him. 
 They moved so gently, that their footsteps 
 made no noise; but there were sobs from 
 among the group, and sounds of grief and 
 mourning. 
 
 For she was dead. There, upon her little 
 bed, she lay at rest. The solemn stillness was 
 no marvel now. 
 
 She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and 
 calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to 
 look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from 
 the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of 
 life ; not one who had lived and suffered death. 
 
 Her couch Avas dressed with here and there 
 some winter berries and green leaves, gathered 
 in a spot she had been used to favour. " When 
 I die, put near me something that has loved the 
 
266 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 light, and had the sky above it always." Those 
 were her words. 
 
 She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble 
 Nell was dead. Her little bird — a poor slight 
 thing the pressure of a finger would have 
 crushed — was stirring nimbly in its cage \ and 
 the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute 
 and motionless for ever. 
 
 Where were the traces of her early cares, her 
 sufferings, and fatigues? All gone. Sorrow 
 was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect 
 happiness were born ; imaged in her tranquil 
 beauty and profound repose. 
 
 And still her former self lay there, unaltered 
 in this change. Yes. The old fireside had 
 smiled upon that same sweet face ; it had 
 passed, like a dream, through haunts of misery 
 and care ; at the door of the poor schoolmaster 
 on the summer evening, before the furnace fire 
 upon the cold wet night, at the still bedside of 
 the dying boy, there had been the same mild 
 lovely look. So shall we know the angels in 
 their majesty, after death. 
 
 The old man held one languid arm in his, 
 and had the small hand tight folded to his 
 breast for warmth. It was the hand she had 
 stretched out to him with her last smile — the 
 hand that had led him on through all their 
 wanderings. Ever and anon he pressed it to 
 his lips ; then hugged it to his breast again, 
 murmuring that it was warmer now ; and, as 
 he said it, he looked, in agony, to those who 
 stood around, as if imploring them to help 
 her. 
 
 She was dead, and past all help, or need of 
 it. The ancient rooms she had seemed to fill 
 with life, even while her own was waning fast — 
 the garden she had tended — the eyes she had 
 gladdened — the noiseless haunts of many a 
 thoughtful hour — the paths she had trodden 
 as it were but yesterday — could know her never 
 more. 
 
 " It is not," said the schoolmaster as he bent 
 down to kiss her on the cheek, and gave his 
 tears free vent, " it is not on earth that Heaven's 
 justice ends. Think what earth is, compared 
 with the world to which her young spirit has 
 winged its early flight ; and say, if one delibe- 
 rate wish expressed in solemn terms above this 
 bed could call her back to life, which of us 
 would utter it?" 
 
 CHAPTER LXXII. 
 
 JHEN morning came, and they 
 could speak more calmly on the 
 subject of their grief, they heard 
 how her life had closed. 
 
 She had been dead two days. 
 They were all about her at the 
 , knowing that the end was drawing 
 She died soon after daybreak. They 
 had read and talked to her in the earher 
 portion of the night, but, as the hours crept on, 
 she sunk to sleep. They could tell, by what 
 she faintly uttered in her dreams, that they were 
 of her joumeyings with the old man ; they were 
 of no painful scenes, but of people who had 
 helped and used them kindly, for she often 
 said " God' bless you ! " with great fervour. 
 Waking, she never wandered in her mind but 
 once, and that was of beautiful music which she 
 said was in the air. God knows. It may have 
 been. 
 
 Opening her eyes at last from a very quiet 
 sleep, she begged that they would kiss her once 
 again. That done, she turned to the old man 
 with a lovely smile upon her face — such, they 
 said, as they had never seen, and never could 
 forget — and clung with both her arms about his 
 neck. They did not know that she was dead at 
 first. 
 
 She had spoken very often of the two sisters, 
 who, she said, were like dear friends to her. 
 She wished they could be told how much she 
 thought about them, and how she had watched 
 them as they walked together by the river-side 
 at night. She would like to see poor Kit, she 
 had often said of late. She wished there was 
 somebody to take her love to Kit. And, even 
 then, she never thought or spoke about him 
 but with something of her old, clear, merry 
 laugh. 
 
 For the rest, she had never murmured or 
 complained ; but, with a quiet mind, and manner 
 quite unaltered, save that she every day became 
 more earnest and more grateful to them — 'faded 
 like the light upon a summer's evening. 
 
 The child who had been her little friend 
 came there, almost as soon as it was day, with 
 an offering of dried flowers which he begged 
 them to lay upon her breast. It was he who 
 had come to the window overnight and spoken 
 to the sexton, and they saw in the snow traces 
 of small feet, where he had been lingering near 
 the room in which she lay, before he went to 
 bed. He had a fancy, it seemed, that they had 
 left her there alone; and could not bear the 
 thought. 
 
HER BURIAL. 
 
 >67 
 
 He told them of his dream again, and that it 
 was of her being restored to them, just as she 
 used to be. He begged hard to see her, saying 
 that he would be very quiet, and that they need 
 not fear his being alarmed, for he had sat alone 
 by his young brother all day long, when he was 
 dead, and had felt glad to be so near him. 
 They let him have his wish ; and indeed he 
 kept his word, and was, in his childish way, a 
 lesson to them all. 
 
 Up to that time, the old man had not spoken 
 once — except to her — or stirred from the bed- 
 side. But, when he saw her little favourite, he 
 was moved as they had not seen him yet, and 
 made as though he would have him come nearer. 
 Then, pointing to the bed, he burst in^o tears 
 for the first time, and they who stood by, know- 
 ing that the sight of this child had done him 
 good, left them alone together. 
 
 Soothing him with his artless talk of her, the 
 child persuaded him to take some rest, to walk 
 abroad, to do almost as he desired him. And 
 when the day came on, which must remove her 
 in her earthly shape from earthly eyes for ever, 
 he led him away, that he might not know when 
 she was taken from him. 
 
 They were to gather fresh leaves and berries 
 for her bed. It was Sunday — a bright, clear, 
 wintry afternoon — and, as they traversed the 
 village street, those who were walking in their 
 path drew back to make way for them, and 
 gave them a softened greeting. Some shook 
 the old man kindly by the hand, some stood 
 uncovered while he tottered by, and many cried 
 " God help him ! " as he passed along. 
 
 " Neighbour !" said the old man, stopping at 
 the cottage where his young guide's mother 
 dwelt, " how is it that the folks are nearly all 
 in black to-day? I have seen a mourning 
 ribbon or a piece of crape on almost every 
 one." 
 
 She could not tell, the woman said. 
 
 " Why, you yourself — you wear the colour 
 too ! " he said. " Windows are closed that 
 never used to be by day. What does this 
 mean ? " 
 
 Again the woman said she could not tell. 
 
 " We must go back," said the old man hur- 
 riedly. " We must see what this is." 
 
 '• No, no," cried the child, detaining him. 
 " Remember what you promised. Our way is to 
 the old green lane, where she and I so often 
 were, and where you found us, more than once, 
 making those garlands for her garden. Do not 
 turn back ! " 
 
 " Where is she now ? " said the old man. 
 "Tell me that." 
 
 "Do you not know?" returned the child. 
 " Did we not leave her but just now ? " 
 
 "True. True. It was her we left — was 
 it ? " 
 
 He pressed his hand upon his brow, looked 
 vacantly round, and, as if impelled by a sudden 
 thought, crossed the road, and entered the 
 sexton's house. He and his deaf assistant were 
 sitting before the fire. Both rose up on seeing 
 who it was. 
 
 The child made a hasty sign to them with 
 his hand. It was the action of an instant, 
 but that, and the old man's look, were quite 
 enough. 
 
 "Do you — do you bury any one to-day?" he 
 said eagerly. 
 
 "No, no! Who should we bury, sir?" re- 
 turned the sexton. 
 
 "Ay, who indeed? I say with you, who 
 indeed?" 
 
 " It is a holiday with us, good sir," returned 
 the sexton mildly. " We have no work to do 
 to-day." 
 
 " Why, then, I'll go where you will," said the 
 old man, turning to the child. " You're sure of 
 what you tell me ? You would not deceive me ? 
 I am changed, even in the little time since you 
 last saw me." 
 
 "Go thy ways with him, sir," cried the sexton, 
 " and Heaven be with ye both ! " 
 
 " I am quite ready," said the old man meekly. 
 " Come, boy, come," and so submitted to be led 
 away. 
 
 And now the bell — the bell she had so often 
 heard by night and day, and listened to with 
 solemn pleasure almost as a living voice — rung 
 its remorseless toll for her, so young, so beau- 
 tiful, so good. Decrepit age, and vigorous life^ 
 and blooming youth, and helpless infancy 
 poured forth — on crutches, in the pride of 
 strength and health, in the full blush of promise, 
 in the mere dawn of life — to gather round her 
 tomb. Old men were there, whose eyes were 
 dim and senses failing — grandmothers, who 
 might have died ten years ago, and still been 
 old — the deaf, the blind, the lame, the palsied, 
 the living dead in many shapes and forms, to see 
 the closing of that early grave. What was the 
 death it would shut in, to that which still could 
 crawl and creep above it ? 
 
 Along the crowded path they bore her now ; 
 pure as the newly-fallen snow that covered it ; 
 whose day on earth had been as fleeting. Under 
 the porch, where she had sat when Heaven in 
 its mercy brought her to that peaceful spot, she 
 passed again ; and the old church received her 
 in its quiet shade. 
 
268 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 They carried her to one old nook, where she 
 had many and many a time sat musing, and 
 laid their burden softly on the pavement. The 
 light streamed on it through the coloured win- 
 dow — a window where the boughs of trees were 
 ever rustling in the summer, and where the 
 birds sang sweetly all day long. With every 
 breath of air that stirred among those branches 
 in the sunshine, some trembling, changing light 
 would fall upon her grave. 
 
 Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust ! 
 Many a young hand dropped in its little wreath, 
 many a stifled sob was heard. Some — and they 
 were not a few — knelt down. All were sincere 
 and truthful in their sorrow. 
 ■ The service done, the mourners stood apart, 
 and the villagers closed round to look into the 
 grave before the pavement stone should be re- 
 placed. One called to mind how he had seen 
 her sitting on that very spot, and how her book 
 had fallen on her lap, and she was gazing with a 
 pensive face upon the sky. Anotiher told how 
 he had wondered much that one so delicate as 
 she should be so bold ; how she had never feared 
 to enter the church alone at night, but had loved 
 to linger there when all was quiet, and even to 
 climb the tower stair, with no more light than 
 that of the moon rays steahng through the loop- 
 holes in the thick old wall. A whisper went 
 about among the oldest, that she had seen and 
 talked with angels; and when they called to 
 mind how she had looked and spoken, and her 
 early death, some thought it might be so indeed. 
 Thus, coming to the grave in little knots, and 
 glancing down, and giving place to others, and 
 falling off in whispering groups of three or four, 
 the church was cleared, in time, of all but the 
 sexton and the mourning friends. 
 
 They saw the vault covered, and the stone 
 fixed down. Then, when the dusk of evening 
 had come on, and not a sound disturbed the 
 ■sacred stillness of the place — when the bright 
 moon poured in her light on tomb and monu- 
 ment, on pillar, wall, and arch, and most of all 
 (it seemed to them) upon her quiet grave — in 
 that calm time, when outward things and inward 
 thoughts teem with assurances of immortality, 
 and worldly hopes and fears are humbled in the 
 dust before them — then, with tranquil and sub- 
 missive hearts, they turned away, and left the 
 child with God. 
 
 Oh ! it is hard to take to heart the lesson that 
 such deaths will teach ; but let no man reject it, 
 for it is one that all must learn, and is a mighty, 
 universal Truth. When Death strikes down the 
 innocent and young, for every fragile form from 
 which he lets the panting spirit free, a hundred 
 
 virtues rise, in shapes of mercy, charity, and 
 love, to walk the world, and bless it. Of every 
 tear that sorrowing mortals shed on such green 
 graves, some good is born, some gentler nature 
 comes. In the Destroyer's steps there spring 
 up bright creations that defy his power, and his 
 dark patli becomes a way of light to Heaven. 
 
 It was late when the old man came home. 
 The boy had led him to his own dwelling, under 
 some pretence, on their way back ; and, ren- 
 dered drowsy by his long ramble and late want 
 of rest, he had sunk into a deep sleep by the 
 fireside. He was perfectly exhausted, and they 
 were careful not to rouse him. The slumber 
 held liirn a long time, and, when he at length 
 awoke, the moon was shining. 
 
 The younger brother, uneasy at his protracted 
 absence, was watching at the door for his coming, 
 when he appeared in the pathway with his little 
 guide. He advanced to meet them, and tenderly 
 obliging the old man to lean upon his arm, 
 conducted him with slow and trembling steps 
 towards the house. 
 
 He repaired to her chamber straight. Not 
 finding what he had left there, he returned with 
 distracted looks to the room in v/hich they were 
 assembled. From that, he rushed into the school- 
 master's cottage, calling her name. They fol- 
 lowed close upon him, and, when he had vainly 
 searched it, brought him home. 
 
 With such persuasive words as pity and affec- 
 tion could suggest, they prevailed upon him to 
 sit among them and hear what they should tell 
 him. Then, endeavouring by every little artifice 
 to prepare his mind for what must come, and 
 dwelling with many fervent words upon the 
 happy lot to which she had been removed, they 
 told him, at last, the truth. The moment it had 
 passed their lips, he fell down among them like 
 a murdered man. 
 
 For many hours they had little hope of his 
 surviving ; but grief is strong, and he recovered. 
 
 If there be any who have never known the 
 blank that follows death — the weary void — the 
 sense of desolation that will come upon the 
 strongest minds, when something familiar and 
 beloved is missed at every turn — the connection 
 between inanimate and senseless things, and the 
 object of recollection, when every household 
 god becomes a monument, and every room a 
 grave — if there be any who have not known 
 this, and proved it by their own experience, they 
 can never faintly guess how, for many days, the 
 old man pined and moped away the time, and 
 wandered here and there as seeking something, 
 and had no comfort. 
 
THEY REST TOGETHER. 
 
 269 
 
 Whatever power of thought or memory he 
 retained was all bound up in her. He never 
 understood, or seemed to care to understand, 
 about his brother. To every endearment and 
 attention he continued listless. If they spoke to 
 him on this or any other theme — save one — he 
 would hear them patiently for awhile, then turn 
 away, and go on seeking as before. 
 
 On that one theme, which was in his and all 
 their minds, it was impossible to touch. Dead ! 
 He could not hear or bear the word. The 
 slightest hint of it would throw him into a 
 paroxysm, like that he had had when it was first 
 spoken. In what hope he lived, no man could 
 tell ; but that he had some hope of finding her 
 again — some faint and shadowy hope, deferred 
 from day to day, and making him from day to 
 day more sick and sore at heart — was plain to all. 
 
 They bethought them of a removal from the 
 scene of this last soitow ; of trying whether 
 change of place would rouse or cheer him. His 
 brother sought the advice of those who were 
 accounted skilful in such matters, and they came 
 and saw him. Some of the number stayed upon 
 the spot, conversed with him when he would 
 converse, and watched him as he wandered up 
 and down, alone and silent. Move him where 
 they might, they said, he would ever seek to get 
 back there. His mind would run upon that spot. 
 If they confined him closely, and kept a strict 
 guard upon him, they might hold him prisoner, 
 but, if he could by any means escape, he would 
 surely wander back to that place, or die upon 
 the road. 
 
 The boy to whom he had submitted at first, 
 had no longer any influence with him. At times 
 he would suffer the child to walk by his side, or 
 would even take such notice of his presence as 
 giving him his hand, or would stop to kiss his 
 cheek, or pat him on the head. At other times 
 he would entreat him — not unkindly — to be 
 gone, and would not brook him near. But, 
 whether alone, or with this pliant friend, or with 
 those who would have given him, at any cost or 
 sacrifice, some consolation or some peace of 
 mind, if happily the means could have been 
 devised, he was at all times the same — with no 
 love or care for anything in life — a broken- 
 hearted man. 
 
 At length, they found, one day, that he had 
 risen early, and, with his knapsack on his back, 
 his staff in hand, her own straw hat, and little 
 basket full of such things as she had been used to 
 carry, was gone. As they were making ready to 
 pursue him far and wide, a frightened school-boy 
 came who had seen him, but a moment before, 
 sitting in the church — upon her grave, he said. 
 The Old Curiosity Shop, 18. 
 
 They hastened there, and, going softly to the 
 door, espied him in the attitude of one who 
 waited patiently. They did not disturb him 
 then, but kept a watch upon him all that day. 
 When it grew quite dark, he rose and returned 
 home, and went to bed, murmuring to himself, 
 " She will come to-morrow ! " 
 
 Upon the morrow he was there again from 
 sunrise until night; and still at night he laid 
 him down to rest, and murmured, " She will 
 come to-morrow ! " 
 
 And thenceforth, every day, and all day long, 
 he waited at her grave for her. How many pic- 
 tures of new journeys over pleasant country, of 
 resting-places under the free broad sky, of 
 rambles in the fields and woods, and paths not 
 often trodden — how many tones of that one well- 
 remembered voice — how many ghmpses of the 
 form, the fluttering dress, the hair that waved so 
 gaily in the wind — how many visions of what had 
 been, and what he hoped was yet to be — rose 
 up before him, in the old, dull, silent church ! 
 He never told them what he thought, or where 
 he went. He would sit with them at night, 
 pondering with a secret satisfaction, they could 
 see, upon the flight that he and she would take 
 before night came again ; and still they would 
 hear him whisper in his prayers, " Lord ! Let 
 her come to-morrow ! " 
 
 The last time was on a genial day in spring. 
 He did not return at the usual hour, and they 
 went to seek him. He was lying dead upon the 
 stone. 
 
 They laid him by the side of her whom he 
 had loved so well ; and, in the church where they 
 had often prayed, and mused, and lingered hand- 
 in-hand, the child and the old man slept together. 
 
 CHAPTER THE LAST. 
 
 HE magic reel, which, rolling on 
 . before, has led the chronicler thus 
 far, now slackens in its pace, and 
 stops. It lies before the goal ; the 
 pursuit is at an end. 
 It remains but to dismiss the leaders of 
 the little crowd who have borne us com- 
 pany upon the road, and so to close the 
 journey. 
 
 Foremost among them, smooth Sampson Brass 
 and Sally, arm-in-arm, claim our polite atten- 
 tion. 
 
 Mr. Sampson, then, being detained, as already 
 has been shown, by the justice upon whom he 
 called, and being so strongly pressed to protract 
 
 266 
 
2TQ 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 L 
 
 liis stay that he could by no means refuse, 
 remained under his protection for a consider- 
 able time, during which the great attention of 
 his entertainer kept him so extremely close, that 
 he was quite lost to society, and never even 
 went abroad for exercise saving into a small 
 paved yard. So well, indeed, was his modest 
 and retiring temper understood by those with 
 whom he had to deal, and so jealous were they 
 of his absence, that they required a kind of 
 friendly bond to be entered into by two sub- 
 stantial housekeepers, in the sum of fifteen 
 hundred pounds apiece, before they would 
 suffer him to quit their hospitable roof — doubt- 
 ing, it appeared, that he would return, if once 
 let loose, on any other terms. Mr. Brass, 
 struck with the humour of this jest, and carry- 
 ing out its spirit to the utmost, sought from his 
 wide connection a pair of friends whose joint 
 possessions fell some halfpence short of fifteen- 
 pence, and proffered them as bail — for that was 
 the merry word agreed upon on both sides. 
 These gentlemen being rejected after twenty- 
 four hours' pleasantry, Mr. Brass consented to 
 remain, and did remain, until a club of choice 
 spirits called a Grand Jury (who were in the 
 joke) summoned him to a trial before twelve 
 other wags for perjury and fraud, who in their 
 turn found him guilty with a most facetious joy 
 — nay, the very populace entered into the whim, 
 and, when Mr. Brass was moving in a hackney 
 coach towards the building where these wags 
 assembled, saluted him with rotten eggs and 
 carcases of kittens, and feigned to wish to tear 
 him into shreds, which greatly increased the 
 comicality of the thing, and made him relish it 
 the more, no doubt. 
 
 To work this sportive vein still further, Mr. 
 Brass, by his counsel, moved in arrest of judg- 
 ment that he had been led to criminate himself, 
 'by assurances of safety and promises of pardon, 
 and claimed the leniency which the law extends 
 to such confiding natures as are thus deluded. 
 After solemn argument, this point (with others 
 of a technical nature, whose humorous extra va-^ 
 gance it would be difficult to exaggerate) was 
 referred to the judges for their decision, Sampson 
 being meantime removed to his former quarters. 
 Finally, some of the points were given in Samp- 
 son's favour, and some against him; and the 
 upshot was, that, instead of being desired to 
 travel for a time in foreign parts, he was per- 
 mitted to grace the mother country under certain 
 insignificant restrictions. 
 
 These were, that he should, for a term of 
 years, reside in a spacious mansion where seve- 
 ral other gentlemen were lodged and boarded 
 
 at the public charge, who went clad in a sober 
 uniform of grey turned up with yellow, had 
 their hair cut extremely short, and chiefly lived 
 on gruel and light soup. It was also required 
 of him that he should partake of their exercise 
 of constantly ascending an endless flight of 
 stairs ; and, lest his legs, unused to such exer- 
 tion, should be weakened by it, that he should 
 wear upon one ankle an amulet or charm of 
 iron. These conditions being arranged, he was 
 removed one evening to his new abode, and 
 enjoyed, in common with nine other gentlemen 
 and two ladies, the privilege of being taken to 
 his place of retirement in one of Royalty's own 
 carriages. 
 
 Over and above these trifling penalties, his 
 name was erased and blotted out from the roll 
 of attorneys ; which erasure has been always 
 held in these latter times to be a great degrada- 
 tion and reproach, and to imply the commission 
 of some amazing villainy — as indeed would 
 seem to be the case, when so many worthless 
 names remain among its better records un- 
 molested. 
 
 Of Sally Brass conflicting rumours went 
 abroad. Some said with confidence that she 
 had gone down to the docks in male attire, 
 and had become a female sailor ; others darkly 
 whispered that she had enlisted as a private in 
 the second regiment of Foot Guards, and had 
 been seen in uniform, and on duty, to wit, 
 leaning on her musket and looking out of a 
 sentry-box in St. James's Park, one evening. 
 There were many such whispers as these in 
 circulation ; but the truth appears to be that, 
 after a lapse of some five years (during which 
 there is no direct evidence of her having been 
 seen at all), two wretched people were more 
 than once observed to crawl at dusk from the 
 inmost recesses of St. Giles's, and to take their 
 way along the streets, with shuffling steps and 
 cowering shivering forms, looking into the roads 
 and kennels as they went in search of refuse 
 food or disregarded offal. These forms were 
 never beheld but in those nights of cold and 
 gloom, when the terrible spectres, who lie at 
 all other times in the obscene hiding-places of 
 London, in archways, dark vaults, and cellars, 
 venture to creep into the streets ; the embodied 
 spirits of Disease, and Vice, and Famine. It 
 was whispered, by those who should have known, 
 that these were Sampson and his sister Sally ; 
 and to this day, it is said, they sometimes 
 pass, on bad nights, in the same loathsome 
 guise, close at the elbow of the shrinking pas- 
 senger. 
 
 The body of Quilp being found — though not 
 
GATHERED THREADS. 
 
 271 
 
 until some days had elapsed — an inquest was 
 held on it near the spot where it had been 
 washed ashore. The general supposition was 
 that he had committed suicide, and, this appear- 
 ing to be favoured by all the circumstances of 
 his death, the verdict was to that effect. He 
 was left to be buried with a stake through his 
 heart in the centre of four lonely roads. 
 
 It was rumoured afterwards that this horrible 
 and barbarous ceremony had been dispensed 
 with, and that the remains had been secretly 
 given up to Tom Scott. But even here opinion 
 was divided ; for some said Tom had dug them 
 up at midnight, and carried them to a place 
 indicated to him by the widow. It is probable 
 that both these stories may have had their 
 origin in the simple fact of Tom's shedding 
 tears upon the inquest — which he certainly did, 
 extraordinary as it may appear. He manifested, 
 besides, a strong desire to assault the jury ; and, 
 being restrained and conducted out of court, 
 darkened its only window by standing on his 
 head upon the sill, until he was dexterously 
 tilted upon his feet again by a cautious beadle. 
 
 Being cast upon the world by his master'^ 
 death, he determined to go through it upon his 
 head and hands, and accordingly began to 
 tumble for his bread. Finding, however, his 
 English birth an insurmountable obstacle to his 
 advancement in this pursuit (notwithstanding 
 that his art was in high repute and favour), he 
 assumed the name of an Italian knage lad with 
 whom he had become acquainted; and after- 
 wards tumbled with extraordinary success, and 
 to overflowing audiences. 
 
 Little Mrs. Quilp never quite forgave herself 
 the one deceit that lay so heavy on her con- 
 science, and never spoke or thought of it but 
 Avith bitter tears. Her husband had no rela- 
 tions, and she was rich. He had made no 
 will, or she would probably have been poor. 
 Having married the first time at her mother's 
 instigation, she consulted in her second choice 
 nobody but herself. It fell upon a smart young 
 fellow enough ; and, as he made it a preliminary 
 condition that Mrs. Jiniwin should be thence- 
 forth an out-pensioner, they lived together after 
 marriage with no more than the average amount 
 of quarrelling, and led a merry life upon the 
 dead dwarfs money. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Garland, and Mr. Abel, went 
 out as usual (except that there was a change 
 in their household, as will bef seen presently), 
 and in due time the latter went into partnership 
 with his friend the notary, on which occasion 
 there was a dinner, and a ball, and great extent 
 of dissipation. Unto this ball there happened 
 
 to be invited the most bashful young lady that 
 was ever seen, with whom Mr. Abel happened 
 to fall in love. How it happened, or how they 
 found it out, or which of them first com- 
 municated the discovery to the other, nobody 
 knows. But, certain it is that in course of time 
 they were married; and equally certain it is 
 that they were the happiest of the happy ; and 
 no less certain it is that they deserved to be so. 
 And it is pleasant to write down that they 
 reared a family ; because any propagation of 
 goodness and benevolence is no small addition 
 to the aristocracy of nature, and no small sub- 
 ject of rejoicing for mankind at large. 
 
 The pony preserved his character for inde- 
 pendence and principle down to the last moment 
 of his life; which was an unusually long one, 
 and caused him to be looked upon, indeed, as 
 the very Old Parr of ponies. He often went to 
 and fro with the little phaeton between Mr. 
 Garland's and his son's, and, as the old people 
 and the young were frequently together, had a 
 stable of his own at the new establishment, into 
 which he would walk of himself with surprising 
 dignity. He condescended to play with the 
 children as they grew old enough to cultivate 
 his friendship, and would run up and down 
 the little paddock with them like a dog; but 
 though he relaxed so far, and allowed them such 
 small freedoms as caresses, or even to look at 
 his shoes or hang on by his tail, he never per- 
 mitted any one among them to mount his back 
 or drive him ; thus showing that even their 
 familiarity must have its limits, and that there 
 were points 'between them far too serious for 
 trifling. 
 
 He was not unsusceptible of warm attach- 
 ments in his later life ; for, when the good 
 bachelor came to live with Mr. Garland upon 
 the clergyman's decease, he conceived a great 
 friendship for him, and amiably submitted to be 
 driven by his hands without the least resistance. 
 He did no work for two or three years before he 
 died, but lived in clover ; and his last act (like 
 a choleric old gentleman) was to kick his doctor. 
 
 Mr. Swiveller, recovering very slowly from his 
 illness, and entering into the receipt of his 
 annuity, bought for the Marchioness a handsome 
 stock of clothes, and put her to school forthwith, 
 in redemption of the vow he had made upon his 
 fevered bed. After casting about for some time 
 for a name which should be worthy of her, he 
 decided in favour of Sophronia Sphynx, as being 
 euphonious and genteel, and furthermore indi- 
 cative of mystery. Under this title the Mar- 
 chioness repaired, in tears, to the school of his 
 selection, from which, as she soon distanced all 
 
272 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 competitors, she was removed before the lapse 
 of many quarters to one of a higher grade. It 
 is but bare justice to Mr. Swiveller to say that, 
 although the expenses of her education kept him 
 in straitened circumstances for half-a-dozen 
 years, he never slackened in his zeal, and always 
 
 held himself sufficiently repaid by the accounts 
 he heard (with great gravity) of her advance- 
 ment, on his monthly visits to the governess, 
 who looked upon him as a literary gentleman of 
 eccentric habits, and of a most prodigious talent 
 in quotation. 
 
 *' TWO WRETCHED PEOPLE WERE MORE THAN ONCE OBSERVED TO CRAWL AT DUSK FROM THE INJIOST 
 
 RECESSES OF ST. GILES'S." 
 
 In a word, Mr. Swiveller kept the Marchioness 
 at this establishment until she was, at a moderate 
 guess, full nineteen years of age — good-looking, 
 clever, and good-humoured ; when he began to 
 consider seriously what was to be done next. 
 On one of his periodical visits, while he was 
 
 revolving this question in his mind, the Mar- 
 chioness came down to him alone, looking more 
 smiling and more fresh than ever. Then, it 
 occurred to him, but not for the first time, that 
 if she would marry him, how comfortable they 
 might be ! So Richard asked her. Whatever 
 
S WIVELLERIAN S UMMAR V. 
 
 273 
 
 she said, it wasn't No ; and they were married 
 in good earnest that day week, which gave Mr. 
 Swiveller frequent occasion to remark, at divers 
 subsequent periods, that there had been a young 
 lady saving up for him after all. 
 
 A little cottage at Hampstead being to let, 
 which had in its garden a smoking-box, the 
 envy of the civilised world, they agreed to be- 
 come its tenants; and, when the honeymoon 
 was over, entered upon its occupation. To this 
 retreat Mr. Chuckster repaired regularly every 
 Sunday to spend the day — usually beginning 
 with breakfast — and here he was the great pur- 
 veyor of general news and fashionable intelli- 
 gence. For some years he continued a deadly 
 foe to Kit, protesting that he had a better 
 opinion of him when he was supposed to have 
 stolen the five-pound note than when he was 
 shown to be perfectly free of the crime ; inas- 
 much as his guilt would have had in it some- 
 thing daring and bold, whereas his innocence 
 was but another proof of a sneaking and crafty 
 disposition. By slow degrees, however, he was 
 reconciled to him in the end ; and even went so 
 far as to honour him with his patronage, as 
 one who had in some measure reformed, and 
 was therefore to be forgiven. But he never 
 forgot or pardoned that circumstance of the 
 shilling ; holding that if he had come back to 
 get another he would have done well enough, 
 but that his returning to work out the former 
 gift was a stain upon his moral character which 
 no penitence or contrition could ever wash away. 
 
 Mr. Swiveller, having always been in some 
 measure of a philosophic and reflective turn, 
 grew immensely contemplative, at times, in the 
 smoking-box, and was accustomed at such periods 
 to debate in his own mind the mysterious 
 question of Sophronia's parentage. Sophronia 
 herself supposed she was an orphan; but Mr. 
 Swiveller, putting various slight circumstances 
 together, often thought Miss Brass must know 
 better than that; and having heard from his 
 wife of her strange interview with Quilp, enter- 
 tained sundry misgivings whether that person, 
 in his lifetime, might not also have been able to 
 solve the riddle, had he chosen. These specu- 
 lations, however, gave him no uneasiness ; for 
 Sophronia was ever a most cheerful, affectionate, 
 and provident wife to him ; and Dick (excepting 
 for an occasional outbreak with Mr. Chuckster, 
 which she had the good sense rather to encourage 
 than oppose) was to her an attached and domes- 
 ticated husband. And they played many hun- 
 dred thousand games of cribbage together. And 
 let it be added to Dick's honour, that though we 
 have called her Sophronia, he called her the 
 
 Marchioness from first to last ; and that, upon 
 every anniversary of the day on which he found 
 her in his sick-room, Mr. Chuckster came to 
 dinner, and there was great glorification. 
 
 The gamblers, Isaac List and Jowl, with their 
 trusty confederate, Mr. James Groves of unim- 
 peachable memory, pursued their course with 
 varying success, until the failure of a spirited 
 enterprise in the way of their profession dispersed 
 them in different directions, and caused their 
 , career to receive a sudden check from the long 
 and strong arm of the law. This defeat had its 
 origin in the untoward detection of a new asso- 
 ciate — young Frederick Trent — who thus became 
 the unconscious instrument of their punishment 
 and his own. 
 
 For the young man himself, he rioted abroad 
 for a brief term, living by his wits — which means 
 by the abuse of every faculty that worthily 
 employed raises man above the beasts, and, so 
 degraded, sinks him far below them. It was not 
 long before his body was recognised by a stranger, 
 who chanced to visit that hospital in Paris where 
 the drowned are laid out to be owned, despite 
 the bruises and disfigurements which were said 
 to have been occasioned by some previous 
 scuffle. But the stranger kept his own counsel 
 until he returned home, and it was never claimed 
 or cared for. 
 
 The young brother, or the single gentleman, 
 — for that designation is more familiar, — would 
 have drawn the poor schoolmaster from his lone 
 retreat, and made him his companion and friend. 
 But the humble village teacher was timid of 
 venturing into the noisy world, and had become 
 fond of his dwelling in the old churchyard. 
 Calmly happy in his school, and in the spot, 
 and in the attachment of Her little mourner, he 
 pursued his quiet course in peace; and was, 
 through the righteous gratitude of his friend — 
 let this brief mention suffice for that — a J>oor 
 schoolmaster no more. 
 
 That friend — single gentleman, or younger 
 brother, which you will — had at his heart a heavy 
 sorrow ; but it bred in him no misanthropy or 
 monastic gloom. He went forth into the 
 world, a lover of his kind. For a long, long 
 time it was his chief delight to travel in the 
 steps of the old man and the child (so far as he 
 could trace them from her last narrative), to halt 
 where they had halted, sympathise where they 
 had suffered, and rejoice where they had been 
 made glad. Those who had been kind to them 
 did not escape his search. The sisters at the 
 school — they who were her friends, because 
 themselves so friendless — Mrs. Jarley of the wax- 
 work, Codlin, Short — he found them all; and, 
 
274 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 trust me, the man who fed the furnace fire was 
 not forgotten. 
 
 Kit's story, having got abroad, raised him up 
 a host of friends, and many offers of provision 
 for his future life. He had no idea, at first, of 
 ever quitting Mr. Garland's service; but, after 
 serious remonstrance and advice from that gen- 
 tleman, began to contemplate the possibility of 
 such a change being brought about in time. 
 A good post was procured for him, with a 
 rapidity which took away his breath, by some of 
 the gentlemen who had believed him guilty of 
 the offence laid to his charge, and who had 
 acted upon that belief. Through the same kind 
 agency, his mother was secured from want, and 
 made quite happy. Thus, as Kit often said, 
 his great misfortune turned out to. be the source 
 of all his subsequent prosperity. 
 
 Did Kit live a single man all his days, or did 
 he marry? Of course he married, and who 
 should be his wife but Barbara ? And the best 
 of it was, he married so soon that little Jacob 
 was an uncle before the calves of his legs, 
 already mentioned in this history, had ever been 
 encased in broadcloth pantaloons, — though that 
 was not quite the best either, for of necessity the 
 baby was an uncle too. The delight of Kit's 
 mother and of Barbara's mother upon the great 
 occasion is past all telling. Finding they agreed 
 so well on that, and on all other subjects, they 
 took up their abode together, and were a most 
 harmonious pair of friends from that time forth. 
 And hadn't Astley's cause to bless itself for their 
 all going together once a quarter — to the pit — 
 and didn't Kit's mother always say, when they 
 painted the outside, that Kit's last treat had 
 helped to that, and wonder what the manager 
 would feel if he but knew it as they passed his 
 house. 
 
 When Kit had children six and seven years 
 old, there was a Barbara among them, and a 
 pretty Barbara she was. Nor was there wanting 
 an exact fac-simile and copy of little Jacob as he 
 appeared in those remote times when they 
 taught him what oysters meant. Of course 
 there was an Abel, own godson to the Mr. 
 Garland of that name ; and there was a Dick, 
 whom Mr. Svviveller did especially favour. The 
 little group would often gather round him of a 
 night, and beg him to tell again that story of 
 good Miss Nell who died. This Kit would do ; 
 and when they cried to hear it, wishing it longer 
 too, he would teach them how she had gone to 
 Heaven, as all good people did ; and how, if 
 they were good like her, they might hope to be 
 there too, one day, and to see and know her as 
 he had done when he was quite a boy. Then 
 he would relate to them how needy he used to 
 be, and how she had taught him what he was 
 otherwise too poor to learn, and how the old 
 man had been used to say, " She always laughs 
 at Kit;" at which they would brush away their 
 tears, and laugh themselves to think that she 
 had done so, and be again quite merry. 
 
 He sometimes took them to the street where 
 she had lived ; but new imj^rovements had 
 altered it so much, it was not like the same. 
 The old house had been long ago pulled down, 
 and a fine broad road was in its place. At 
 first, he would draw with his stick a square 
 upon the ground to show them where it used 
 to stand. But, he soon became imcertain of 
 the spot, and could only say it was there- 
 abouts, he thought, and that these alterations 
 were confusing. 
 
 Such are the changes which a few years bring 
 about, and so do things pass away, like a tale 
 that is told ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BY VIRTUE AND CO., LIMITED, CITY ROAD, LONDON. 
 
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