CHAPTER XXIII Mr. Richard Swiveller, wending homeward from the wilderness, for such was the appropriate name of Quilp's choice-retreat, after a sinuous and corkscrew fashion, with many checks and stumbles, after stopping suddenly and staring about him, then a suddenly running forward for a few paces, and a suddenly halting again and shaking his head, doing everything with a jerk, and nothing by premeditation. Mr. Richard Swiveller, wending his way homeward 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 entrust 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 Mordland 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, did Mr. Swiveller be wailing his hard lot, cast upon the world in my tangerished period, and shone upon the mercies of a deluding dwarf, who can wonder at my weakness, is a miserable orphan for you here? said Mr. Swiveller, raising his voice to a high-pitch, and looking sliply around, is a miserable orphan.  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 perceived 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 was satisfied that the person was Mr. Quilp, who indeed had been in his company 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.  You, my father, sir, retorted Dick, being all right in myself, sir, I quest to be left alone, instantly, sir.  Go, sir, returned Dick, leaning against a post and waving his hand, go, deceiver, go, some day, sir, perhaps 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 adoration, Mr. Swiveller advanced with the view of inflicting upon him condying chastisement. But forgetting 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 forth 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.  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 have no conception of the value of your prize, until you draw close to it. Mark that. Do you think not, said Dick, I, I do, and I am certain of what I say that's better. Return the dwarf, you bring Trent to me, tell him I'm his friend and yours, why shouldn't I be? There's no reason why you shouldn't, certainly, 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 not a choice spirit. I, not a choice spirit, cried Quilp, devil a bit, sir, returned Dick, a man of your appearance couldn't be.  Choice spirits, added Dick, smiting himself on the breast, are quite a different looking sort of people, you might at your oath, 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 exalt in the prospect of the rich field of enjoyment and reprisal it opened to him. It was not without great reluctance and misgiving that Mr. Swiveller, next morning, his head wracked by the fumes of the remowned skeedom, 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 surprise 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 penitent Richard, but the fellow had such a queer way with him, and he's such an artful dog, at first of all he set me upon thinking whether there was any arm 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 salamander, 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, trustworthy, Frederick Trent threw himself into a chair, and burying his head in his hands endeavoured to fathom the motives which had led Quilp to insinuate himself into Richard Swiveller'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 he 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 incautious 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 at some circumstances of irritation between Quilp and the old man, arising out of their secret transactions and not unconnected perhaps with his sudden disappearance, 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 principle of action. Once investing the dwarf with the 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. Swivler 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 salamandring, accompanied him at evening to Mr. Quilp's house. Mighty glad Mr. Quilp was to see them, or mightily glad he seemed to be, and fearfully polite Mr. Quilp was to Mrs. Quilp and Mrs. Ginny-Win, 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's 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. 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 Marianne, 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. Ginnyman was indignant. I 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 Marianne 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. 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 impatience, but Quilp went on as calmly as if he were discussing some abstract question in which nobody present had the slightest personal interest. It's very true, said Quilp, that your grandfather urged repeated forgiveness, in gratitude, 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 and our scoundrels too, but he wouldn't be convinced. 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 now as a nice girl, a charming girl, but your her brother, Frederick, your 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 could 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 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 shoulders, 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 Swivelow 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 navery. 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 Swivelow, in his heedlessness, should reveal anything which it was inexpedient for the women to know. He proposed a game at forehand at Kribbage, and partners being cut for. Mrs. Quilp fell to Frederick Trent, and dig himself to Quilp. Mrs. Ginnywen, being very fond of cards, was carefully excluded by her son-in-law from any participation in the game, and had assigned her to the duty of occasionally replenishing 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 tantalizing the wretched old lady, who was as much attached to the case-bottle as the cards, in a double degree, and most ingenious manner. But it was not to Mrs. Ginnywen 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 slight of hand in counting and scoring, but also involved a constant correction, by looks and frowns and kicks under the table, of Richard Swivelow, 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 sometimes 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 occupied 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 treading on her toes before. Yet in the most of all these distractions the one eye was upon the old lady always, and if she so much as stealthily advanced a teaspoon towards a neighbouring glass, which she often did, for the purpose of abstracting but one sup of its sweet contents, Quilp's hand would overset it in the very moment 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?   "'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 Swivler 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 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 policy, 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 returned to the table, and the young man rousing Richard Swivler informed him that he was waiting to depart. This was welcome news to Dick, who started up directly. After a few words of confidence of the result of their project 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 pronouncing 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 of the 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 happiness 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 desserts rendered the project rather a laudable one than otherwise. And if he had been visited by so unwonted a guest as 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 It was not until they were quite exhausted, and could no longer maintain 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 borders 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 between 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. One 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 persons 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 and 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 grandfather was the greatest evil she could dread, and feeling for the time as though, go where 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, the sinking of the spirit was not surprising. But nature often enshrines gallant and noble hearts in weak bosoms, oftenest 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 earnest, I am. I am sure you know I am. Then how, said the old man, looking fearfully round, how can you bear to think that we are safe, when they are searching for me everywhere, 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. Watch for yourself, dear grandfather, 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, too, 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 sitting sadly down, 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 threw off breath. And thus she lured the old man on, with many a backward look and merry back, now pointing stealthily to some lone bird as it perched and twitted on a branch that strayed across their path, now stopping to listen to the songs that broke the happy silence, or watch the sun as it trembled through the leaves, and stealing in among the ivy 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, and into a public road. Taking their way along it for a short distance, they came to a lane, so shaded by the trees on either hand, that they met together overhead, and arched the narrow way. A broken finger-post announced that this led to a village three miles off, and that they resolved to bend their steps. The miles appeared so long that they sometimes thought they must have missed their road, but at last, to their great joy, it led downwards 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 schoolmaster, 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 of it, 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 in 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 schoolmaster, but for something in his manner which seemed to denote that he was uneasy or distressed. As they stood hesitating at a little distance, they saw that he sat for a few 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, and 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 wicked 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.  "'Your grandchild, friend?' "'Aye, 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 him that they were welcome to remain under his roof till morning. Before they had done thanking him he spread a coarse white cloth upon the table, with knives and platters, and bringing out some bread and cold meat and a jug of beer, we sought 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 master sat, a few dog's-eared books upon a high shelf, and beside them a motley collection of peg-tops, 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 dunces cap, made of old newspapers and decorated with glaring wafers of the largest size. But the great ornaments of the walls were certain moral sentences fairly copied in good round text, and well-worked sums in simple addition and multiplication, 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 specimens. That's beautiful writing, my dear. Very, sir! replied the child modestly. Is it yours? Mine? he returned, taking out his spectacles and putting them on, to have a better view of the triumphs so dear to his heart. I couldn't write like 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 pen-knife 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 schoolmaster, 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 as no wonder, but that he should love me? 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 anxiously. Not much, my dear, returned the schoolmaster. I hoped to have seen him on the green tonight. He was always foremost among them. But he'll be there tomorrow. Has he been ill? asked the child, for the 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. No, 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 garden 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 complied, and he went out. She sat there half an hour or more, feeling the place very strange and lonely, for she had prevailed 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 schoolmaster, 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 waced away with sickness. It is a very, very little hand. CHAPTER XXV After a sound night's rest in a chamber 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 early 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 bestowed herself to make it neat and comfortable, and had just finished its arrangement when the kind host returned.  The child asked how he was, and hoped he was better. No! rejoined the schoolmaster, shaking his head sorrowfully. No better! Even say he is worse! I am very sorry for that, sir! said the child. The poor schoolmaster appeared to be gratified by her earnest manner, but yet rendered more uneasy by it, for he added hastily 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 breakfast, and her grandfather coming downstairs, they all three partook of it together. While the meal was in progress, their host remarked that the old man seemed much fatigued and evidently 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, and certain whether to accept or decline his offer, and added, I shall be glad to have your young companion 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 were 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 busying herself in the performance of such household duties as his little cottage stood in need of. When these were done, she took some needlework 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 delicious 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 bedroom. 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.  The white-headed boy then put an open book, astonishingly dog-seared upon his knees, and thrusting his hands into his pockets began counting the marbles with which they were filled.  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 pole, and so on until the forms were occupied by a dozen boys or their abouts 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 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 teed-eam of his office reminded him more strongly of the willing scholar, and his thoughts were rambling from his pupils, it was plain. Non 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 apples openly and without rebuke, pinching each other in sport or malice 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 little troupe 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 a lie to what was going on, the noise subsided for a moment, and no eyes met his but wore a studious and deeply humble look. But the instant he relapsed again, it broke out of fresh, 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 windows, 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 the willow trees, with branches dipping in the water, kept tempting and urging that sturdy boy, who, with his shirt colour unbuttoned, and flung back as far as it could go, sat fanning his flushed face of the spelling-book, wishing himself a whale, or a tittle-back, or a fly, or anything but a boy at school on that hot, broiling day. Heat asked that other boy, who, seat being nearest to the door, gave him opportunities of gliding out into the garden, and driving his companions to madness, 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 pouring 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 the past, though sometimes rather timid of the boisterous boys. The lessons over, writing time began, and there being but one desk, and that the masters, 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, pray such an upstroke here and such a downstroke there, and bid him take it for his model. And he would stop and tell them what the sick child had said last night, and 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, 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 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 considered enough to leave off, as soon as the longest winded among them were quite out of breath. You must promise me first, said the schoolmaster, 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 witness 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. Goodbye, all. Thank ye, sir, and good-bye, sir, were said a good 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. There were the trees waving to all free boys to climb, and nestle among their leafy branches, the hay and treating them to come and scatter it to the pure air, the green corn gently beckoning 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 wither. It was more than boy could bear, and with a joyous whoop, the whole cluster took to the 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 without 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 disapproval of the schoolmaster's proceeding.  A few, these were the profound 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 and 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 shorter lounge 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 schoolmaster 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 say she would have them take care and look pretty sharp about them. But all these taunts and 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 was opened without loss of time. They entered 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 earnest 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 mean it all. If he hadn't been pouring out 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 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. Without 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 rejoined 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 round 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 Nell. I am afraid to kiss her, lest I should make her ill. Ask her to shake hands with me. The subbing child came closer up, and took the little languid hand in hers.  You remember the garden, Harry? whispered the schoolmaster, anxious to rouse him, for a dullness seemed gathering upon the child. And how pleasant it used to be in the evening time.  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 gray head. He moved his lips, too, but no voice came from them. No, not a sound. In the silence that ensued, the hum of distant voices born upon the evening air came floating through the open window.  The boys at play upon the green. He took a hankerchief 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 famed 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. End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 of the Old Curiosity Shop This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recorded by Mill Nicholson. The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens. Chapter 26 Almost broken-hearted, Nell withdrew 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 the way 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.  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 coffoned and covered up, but mingling with angels and smiling happily. The sun darting his cheerful rays into the room awoke her, and now they remained but to take leave of the poor schoolmaster, and wander forth once more. By the time they were ready to depart, school had begun. In the darkened room the din of yesterday was going on again, a little 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 the 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 how small the sum was, and blushing as she offered it. But he made her put it up, and, stooping to kiss her cheek, turned back into the house. They had not gone half a dozen paces when he was at the door again. The old man retraced his steps to shake hands, and the child did the same. Good fortune and happiness go with you, said the poor schoolmaster. I am quite a solitary man now. If you ever pass this way again, you'll not forget the little village school. We shall never forget it, sir. We join Nell, nor ever forget to be grateful to you for your kindness to us. I have heard such words from the lips of children very often, said the schoolmaster, shaking his head and smiling thoughtfully, but they were soon forgotten. I had attached one young friend to me, the better friend for being young. But that's over. God bless you. They bade him farewell very many times, and turned away, walking slowly and often looking back, until they could see him no more. At length they had left the village far behind, and even lost sight of the smoke among the trees. They trudged onward now at a quicker pace, resolving to keep the main road and go wherever it might lead them. But main roads stretch a long, long way, with the exception of two or three inconsiderable clusters of cottages which they passed without stopping, and one lonely roadside public house where they had some bread and cheese, this highway had led them to nothing. Late in the afternoon, and still lengthened out far in the distance, the same dull, tedious winding course that they had been pursuing all day. As they had no resource, however, but to go forward, they still kept on, though at a much slower pace, being very weary and fatigued. 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 common. On the border of this common, and close to the hedge which divided it from the cultivated fields, the 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 colors the whole concern shone brilliant. Neither was it a poor caravan drawn by a single donkey, or a maciated horse, for a pair of horses, in pretty good condition, were released from the shafts, and grazing on the frowsy grass. Neither was it a gypsy 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 convenient 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 enjoyment 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 me a 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 getting down the cup, and drawing along the breath after the exertion of causing its contents 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, scooping 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? One what, ma'am? Arsenal, the helter-skelter-plate of the gracious child, the plate that was run for on the second day. On the second day, ma'am? Second day! Yes, second day! Hey! 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? 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, supposing that the lady might be intimately acquainted with the firm of Short and Codlan, 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, vulgar etch that people should scorn to look at. I was not there by choice, returned the child. We didn't know our way, and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them. Do you—do you know them, ma'am? Know them, child? cry 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 such a question. Do I look as if I know them? Does the caravan look as if it know them? 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 explained that they had left the races on the first day, and were travelling 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 lent 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, beckoning to her to ascend the steps. Are you hungry, child? Not very, but we are tired, and it is a long way. Well, hungry or not, you better have some tea! rejoined her new acquaintance. I suppose you are agreeable to that, old gentleman! The grandfather humbly pulled off his hat and thanked her. The lady of the caravan then made 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 ensured everything of which she had partaken herself, except the bottle which she had already embraced, an opportunity of slipping into her pocket. Set him 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 anything, 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 lighted on the earth, and with her hands clasped behind her, and her large bonnet trembling excessively, walked up and down in a measured tread in very stately manner, surveying the caravan from time to time with an air of calm delight, and arriving 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. Were upon 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, part of the twigs had concealed him, and appeared in a sitting attitude, 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, Mrs. said, George. How did you find the cold pie, George? It was 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 suburb for all that. To set the mind of his mistress at rest, he took a sip, amounting in quantity to a pint, or their abouts, from the stone bottle, and then smacked his lips, winked his eye, and nodded his head. No doubt with the same emuble desire 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? Where in I, Mum? And indeed, after scraping the dish all round with his knife, and carrying the choice-brown morsels to his mouth, and after taking such a scientific pull of the stone bottle that, by a degree is 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 sympathy with his late pursuit. If you have, pretend 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 monstrous propositions. If you see a woman a-driving, it always perceived that she never will keep her whipped still. The orcs can't go fast enough for her. If cattle have got their proper lord, he never can persuade a woman that they'll not bear something more. What is the cause of this ear? Would these two travellers make much difference to the horses if we took them with us? Asked his mistress, offering no reply to the philosophical 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? Repeated his mistress, they can't be very heavy. The weight of 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 and the joy of hearing that they were to go forward in the caravan, for which she thanked its lady with unaffected earnestness. 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 herself 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 a bright brass knocker which nobody ever knocked at, knocking one perpetual double-knock of its own accord as they jolted heavily along. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 of the Old Curiosity Shop This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recorded by Mill Nicholson The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens Chapter 27 When they had travelled slowly forward for some short distance, Nell ventured to steal a look around the caravan and observe it more closely. One half of it, that moiety in which the comfortable proprietress was then seated, was carpeted, and so petitioned off at the farther 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 exercise 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-retentals and articles of crockery. These latter necessaries hung upon the walls, which, in that portion of the establishment, devoted to the lady of the caravan, were ornamented 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 instruments, and little Nell and her grandfather sat at the other in all the humility of the kettle and sauce-pans, 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 talk about the country through which they were passing, and the different objects 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 pleasant indeed, to which the lady assented in the case of people who had their spirits. For herself, she said, she was troubled with aloneness in that respect, which required a constant stimulant, though whether the aforesaid stimulant was derived 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 dispense 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 conclusion 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 brought 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. "'The child!' she said. "'Read that!' Nell walked down it, and read aloud an enormous black letters, the inscription, Charlie's waxwork. "'Read it again!' said the lady complacently. "'Charlie's waxwork!' repeated Nell. "'That's me!' said the lady. "'I am Mrs. Charlie.'" Giving the child an encouraging look, intended to reassure her and let her know that, although she stood in the presence of the original Charlie, she must not allow herself to be utterly overwhelmed and borne down. The lady of the caravan unfolded another scroll, whereon was the inscription One Hundred Figures, the Full Size of Life, and then another scroll, on which was written the only stupendous collection of real waxworks in the world, and then several smaller scrolls with such inscriptions as Now Exhibiting Within, The Genuine and Only Charlie, Charlie's Unrivaled Collection. Charlie is the delight of the nobility and gentry. The royal family are the patrons of Charlie. When she had exhibited these leviathans of public announcement to the astonished child, she brought forth specimens of the lesser fry in the shape of hand-bills, some of which were couched in the form of parodies on popular melodies, as, believe me if all Charlie's waxworks so rare, I saw thy show in youthful prime, over the water to Charlie. While to consult all chastes, 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 Knew a Donkey, What Wouldn't Go, To See Mrs. Charlie's Waxworks Show, Do You Think I'd Acknowledge Him, Oh, No, No, Then Run To Charlie's? Besides several compositions in prose, purporting to be dialogues between the Emperor of China and an oyster, or the Archbishop of Canterbury and a dissenter on the subject of church rates, but all having the same moral, namely, that the reader must make haste to Charlie's, and that children and servants were admitted at half price. When she had brought all these testimonials of her important position in society to bear upon her young companion, Mrs. Charlie rolled him 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. Charlie, after this. I never saw any waxwork, ma'am, said Nell. Is it funnier than punch? Funnier, said Mrs. Charlie in a shrill voice. It is not funny at all. Oh, said Nell, with all possible humility. It isn't funny at all, repeated Mrs. Charlie. It's calm. And what's that word again, critical? No, no, no, classical. That's it. It's calm and classical. No low bitings and knockings about, no jokings and squeakings like a precious puncher's, but always the same with a constantly unchanging air of coldness and gentility. And so, like life, that if waxwork only spoke and walked about, you'd hardly know the difference. I won't go so fast to say that, as it is, I've seen waxwork quite like life, but I've certainly seen some life that was exactly like waxwork. Is it here, ma'am? Ask Nell, whose curiosity was awakened by this description, is what here, child? The waxwork, ma'am. Why bless you, child, what are you thinking of? How could such a collection be here? May you see everything except the inside of one little cupboard and a few boxes? It's gone on in the other wands to the assembly rooms, and there it'll be exhibited the day after tomorrow. You are going to the same town, and you'll see it, I daresay. It's natural to expect that you'll see it, and I've no doubt you will. I suppose you couldn't stop away if you was to try ever so much. I shall not be in the town, I think, ma'am," said the child. Not there! cried Mrs. Charlie. Then where will you be? I—I—I don't quite know. I'm not certain. You don't mean to say that you're travelling about the country without knowing where you're going to? said the lady of the caravan. What curious people you are! What line are you in? You look to me at the braces, child, as if you were quite out of your element, and had got there by accident. We were there quite by accident. Returned now, confused by this abrupt questioning. We are poor people, ma'am, and are only wondering about. We have nothing to do. I wish we had. You amaze me more and more, said Mrs. Charlie, after remaining for some time as mutus one of her own figures. Why, what do you call yourselves? Not beggars. Indeed, ma'am, I don't know what else we are. returned the child. Lord bless me! said the lady of the caravan. I never heard of such a thing. Who'd have thought it? She remained so long silent after this exclamation, that Nell feared she felt her having been induced to bestow her protection and conversation upon one so poor to be an outrage upon her dignity that nothing could repair. This persuasion was rather confirmed than otherwise by the tone in which she had length broke silence and said, and yet you can read and write too, I shouldn't wonder. Yes, ma'am, said the child, fearful of giving new offence by the confession. Well, and what a thing that is! returned Mrs. Charlie. I can't. Nell said, indeed, in a tone which might imply either that she was reasonably surprised to find the genuine and only Charlie, who is 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. Charlie 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 was due to the other window and rejoined her grandfather, who is 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 do in her head again and back and Nell to approach. And the old gentleman too, said Mrs. Charlie, for I want to have a word with him. Do you want a good situation for your granddaughter, 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, retorted Mrs. Charlie 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're very thankful to you, she added aloud, but neither of us could part from the other if all the wealth of the world were harvoured between us. Mrs. Charlie was a little disconcerted by this reception of her proposal, and looked at the old man, who tenderly took Nell's hand and detained it in his own, as if she could have very well dispensed with his company or even his earthly existence. After an awkward pause, he 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 the former topic of discussion. But they concluded at last, and she addressed the grandfather again. If you're really disposed to employ yourself, said Mrs. Charlie, 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 granddaughter for is to point him out to the company. They would be soon learnt, and she had a way with her that people wouldn't think unpleasant, though she does come after me, for I have been always accustomed 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 offer, bear in mind, said the lady, rising into the tone and manner in which she was accustomed to address her audiences. It's Charlie's waxwork, remember, the duties very light and gentile, the company particularly seduct, the exhibition takes place in assembly rooms, town halls, large rooms at inns, or auction galleries. There is none of your open air vagrancy at Charlie's recollect. There is no tarpaulin and sore dust at Charlie's, remember. Every expectation held out in the handbills is realised to the utmost, and the whole forms an effect of imposing brilliancy hitherto unrivaled in this kingdom. Remember that the price of admission is only six months, 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 life, Mrs. Charlie 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 performance of her duties. But bored and lodging, both for her and her grandfather, she bound herself 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. Charlie, 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. No one disappears so slight a circumstance 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 foreborn to stagger. No, child! cried Mrs. Charlie, 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. Return, Mrs. Charlie, 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 in the lawful panel the great name of Jolly, and was employed besides in conveying from place to place the waxwork, which was its country's pride, was designated by a grovelling stamp-office as a common stage wagon, and numbered to 7,000 odd hundred, as though its precious freight were mere flower 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 herself she was to sleep in Mrs. Charlie'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 wagon, when she was tempted by the 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 curiosity 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 hundreds of years ago, and she 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 they suddenly emerged from the black shade of the arch, a man. The instant he appeared, she recognized him. Who could have failed to recognize 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 was drew 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 is he would slowly forth from the arch another figure, that of a boy, who carried on his back a trunk. Faster, Sarah! cried Quilp, looking up at the old gateway, and showing 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! He's a dreadful heavy load, sir. The boy pleaded, I've come on very fast, considering.  There are the chimes now, half past twelve. He stopped to listen, and then turning upon the boy with the suddenness and ferocity that made him start, asked at what hour that 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! The boy made all the speed he could, and Quilp 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, as upon whatever errands 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 homeward, 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 disposed upon the drum was revealing its glories by the light of a dim lamp that swung 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 communication between persons outside and the brass knocker was by this means effectually prevented. 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 uneasy dreams was somehow connected with the waxwork, or was waxwork himself, or was Mrs. Jolly and waxwork, too, or was himself Mrs. Jolly, waxwork, 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 over-watching, and which has no consciousness but one of overpowering and irresistible enjoyment. End of Chapter 27 Chapter 28 OF THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recorded by Mill Nicholson. The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens. Chapter 28 Sleep hung upon the eyelids of the child so long, that when she awoke, Mrs. Jolly was already decorated with her large bonnet, and actively engaged in preparing breakfast. She received Nell's apology for being so late, with perfect good humour, and said that she should not have roused her if she had slept on until noon.  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. Jolly, with the air of a martyr. "'I sometimes wonder how I bear it.'" Remembering the snores which had proceeded from that cleft in the caravan, in which the proprietress of the wax-worked past the night, Nell rather thought she must have been dreaming of lying awake. However, she expressed herself very sorry to hear such a dismal account of her state of health, and shortly afterwards sat down with her grandfather and Mrs. Jolly to breakfast. The meal finished, Nell assisted to wash the cups and sorters, and put them in their proper places. And these household duties performed, Mrs. Jolly arrayed herself in an exceedingly bright shawl for the purpose of making a progress through the streets of the town. "'The one will come on to bring the waxes,' said Mrs. Jolly. "'And you had better come in it, child. I am obliged to walk very much against my will, but the people expected of me and public characters can't be their own masters and mistresses in such matters as these. How do I look, child?' Nell returned a satisfactory reply, and Mrs. Jolly, 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 appearance, 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 encountering 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, with a clock tower and a weathercock. 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 overhung 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 marketplace, and the tradesman's doors, and some old people were dozing in chairs outside an arm's house wall, but scarcely any passengers who seemed bent on going anywhere or to have any object in view went by, and if perchant some straggler did, his footsteps 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 grosso shop forgot their wings and briskness and baked to death in dusty corners of the window. Rumbling along with most unwanted noise, the caravan stopped at last at the place of exhibition, where Nell dismounted amidst an admiring group of children who evidently supposed her to be an important item of the curiosities, and were fully impressed with the belief that her grandfather was a cunning device in wax. The chests were taken out, with all convenient dispatch, and taken in to be unlocked by Mrs. Jolly, 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 festoons and other ornamental devices in upholsty 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 collection were yet concealed by cloths, lest the envious dust should injure their complexions, Nell bestowed herself to assist in the embellishment 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. Jolly served out the tin-tacks from a linen pocket like a toll-collectors which she wore for the purpose, and encouraged her assistance to renewed exertion. While they were thus employed, a tallest gentleman with a hooked nose and black hair, dressed in a military shirt out, 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 to an ancient grey pantalooms 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. Jolly's back being then towards him, the military gentleman shook his forefinger as a sign that her murmidons were not to apprise her of his presence, and, steedling up close behind her, tapped her on the neck, and cried playfully, Bo! What? Mr. Slum! cried the lady of the wax-work. Lot! Who'd have thought of seeing you here? Bon my soul and honour! said Mr. Slum. That's a good remark! Bon my soul and honour! That's a wise remark! Who would have thought it? George, my faithful fellow! How are you? George received this advance with a surly indifference, observing that he was well enough for the matter of that, and hammering lustily all the time. I came here! said the military gentleman, turning to Mrs. Jolly. Bon 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 little inspiration, a little freshening up, a little change of ideas, and Bon my soul and honour! said the military gentleman, checking himself and looking round the room.  By Gad it's quite Minervian. It'll look well enough when it comes to be finished. Observe, Mrs. Jolly. Well enough! said Mr. Slum. Will you believe me when I say it's a delight of my life to have dabbled in poetry, when I think of exercise 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. Jolly, and I really don't think it does much good. Hush! No, no! returned Mr. Slum, elevating 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. Jolly. 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 them what my poetry has done for them. And mark my words. He blesses the name of Slum. If he's an honest man, he raises his eyes to heaven and blesses the name of Slum. Mark that. You're acquainted with us, Mr. Abbey, Mrs. Jolly? Yes, surely. Then, upon my soul and on a man, you'll 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 the forehead, to imply that there was some slight quantity of brain behind it.  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 was Warren, and the idea is a convertible one. And a positive inspiration for Jolly. Have the acrostic. I suppose it's very dear, said Mrs. Jolly, five shillings. Returned Mr. Slum, using his pencil as a toothpick, cheaper than any prose. I couldn't give more than three, said Mrs. Jolly. And six, retorted Slum, come, three and six. Mrs. Jolly was not proof against the Poet's insinuating manner, and Mr. Slum entered the order in a small notebook as a three-and-sixpony one. Mr. Slum then withdrew to alter the acrostic, art taking the most affectionate 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 interrupted the preparations, they were now far advanced, and were completed shortly after his departure. When the festoons were all put up as tasterly as they might be, the stupendous collection was uncovered, and there were displayed on raised platform some two feet from the floor, running round the room and parted from the rude public by a crimson rope, breast-high, diverse, spitely effigies of celebrated characters, singly and in groups, clad in glittering dresses of various climbs and times, and standing more or less unsteadily upon their legs, with their eyes very wide open, and their nostrils very much inflated, and the muscles of their legs and arms very strongly developed, and all their countenances expressing great surprise. All the gentlemen were very pigeon-breasted, and very blue about the beards, and all the ladies were miraculous figures, and all the ladies and all the gentlemen were looking intensely nowhere, and staring with extraordinary earnestness at nothing. When Nell had exhausted her first raptures at this glorious sight, Mrs. Jolly ordered the room to be cleared of all but herself and the child, and, sitting herself down in an armchair in the centre, formally invested Nell with the 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. Jolly 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 was which she is at work. All this Nell repeated twice or thrice, pointing to the finger and the needle at the right times, and then passed on to the next. That, ladies and gentlemen, said Mrs. Jolly, is just a packelmerton 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 them 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 gentleman of their choice. Observe that his fingers are curled as if in the act of tickling, and that his face is represented with wink, as he appeared when committing his barbarous murders. When Nell knew all about Mr. Packelmerton, and could say it without faltering, Mrs. Jolly 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. Jolly was not slow to express her admiration at this happy result, and carried her young friend and pupil to inspect the remaining arrangements within doors, by virtue of which the passage had been already converted into a grove of green bays, hung with the inscription she had already seen, Mr. Slum's Productions, and a highly ornamented table placed at the upper end for Mrs. Jolly herself, at which she was to preside and take the money, in company with His Majesty King George III, Mr. Grimaldi as Clown, Mary Queen of Scots, an anonymous gentleman of the Quaker persuasion, and Mr. Pitt holding in his hand a correct model of the bill for the imposition of the window duty. The preparations without doors had not been neglected either, and none of great personal attractions was telling her beads on the little portico over the door, and a brigand with the blackest possible head of hair and the clearest possible complexion was at that moment going round the town in a cart, consulting the miniature of a lady. It now only remained that Mr. Slum's compositions 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 knowed a donkey, should be confined to the taverns and circulated only among the lawyer's clerks and choice spirits of the place. When this had been done, and Mrs. Jolly had waited upon the boarding schools in person with a hand-bill composed expressly for them, in which it was distinctly proved that waxwork refined the mind, cultivated the taste, and enlarged the sphere of the human understanding, that indefatigable lady sat down to dinner, and drank out of the suspicious bottle to a flourishing campaign.