Caleb Plummer and his Blind
Daughter lived all alone by themselves,
as the Story-books say -- and
my blessing, with yours to back
it I hope, on the Story- books,
for saying anything in this workaday
world! -- Caleb Plummer and his
Blind Daughter lived all alone
by themselves, in a little cracked
nutshell of a wooden house, which
was, in truth, no better than
a pimple on the prominent red-brick
nose of Gruff and Tackleton.
The premises of Gruff and Tackleton
were the great feature of the
street; but you might have knocked
down Caleb Plummer's dwelling
with a hammer or two, and carried
off the pieces in a cart.
If any one had done the dwelling-house
of Caleb Plummer the honour to
miss it after such an inroad,
it would have been, no doubt,
to commend its demoli- tion as
a vast improvement. It stuck
to the premises of Gruff and
Tackleton, like a barnacle to
a ship's keel, or a snail to
a door, or a little bunch of
toad- stools to the stem of a
tree. But, it was the germ from
which the full-grown trunk of
Gruff and Tackle- ton had sprung;
and, under its crazy roof, the
Gruff before last, had, in a
small way, made toys for a generation
of old boys and girls, who had
played with them, and found them
out, and broken them, and gone
to sleep.
I have said that Caleb and his
poor Blind Daugh- ter lived here.
I should have said that Caleb
lived here, and his poor Blind
Daughter somewhere else -- in
an enchanted home of Caleb's
furnishing, where scarcity and
shabbiness were not, and trouble
never entered. Caleb was no sorcerer,
but in the only magic art that
still remains to us, the magic
of devoted, deathless love, Nature
had been the mistress of his
study; and from her teaching,
all the wonder came.
The Blind Girl never knew that
ceilings were dis- coloured,
walls blotched and bare of plaster
here and there, high crevices
unstopped, and widening every
day, beams mouldering and tending
downward. The Blind Girl never
knew that iron was rusting, wood
rotting, paper peeling off; the
size, and shape, and true proportion
of the dwelling, withering away.
The Blind Girl never knew that
ugly shapes of delf and earthenware
were on the board; that sorrow
and faint-heartedness were in
the house; that Caleb's scanty
hairs were turning greyer and
more grey, be- fore her sightless
face. The Blind Girl never knew
they had a master, cold, exacting,
and uninterested -- never knew
that Tackleton was Tackleton
in short; but lived in the belief
of an eccentric humourist who
loved to have his jest with them,
and who while he was the Guardian
Angel of their lives, disdained
to hear one word of thankfulness.
And all was Caleb's doing; all
the doing of her simple father!
But he too had a Cricket on his
Hearth; and listening sadly to
its music when the motherless
Blind Child was very young, that
Spirit had inspired him with
the thought that even her great
deprivation might be almost changed
into a blessing, and the girl
made happy by these little means.
For all the Cricket tribe are
potent Spirits. even though the
people who hold converse with
them do not know it (which is
frequently the case); and there
are not in the unseen world,
voices more gentle and more true,
that may be so implicitly relied
on, or that are so cer- tain
to give none but tenderest counsel,
as the Voices in which the Spirits
of the Fireside and the Hearth
address themselves to human kind.
Caleb and his daughter were
at work together in their usual
working-room, which served them
for their ordinary living-room
as well; and a strange place
it was. There were houses in
it, finished and unfinished,
for Dolls of all stations in
life. Suburban tenements for
Dolls of moderate means; kitchens
and single apartments for Dolls
of the lower classes; capital
town residences for Dolls of
high estate. Some of these establishments
were already furnished according
to estimate, with a view to the
convenience of Dolls of limited
income; others, could be fitted
on the most expensive scale,
at a moment's notice, from whole
shelves of chairs and tables,
sofas, bedsteads, and upholstery.
The nobility and gentry, and
public in general, for whose
accommodation these tenements
were designed, lay, here and
there, in baskets, staring straight
up at the ceiling; but, in denoting
their de- grees in society, and
confining them to their respec-
tive stations (which experience
shows to be lament- ably difficult
in real life), the makers of
these Dolls had far improved
on Nature, who is often froward
and perverse; for, they, not
resting on such arbitrary marks
as satin, cotton-print, and bits
of rag, had superadded striking
personal differences which allowed
of no mistake. Thus, the Doll-lady
of distinction had wax limbs
of perfect symmetry; but, only
she and her compeers. The next
grade in the social scale being
made of leather, and the next
of coarse linen stuff. As to
the common-people, they had just
so many matches out of tinder-boxes,
for their arms and legs, and
there they were -- established
in their sphere at once, beyond
the possibility of getting out
of it.
There were various other samples
of his handicraft, besides Dolls,
in Caleb Plummer's room. There
were Noah's Arks, in which the
Birds and Beasts were an uncommonly
tight fit, I assure vou; though
they could be crammed in, anyhow,
at the roof, and rattled and
shaken into the smallest compass.
By a bold poetical licence, most
of these Noah's Arks had knockers
on the doors; inconsistent appendages,
per- haps, as suggestive of morning
callers and a Post- man, yet
a pleasant finish to the outside
of the build- ing. There were
scores of melancholy little carts
which, when the wheels went round,
performed most doleful music.
Many small fiddles, drums, and
other instruments of torture;
no end of cannon, shields, swords,
spears, and guns. There were
little tumblers in red breeches,
incessantly swarming up high
ob- stacles of red-tape, and
coming down, head first, on the
other side; and there were innumerable
old gentle- men of respectable,
not to say venerable, appearance,
insanely flying over horizontal
pegs, inserted, for the purpose,
in their own street doors. There
were beasts of all sorts; horses,
in particular, of every breed,
from the spotted barrel on four
pegs, with a small tippet for
a mane, to the thoroughbred rocker
on his highest mettle. As it
would have been hard to count
the dozens upon dozens of grotesque
figures that were ever ready
to commit all sorts of absurdities
on the turning of a handle, so
it would have been no easy task
to mention any human folly, vice,
or weakness, that had not its
type, immediate or remote, in
Caleb Plummer's room. And not
in an exaggerated form, for very
little handles will move men
and women to as strange performances,
as any Toy was ever made to undertake.
In the midst of all these objects,
Caleb and his daughter sat at
work. The Blind Girl busy as
a Doll's dressmaker; Caleb painting
and glazing the four-pair front
of a desirable family mansion.
The care imprinted in the lines
of Caleb's face, and his absorbed
and dreamy manner, which would
have sat well on some alchemist
or abstruse student, were at
first sight an odd contrast to
his occupation, and the trivialities
about him. But, trivial things,
in- vented and pursued for bread,
become very serious matters of
fact; and, apart from this consideration,
I am not at all prepared to say,
myself, that if Caleb had been
a Lord Chamberlain, or a Member
of Parlia- ment, or a lawyer,
or even a great speculator, he
would have dealt in toys one
whit less whimsical, while I
have a very great doubt whether
they would have been as harmless.
'So you were out in the rain
last night, father, in your beautiful
new great-coat,' said Caleb's
daughter.
'In my beautiful new great-coat,'
answered Caleb, glancing towards
a clothes-line in the room, on
which the sack-cloth garment
previously described, was carefully
hung up to dry.
'How glad I am you bought it,
father!'
'And of such a tailor, too,'
said Caleb. 'Quite a fashionable
tailor. It's too good for me.'
The Blind Girl rested from her
work, and laughed with delight.
'Too good, father! What can be
too good for you?'
'I'm half ashamed
to wear it though,' said Caleb,
watching
the effect of what he said, upon
her bright- ening face; 'upon
my word! When I hear the boys
and people say behind me, "Halloa!
Here's a swell!" I don't know
which way to look. And when the
beggar wouldn't go away last
night; and when I said I was
a very common man, said "No,
your Honour! Bless your Honour,
don't say that!" I was quite
ashamed. I really felt as if
I hadn't a right to wear it.'
Happy Blind Girl! How merry
she was, in her exultation!
'I see you, father,' she said,
clasping her hands, 'as plainly,
as if I had the eyes I never
want when you are with me. A
blue coat --'
'Bright blue,' said Caleb.
'Yes, yes! Bright blue!' exclaimed
the girl, turn- ing up her radiant
face; 'the colour I can just-remem-
ber in the blessed sky! You told
me it was blue be- fore! A bright
blue coat --'
'Made loose to the figure,'
suggested Caleb.
'Made loose to the figure!'
cried the Blind Girl, laughing
heartily; 'and in it, you, dear
father, with your merry eye,
your smiling face, your free
step, and your dark hair --looking
so young and hand- some!'
'Halloa! Halloa!' said Caleb.
'I shall be vain, presently!'
'I think you are, already,'
cried the Blind Girl, pointing
at him, in her glee. 'I know
you, father! Ha, ha, ha! I've
found you out, you see!'
How different the picture in
her mind, from Caleb, as he sat
observing her! She had spoken
of his free step. She was right
in that. For years and years,
he had never once crossed that
threshold at his own slow pace,
but with a footfall counterfeited
for her ear; and never had he,
when his heart was heaviest,
forgotten the light tread that
was to render hers so cheerful
and courageous!
Heaven knows! But I think Caleb's
vague be- wilderment of manner
may have half originated in his
having confused himself about
himself and every- thing around
him, for the love of his Blind
Daughter. How could the little
man be otherwise than bewil-
dered, after labouring for so
many years to destroy his own
identity, and that of all the
objects that had any bearing
on it!
'There we are,' said Caleb,
falling back a pace or two to
form the better judgment of his
work; 'as near the real thing
as sixpenn'orth of halfpence
is to sixpence. What a pity that
the whole front of the house
opens at once! If there was only
a staircase in it, now, and regular
doors to the rooms to go in at!
But that's the worst of my calling,
I'm always de- luding myself,
and swindling myself.'
'You are speaking quite softly.
You are not tired, father?'
'Tired!' echoed Caleb, with
a great burst of anima- tion,
'what should tire me, Bertha?
I was never tired. What does
it mean?'
To give the greater force to
his words, he checked himself
in an involuntary imitation of
two half- length stretching and
yawning figures on the mantel-
shelf, who were represented as
in one eternal state of weariness
from the waist upwards; and hummed
a fragment of a song. It was
a Bacchanalian song, something
about a Sparkling Bowl. He sang
it with an assumption of a Devil-may-care
voice, that made his face a thousand
times more meagre and more thoughtful
than ever.
'What! You're singing, are you?'
said Tackle- ton, putting his
head in at the door. 'Go it!
I can't sing.'
Nobody would have suspected
him of it. He hadn't what is
generally termed a singing face,
by any means.
'I can't afford to sing,' said
Tackleton. 'I'm glad you can.
I hope you can afford to work
too. Hardly time for both, I
should think?'
'If you could only see him,
Bertha, how he's wink- ing at
me!' whispered Caleb. 'Such a
man to joke! you'd think, if
you didn't know him, he was in
ear- nest -- wouldn't you now?'
The Blind Girl smiled and nodded.
'The bird that can sing and
won't sing, must be made to sing,
they say,' grumbled Tackleton.
'What about the owl that can't
sing, and oughtn't to sing, and
will sing; is there anything
that he should be made to do?'
'The extent to which he's winking
at this moment!' whispered Caleb
to his daughter. '0, my gracious!'
'Always merry and light-hearted
with us!' cried the smiling Bertha.
'0, you're there, are you?'
answered Tackleton. 'Poor Idiot!'
He really did believe she was
an Idiot; and he found the belief,
I can't say whether consciously
or not, upon her being fond of
him.
'Well! and being there, -- how
are you?' said Tack- leton, in
his grudging way.
'Oh! well; quite well. And as
happy as even you can wish me
to be. As happy as you would
make the whole world, if you
could!'
'Poor Idiot!' muttered Tackleton.
'No gleam of reason. Not a gleam!'
The Blind Girl took his hand
and kissed it; held it for a
moment in her own two hands;
and laid her cheek against it
tenderly, before releasing it.
There was such unspeakable affection
and such fervent gratitude in
the act, that Tackleton himself
was moved to say, in a milder
growl than usual:
'What's the matter now?'
'stood it close beside my pillow
when I went to sleep last night,
and remembered it in my dreams.
And when the day broke, and the
glorious red sun the red sun,
father?'
'Red in the mornings and the
evenings, Bertha,' said poor
Caleb, with a woeful glance at
his employer.
'When it rose, and the bright
light I almost fear to strike
myself against in walking, came
into the room, I turned the little
tree towards it, and blessed
Heaven for making things so precious,
and blessed you for sending them
to cheer me!'
'Bedlam broke loose!' said Tackleton
under his breath. 'We shall arrive
at the strait-waistcoat and mufflers
soon. We're getting on!'
Caleb, with his hands hooked
loosely in each other, stared
vacantly before him while his
daughter spoke, as if he really
were uncertain (I believe he
was) whether Tackleton had done
anything to deserve her thanks,
or not. If he could have been
a perfectly free agent, at that
moment, required, on pain of
death, to kick the Toy-merchant,
or fall at his feet, according
to his merits, I believe it would
have been an even chance which
course he would have taken. Yet,
Caleb knew that with his own
hands he had brought the little
rose-tree home for her, so carefully'
and that with his own lips he
had forged the innocent deception
which should help to keep her
from suspect- ing how much, how
very much, he every day denied
himself, that she might be the
happier.
'Bertha!' said Tackleton, assuming,
for the nonce, a little cordiality.
'Come here.'
'Oh! I can come straight to
you! You needn't guide me!' she
rejoined.
'Shall I tell you a secret,
Bertha?'
'If you will!' she answered,
eagerly.
How bright the darkened face!
How adorned with light, the listening
head!
'This is the day on which little
what's-her-name, the spoilt child,
Peerybingle's wife, pays her
regular visit to you -- makes
her fantastic Pic-Nic here; an't
it?' said Tackleton, with a strong
expression of dis- taste for
the whole concern.
'Yes,' replied Bertha. 'This
is the day.'
'I thought so,' said Tackleton.
'I should like to join the party.'
'Do you hear that, father!'
cried the Blind Girl in an ecstasy.
'Yes, yes, I hear it,' murmured
Caleb, with the fixed look of
a sleep-walker; 'but I don't
believe it. It's one of my lies,
I've no doubt.'
'You see I -- I want to bring
the Peerybingles a little more
into company with May Fielding,'
said Tackleton. 'I am going to
be married to May.'
'Married!' cried the Blind Girl,
starting from him.
'She's such a con-founded Idiot,'
muttered Tack- leton, 'that I
was afraid she'd never comprehend
me. Ah, Bertha! Married! Church,
parson, clerk, beadle, glass-coach,
bells, breakfast, bride-cake,
favours, mar- row-bones, cleavers,
and all the rest of the tom-
foolery. A wedding, you know;
a wedding. Don't you know what
a wedding is?'
'I know,' replied the Blind
Girl, in a gentle tone. 'I understand!'
'Do you?' muttered Tackleton.
'It's more than I expected. Well!
On that account I want to join
the party, and to bring May and
her mother. I'll send in a little
something or other, before the
after- noon. A cold leg of mutton,
or some comfortable trifle of
that sort. You'll expect me?'
'Yes,' she answered.
She had drooped her head, and
turned away; and so stood, with
her hands crossed, musing.
'I don't think you will,' muttered
Tackleton, look- ing at her;
'for you seem to have forgotten
all about it already. Caleb!'
'I may venture to say I'm here,
I suppose,' thought Caleb. 'Sir!'
'Take care she don't forget
what I've been saying to her.'
'She never forgets,' returned
Caleb. 'It's one of the few things
she an't clever in.'
'Every man thinks his own geese
swans,' observed the Toy-merchant,
with a shrug. 'Poor devil!'
Having delivered himself of
which remark, with in- finite
contempt, old Gruff and Tackleton
withdrew.
Bertha remained where he had
left her, lost in med- itation.
The gaiety had vanished from
her downcast face, and it was
very sad. Three or four times,
she shook her head, as if bewailing
some remembrance or some loss;
but, her sorrowful reflections
found no vent in words.
It was not until Caleb had been
occupied, some time, in yoking
a team of horses to a wagon by
the summary process of nailing
the harness to the vital parts
of their bodies, that she drew
near to his work- ing-stool,
and sitting down beside him,
said:
'Father, I am lonely in the
dark. I want my eyes, my patient,
willing eyes.'
'Here they are,' said Caleb.
'Always ready. They are more
yours than mine, Bertha, any
hour in the four-and-twenty.
What shall your eyes do for you,
dear?'
'Look round the room, father.'
'All right,' said Caleb. 'No
sooner said that done Bertha.'
'Tell me about it.'
'It's much the same as usual,'
said Caleb. 'Homely but very
snug. The gay colours on the
walls; the bright flowers on
the plates and dishes; the shining
wood, where there are beams or
panels; the general cheerfulness
and neatness of the building;
make it very pretty.'
Cheerful and neat it was wherever
Bertha's hands could busy themselves.
But nowhere else, were cheer-
fulness and neatness possible,
in the old crazy shed which Caleb's
fancy so transformed.
'You have your working dress
on, and are not so gallant as
when you wear the handsome coat?'
said Bertha, touching him.
'Not quite so gallant,' answered
Caleb. 'Pretty brisk though.'
'Father,' said the Blind Girl,
drawing close to his side, and
stealing one arm round his neck,
'tell me something about May.
She is very fair?'
'She is indeed,' said Caleb.
And she was indeed. It was quite
a rare thing to Caleb, not to
have to draw on his invention.
'Her hair is dark,' said Bertha,
pensively, 'darker than mine.
Her voice is sweet and musical,
I know. I have often loved to
hear it. Her shape --'
'There's not a Doll's in all
the room to equal it,' said Caleb.
'And her eyes!' --
He stopped; for Bertha had drawn
closer round his neck, and, from
the arm that clung about him,
came a warning pressure which
he understood too well.
He coughed a moment, hammered
for a moment, and then fell back
upon the song about the sparkling
bowl, his infallible resource
in all such difficulties.
'Our friend, father, our benefactor.
I am never tired you know of
hearing about him. -- Now, was
I ever?' she said, hastily.
'Of course not,' answered Caleb,
'and with reason.'
'Ah! With how much reason!'
cried the Blind Girl. With such
fervency, that Caleb, though
his motives were so pure, could
not endure to meet her face;
but dropped his eyes, as if she
could have read in them his innocent
deceit.
'Then, tell me again about him,
dear father,' said Bertha. 'Many
times again! His face is benevolent,
kind, and tender. Honest and
true, I am sure it is. The manly
heart that tries to cloak all
favours with a show of roughness
and unwillingness, beats in its
every look and glance.'
'And makes it noble,' added
Caleb, in his quiet desperation
'And makes it noble!' cried
the Blind Girl. 'He is older
than May, father.'
'Ye-es,' said Caleb, reluctantly.
'He's a little older than May.
But that don't signify.'
'Oh father, yes! To be his patient
companion in infirmity and age;
to be his gentle nurse in sickness,
and his constant friend in suffering
and sorrow; to know no weariness
in working for his sake; to watch
him, tend him, sit beside his
bed and talk to him awake, and
pray for him asleep; what privileges
these would be! What opportunities
for proving all her truth and
devotion to him! Would she do
all this, dear father?'
'No doubt of it,' said Caleb.
'I love her, father; I can love
her from my soul!' exclaimed
the Blind Girl. And saying so,
she laid her poor blind face
on Caleb's shoulder, and so wept
and wept, that he was almost
sorry to have brought that tearful
happiness upon her.
In the meantime, there had been
a pretty sharp commotion at John
Peerybingle's, for, little Mrs.
Peerybingle naturally couldn't
think of going any- where without
the Baby; and to get the Baby
under weigh, took time. Not that
there was much of the Baby, speaking
of it as a thing of weight and
meas- ure, but, there was a vast
deal to do about and about it,
and it all had to be done by
easy stages. For instance, when
the Baby was got, by hook and
by crook, to a certain point
of dressing, and you might have
rationally supposed that another
touch or two would finish him
off, and turn him out a tip-top
Baby challenging the world, he
was unexpectedly ex- tinguished
in a flannel cap, and hustled
off to bed; where he simmered
(so to speak) between two blankets
for the best part of an hour.
From this state of inaction he
was then recalled, shining very
much and roaring violently, to
partake of -- well? I would rather
say, if you'll permit me to speak
generally -- of a slight repast.
After which, he went to sleep
again. Mrs. Peerybingle took
advantage of this interval, to
make herself as smart in a small
way as ever you saw anybody in
all your life; and, during the
same short truce, Miss Slowboy
insinuated herself into a spencer
of a fashion so surprising and
ingenious, that it had no connection
with herself, or anything else
in the universe, but was a shrunken,
dog's-eared, independent fact,
pursuing its lonely course without
the least regard to anybody.
By this time, the Baby, being
all alive again, was invested,
by the united efforts of Mrs.
Peerybingle and Miss Slowboy,
with a cream-coloured mantle
for its body, and a sort of -
nankeen raised-pie for its head;
and so in course of time they
all three got down to the door,
where the old horse had already
taken more than the full value
of his day's toll out of the
Turnpike Trust, by tear- ing
up the road with his impatient
autographs; and whence Boxer
might be dimly seen in the remote
perspective, standing looking
back, and tempting him to come
on without orders.
As to a chair, or anything of
that kind for helping Mrs. Peerybingle
into the cart, you know very
little of John, if you think
that was necessary. Before you
could have seen him lift her
from the ground, there she was
in her place, fresh and rosy,
saying, 'John! How can you! Think
of Tilly!'
If I might be allowed to mention
a young lady's legs, on any terms,
I would observe of Miss Slow-
boy's that there was a fatality
about them which ren- dered them
singularly liable to be grazed;
and that she never effected the
smallest ascent or descent, without
recording the circumstance upon
them with a notch, as Robinson
Crusoe marked the days upon his
wooden calendar. But as this
might be considered ungenteel,
I'll think of it.
'John? You've got the basket
with the Veal and Ham-Pie and
things, and the bottles of Beer?'
said Dot. 'If you haven't you
must turn round again, this very
minute.'
'You're a nice little article,'
returned the Carrier, 'to be
talking about turning round,
after keeping me a full quarter
of an hour behind my time.'
'I am sorry for it, John,' said
Dot in a great bustle, 'but I
really could not think of going
to Bertha's -- I would not do
it, John, on any account -- without
the Veal and Ham-Pie and things,
and the bottles of Beer. Way!'
This monosyllable was addressed
to the horse, who didn't mind
it at all.
'Oh do way, John!' said Mrs.
Peerybingle. 'Please!'
'It'll be time enough to do
that,' returned John, 'when I
begin to leave things behind
me. The basket's here, safe enough.'
'What a hard-hearted monster
you must be, John, not to have
said so, at once, and save me
such a turn! I declared I wouldn't
go to Bertha's without the Veal
and Ham-Pie and things, and the
bottles of Beer, for any money.
Regularly once a fortnight ever
since we have been married, John,
have we made our little Pic-Nic
there. If anything was to go
wrong with it, I should almost
think we were never to be lucky
again.'
'It was a kind thought in the
first instance,' said the Carrier:
'and I honour you for it, little
woman.'
'My dear John,' replied Dot,
turning very red, 'Don't talk
about honouring me. Good Gracious!'
'By the bye --' observed the
Carrier. 'That old gentleman,'
--
Again so visibly, and instantly
embarrassed!
'He's an odd fish,' said the
Carrier, looking straight along
the road before them. 'I can't
make him out. I don't believe
there's any harm in him.'
'None at all. I'm -- I'm sure
there's none at all.'
'Yes,' said the Carrier, with
his eyes attracted to her face
by the great earnestness of her
manner. 'I am glad you feel so
certain of it, because it's a
con- firmation to me. It's curious
that he should have taken it
into his head to ask leave to
go on lodging with us; an't it?
Things come about so strangely.'
'So very strangely,' she rejoined
in a low voice, scarcely audible.
'However, he's
a good-natured old gentleman,'
said John, 'and
pays as a gentleman, and I think
his word is to be relied upon,
like a gentleman's. I had quite
a long talk with him this morning:
he can hear me better already,
he says, as he gets more used
to my voice. He told me a great
deal about himself, and I told
him a good deal about myself,
and a rare lot of questions he
asked me. I gave him information
about my having two beats, you
know, in my busi- ness; one day
to the right from our house and
back again; another day to the
left from our house and back
again (for he's a stranger and
don't know the names of places
about here); and he seemed quite
pleased. "Why, then I shall be
returning home to- night your
way," he says, "when I thought
you'd be coming in an exactly
opposite direction. That's capital!
I may trouble you for another
lift perhaps, but I'll engage
not to fall so sound asleep again." He
was sound asleep, sure-ly! --
Dot! what are you thinking of?'
'Thinking of, John? I -- I was
listening to you.'
'O! That's all right!' said
the honest Carrier. 'I was afraid,
from the look of your face, that
I had gone rambling on so long,
as to set you thinking about
something else. I was very near
it, I'll be bound.'
Dot making no reply, they jogged
on, for some little time, in
silence. But, it was not easy
to remain silent very long in
John Peerybingle's cart, for,
every- body on the road had something
to say. Though it might only
be 'How are you!' and indeed
it was very often nothing else,
still, to give that back again
in the right spirit of cordiality,
required, not merely a nod and
a smile, but as wholesome an
action of the lungs withal, as
a long-winded Parliamentary speech.
Sometimes, passengers on foot,
or horseback, plodded on a little
way beside the cart, for the
express pur- pose of having a
chat; and then there was a great
deal to be said, on both sides.
Then, Boxer gave occasion to
more good-natured recognitions
of, and by, the Carrier, than
half a dozen Christians could
have done! Everybody knew him,
all along the road -- especially
the fowls and pigs, who when
they saw him approaching, with
his body all on one side, and
his ears pricked up inquisitively,
and that knob of a tail making
the most of itself in the air,
immediately withdrew into remote
back settle- ments, without waiting
for the honour of a nearer acquaintance.
He had business everywhere; going
down all the turnings, looking
into all the wells, bolt- ing
in and out of all the cottages,
dashing into the midst of all
the Dame-Schools, fluttering
all the pigeons, magnifying the
tails of all the cats, and trot-
ting into the public-houses like
a regular customer. Wherever
he went, somebody or other might
have been heard to cry, 'Halloa!
Here's Boxer!' and out came that
somebody forthwith, accompanied
by at least two or three other
somebodies, to give John Peerybingle
and his pretty wife, Good-Day.
The packages and parcels for
the errand cart, were numerous;
and there were many stoppages
to take them in and give them
out, which were not by any means
the worst parts of the journey.
Some people were so full of expectation
about their parcels, and other
people were so full of wonder
about their parcels, and other
people were so full of inexhaustible
directions about their parcels,
and John had such a lively interest
in all the parcels, that it was
as good as a play. Likewise,
there were articles to carry,
which required to be considered
and discussed, and in reference
to the adjustment and disposition
of which, councils had to be
holden by the Carrier and the
senders: at which Boxer usually
assisted, in short fits of the
closest attention, and long fits
of tearing round and round the
assembled sages and barking himself
hoarse. Of all these little incidents,
Dot was the amused and open-eyed
spectatress from her chair in
the cart; and as she sat there,
looking on -- a charm- ing little
portrait framed to admiration
by the tilt -- there was no lack
of nudgings and glancings and
whisperings and envyings among
the younger men. And this delighted
John the Carrier, beyond measure;
for he was proud to have his
little wife admired, knowing
that she didn't mind it -- that,
if anything, she rather liked
it perhaps.
The trip was a little foggy,
to be sure, in the Jan- uary
weather; and was raw and cold.
But who cared for such trifles?
Not Dot, decidedly. Not Tilly
Slowboy, for she deemed sitting
in a cart, on any terms, to be
the highest point of human joys;
the crowning circumstance of
earthly hopes. Not the Baby,
I'll be sworn; for it's not in
Baby nature to be warmer or more
sound asleep, though its capacity
is great in both respects, than
that blessed young Peery- bingle
was, all the way.
You couldn't see very far in
the fog, of course: but you could
see a great deal! It's astonishing
how much you may see, in a thicker
fog than that, if you will only
take the trouble to look for
it. Why, even to sit watching
for the Fairy-rings in the fields,
and for the patches of hoar-frost
still lingering in the shade,
near hedges and by trees, was
a pleasant occu- pation: to make
no mention of the unexpected
shapes in which the trees themselves
came starting out of the mist
and glided into it again. The
hedges were tangled and bare,
and waved a multitude of blighted
garlands in the wind; but, there
was no discourage- ment in this.
It was agreebale to contemplate;
for, it made the fireside warmer
in possession, and the summer
greener in expectancy. The river
looked chilly; but it was in
motion, and moving at a good
pace -- which was a great point.
The canal was rather slow and
torpid; that must be admitted.
Never mind. It would freeze the
sooner when the frost set fairly
in, and then there would be skating,
and sliding; and the heavy old
barges, frozen up somewhere near
a wharf, would smoke their rusty
iron chimney pipes all day, and
have a lazy time of it.
In one place, there was a great
mount of weeds or stubble burning;
and they watched the fire, so
white in the day time, flaring
through the fog, with only here
and there a dash of red in it,
until, in consequence as she
observed of the smoke 'getting
up her nose,' Miss Slowboy choked
-- she could do anything of that
sort, on the smallest provocation
-- and woke the Baby, who wouldn't
go to sleep again. But, Boxer,
who was in advance some quarter
of a mile or so, had already
passed the outposts of the town,
and gained the corner of the
street where Caleb and his daughter
lived; and long before they had
reached the door, he and the
Blind Girl were on the pavement
waiting to receive them.
Boxer, by the way, made certain
delicate distinc- tions of his
own, in his communication with
Bertha which persuade me fully
that he knew her to be blind.
He never sought to attract her
attention by looking at her,
as he often did with other people,
but touched her invariably. What
experience he could ever have
had of blind people or blind
dogs, I don't know He had never
lived with a blind master; nor
had Mr. Boxer the elder, nor
Mrs. Boxer, nor any of his re-
spectable family on either side,
ever been visited with blindness,
that I am aware of. He may have
found it out for himself, perhaps,
but he had got hold of it somehow;
and therefore he had hold of
Bertha too, by the skirt, and
kept hold, until Mrs. Peerybingle
and the Baby, and Miss Slowboy,
and the basket, were all got
safely within doors.
May Fielding was already come;
and so was her mother -- a little
querulous chip of an old lady
with a peevish face, who, in
right of having preserved a waist
like a bedpost, was supposed
to be a most tran- scendent figure;
and who, in consequence of having
once been better of, or of labouring
under an impres- sion that she
might have been, if something
had hap- pened which never did
happen, and seemed to have never
been particularly likely to come
to pass -- but it's all the same
-- was very genteel and patronising
indeed. Gruff and Tackleton was
also there, doing the agreeable,
with the evident sensation of
being as perfectly at home, and
as unquestionably in his own
element, as a fresh young salmon
on the top of the Great Pyramid.
'May! My dear old friend!' cried
Dot, running up to meet her.
'What a happiness to see you.'
Her old friend was, to the full,
as hearty and as glad as she;
and it really was, if you'll
believe me, quite a pleasant
sight to see them embrace. Tackle-
ton was a man of taste, beyond
all question. May was very pretty.
You know sometimes, when you
are used to a pretty face, how,
when it comes into contact and
com- parison with another pretty
face, it seems for the mo- ment
to be homely and faded, and hardly
to deserve the high opinion you
have had of it. Now, this was
not at all the case, either with
Dot or May; for May's face set
off Dot's, and Dot's face set
off May's, so naturally and agreeably,
that, as John Peerybingle was
very near saying when he came
into the room, they ought to
have been born sisters -- which
was the only improvement you
could have suggested.
Tackleton had brought his leg
of mutton, and, wonderful to
relate, a tart beside -- but
we don't mind a little dissipation
when our brides are in the case;
we don't get married every day
-- and in addition to these dainties,
there were the Veal and Ham-Pie,
and 'things,' as Mrs. Peerybingle
called them; which were chiefly
nuts and oranges, and cakes,
and such small deer. When the
repast was set forth on the board,
flanked by Caleb's contribution,
which was a great wooden bowl
of smoking potatoes (he was prohibited,
by solemn compact, from producing
any other viands), Tackleton
led his intended mother-in-law
to the post of honour. For the
better gracing of this place
at the high festival, the majestic
old soul had adorned herself
with a cap, calculated to inspire
the thought- less with sentiments
of awe. She also wore her gloves.
But let us be genteel, or die!
Caleb sat next his daughter;
Dot and her old school- fellow
were side by side; the good Carrier
took care of the bottom of the
table. Miss Slowboy was iso-
lated, for the time being, from
every article of fur- niture
but the chair she sat on, that
she might have nothing else to
knock the Baby's head against.
As Tilly stared about her at
the dolls and toys, they stared
at her and at the company. The
venerable old gentlemen at the
street-doors (who were all in
full action) showed especial
interest in the party, pausing
occasionally before leaping,
as if they were listening to
the conversation, and then plunging
wildly over and over, a great
many times, without halting for
breath -- as in a frantic state
of delight with the whole proceedings.
Certainly, if these old gentlemen
were inclined to have a fiendish
joy in the contemplation of Tackle-
ton's discomfiture, they had
good reason to be satis- fied.
Tackleton couldn't get on at
all; and the more cheerful his
intended bride became in Dot's
society, the less he liked it,
though he had brought them to-
gether for that purpose. For
he was a regular dog in the manger,
was Tackleton; and when they
laughed and he couldn't, he took
it into his head, immediately,
that they must be laughing at
him.
'Ah May!' said Dot. 'Dear, dear,
what changes! To talk of those
merry school-days makes one young
again.'
'Why, you an't particularly
old, at any time; are you?' said
Tackleton.
'Look at my sober plodding husband
there,' re- turned Dot. 'He adds
twenty years to my age at least.
Don't you, John?'
'Forty,' John replied.
'How many you'll add to May's,
I'm sure I don't know,' said
Dot, laughing. 'But she can't
be much less than a hundred years
of age on her next birth- day.'
'Ha ho!' laughed Tackleton.
Hollow as a drum, that laugh
though. And he looked as if he
could have twisted Dot's neck,
comfortably.
'Dear dear!' said Dot. 'Only
to remember how we used to talk,
at school, about the husbands
we would choose. I don't know
how young, and how handsome,
and how gay, and how lively,
mine was not to be! And as to
May's -- Ah dear! I don't know
whether to laugh or cry, when
I think what silly girls we were.'
May seemed to know which to
do; for the colour flushed into
her face, and tears stood in
her eyes.
'Even the very persons themselves
-- real live young men -- were
fixed on sometimes,' said Dot.
'We little thought how things
would come about. I never fixed
on John I'm sure; I never so
much as thought of him. And if
I had told you, you were ever
to be married to Mr. Tackleton,
why you'd have slapped me. Wouldn't
you, May?'
Though May didn't say yes, she
certainly didn't say no, or express
no, by any means.
Tackleton laughed -- quite shouted,
he laughed so loud. John Peerybingle
laughed too, in his ordinary
good-natured and contented manner;
but his was a mere whisper of
a laugh, to Tackleton's.
'You couldn't help yourselves
for all that. You couldn't resist
us, you see,' said Tackleton.
'Here we are! Here we are! Where
are your gay young bride- grooms
now!'
'Some of them are dead,' said
Dot; 'and some of them forgotten.
Some of them, if they could stand
among us at this moment, would
not believe we were the same
creatures; would not believe
that what they saw and heard
was real, and we could forget
them so. No! they would not believe
one word of it!'
'Why, Dot! exclaimed the Carrier.
'Little woman!'
She had spoken with such earnestness
and fire, that she stood in need
of some recalling to herself,
without doubt. Her husband's
check was very gentle, for he
merely interfered, as he supposed,
to shield old Tack- leton; but
it proved effectual, for she
stopped, and said no more. There
was an uncommon agitation, even
in her silence, which the wary
Tackleton, who had brought his
half-shut eye to bear upon her,
noted closely, and remembered
to some purpose too.
May uttered no word, good or
bad, but sat quite still, with
her eyes cast down, and made
no sign of interest in what had
passed. The good lady her mother
now interposed, observing, in
the first in- stance, that girls
were girls, and byegones byegones,
and that so long as young people
were young and thoughtless, they
would probably conduct themselves
like young and thoughtless persons:
with two or three other positions
of a no less sound and incontrovertible
character. She then remarked,
in a devout spirit, that she
thanked Heaven she had always
found in her daughter May, a
dutiful and obedient child; for
which she took no credit to herself,
though sho had every reason to
believe it was entirely owing
to herself. With regard to Mr.
Tackleton she said, That he was
in a moral point of view an undeniable
individual, and That he was in
an eligible point of view a son-in-law
to be desired, no one in their
senses could doubt. (She was
very emphatic here.) With regard
to the family into which he was
so soon about, after some solicitation,
to be admitted, she believed
Mr. Tackleton knew that, although
reduced in purse, it had some
pretensions to gentility; and
if certain circumstances, not
wholly unconnected, she would
go so far as to say, with the
Indigo Trade, but to which she
would not more particularly refer,
had happened differently, it
might perhaps have been in possession
of wealth. She then remarked
that she would not allude to
the past, and would not mention
that her daughter had for some
time rejected the suit of Mr.
Tackleton; and that she would
not say a great many other things
which she did say, at great length.
Finally, she delivered it as
the general result of her observation
and experience, that those marriages
in which there was least of what
was romantically and sillily
called love, were always the
happiest; and that she anticipated
the greatest possible amount
of bliss -- not rapturous bliss;
but the solid, steady-going article
from the approaching nuptials.
She concluded by informing the
company that to-morrow was the
day she had lived for, expressly;
and that when it was over, she
wuld desire nothing better than
to be packed up and disposed
of, in any genteel place of burial.
As these remarks were quite
unanswerable -- which is the
happy property of all remarks
that are suffi- ciently wide
of the purpose -- they changed
the cur- rent of the conversation,
and diverted the general attention
to the Veal and Ham-Pie, the
cold mutton, the potatoes, and
the tart. In order that the bottled
beer might not be slighted, John
Peerybingle pro- posed To-morrow:
the Wedding-Day; and called upon
them to drink a bumper to it,
before he pro- ceeded on his
journey.
For you ought to know that he
only rested there, and gave the
old horse a bait. He had to go
some four or five miles farther
on; and when he returned in the
evening, he called for Dot, and
took another rest on his way
home. This was the order of the
day on all the Pic-Nic occasions,
and had been, ever since their
institution.
There were two persons present,
beside the bride and bridegroom
elect, who did but indifferent
honour to the toast. One of these
was Dot, too flushed and discomposed
to adapt herself to any small
occurrence of the moment; the
other, Bertha, who rose up hur-
riedly, before the rest, and
left the table.
'Good-bye!' said stout John
Peerybingle, pulling on his dreadnought
coat. 'I shall be back at the
old time. Good bye all!'
'Good-bye, John,' returned Caleb.
He seemed to say it by rote,
and to wave his hand in the same
unconscious manner; for he stood
observ- ing Bertha with an anxious
wondering face, that never altered
its expression.
'Good-bye, young shaver!' said
the jolly Carrier, bending down
to kiss the child; which Tilly
Slowboy, now intent upon her
knife and fork, had deposited
asleep (and strange to say, without
damage) in a little cot of Bertha's
furnishing; 'good-bye! Time will
come, I suppose, when you'll
turn out into the cold, my little
friend, and leave your old father
to enjoy his pipe and his rheumatics
in the chimney- corner; eh? Where's
Dot?'
'I'm here, John!' she said,
starting.
'Come, come!' returned the Carrier,
clapping his sounding hands.
'Where's the pipe?'
'I quite forgot the pipe, John.'
'Forgot the pipe! Was such a
wonder ever heard of! She! Forgot
the pipe!'
'I'll -- I'll fill it directly.
It's soon done.'
But it was not so soon done,
either. It lay in the usual place
-- the Carrier's dreadnought
pocket -- with the little pouch,
her own work, from which she
was used to fill it; but her
hand shook so, that she en- tangled
it (and yet her hand was small
enough to have come out easily,
I am sure), and bungled ter-
ribly. The filling of the pipe
and lighting it, those little
offices in which I have commended
her discre- tion, were vilely
done, from first to last. During
the whole process, Tackleton
stood looking on maliciously
with the half-closed eye; which,
whenever it met hers -- or caught
it, for it can hardly be said
to have ever met another eye:
rather being a kind of trap to
snatch it up -- augmented her
confusion in a most remark- able
degree.
'Why, what a clumsy Dot you
are, this afternoon!' said John.
'I could have done it better
myself, I verily believe!'
With these good-natured words,
he strode away, and presently
was heard, in company with Boxer,
and the old horse, and the cart,
making lively music down the
road. What time the dreamy Caleb
still stood, watching his blind
daughter, with the same expres-
sion on his face.
'Bertha!' said Caleb, softly.
'What has happened? How changed
you are, my darling, in a few
hours -- since this morning.
You silent and dull all day!
What is it? Tell me!'
'Oh father, father!' cried the
Blind Girl, bursting into tears.
'Oh my hard, hard fate!'
Caleb drew his hand across his
eyes before he an- swered her.
'But think how cheerful and
how happy you have been, Bertha!
How good, and how much loved,
by many people.'
'That strikes me to the heart,
dear father! Always so mindful
of me! Always so kind to me!'
Caleb was very much perplexed
to understand her.
'To be -- to be blind, Bertha,
my poor dear,' he faltered, 'is
a great affliction; but --'
'I have never felt it!' cried
the Blind Girl. 'I have never
felt it, in its fulness. Never!
I have some- times wished that
I could see you, or could see
him -- only once, dear father,
only for one little minute --
that I might know what it is
I treasure up,' she laid her
hands upon her breast, 'and hold
here! That I might be sure and
have it right! And sometimes
(but then I was a child) I have
wept in my prayers at night,
to think that when your images
ascended from my heart to Heaven,
they might not be the true re-
semblance of yourselves. But
I have never had these feelings
long. They have passed away and
left me tranquil and contented.'
'And they will again,' said
Caleb.
'But father! Oh my good, gentle
father, bear with me, if I am
wicked!' said the Blind Girl.
'This is not the sorrow that
so weighs me down!'
Her father could not choose
but let his moist eyes overflow;
she was so earnest and pathetic,
but he did not understand her,
yet.
'Bring her to me,' said Bertha.
'I cannot hold it closed and
shut within myself. Bring her
to me, father!'
She knew he hesitated, and said,
'May. Bring May!'
May heard the mention of her
name, and coming quietly towards
her, touched her on the arm.
The Blind Girl turned immediately,
and held her by both hands.
'Look into my face, Dear heart,
Sweet heart!' said Bertha. 'Read
it with your beautiful eyes,
and tell me if the truth is written
on it.'
'Dear Bertha, Yes!'
The Blind Girl still, upturning
the blank sightless face, down
which the tears were coursing
fast, ad- dressed her in these
words:
'There is not, in my soul, a
wish or thought that is not for
your good, bright May! There
is not, in my soul, a grateful
recollection stronger than the
deep remembrance which is stored
there, of the many many times
when, in the full pride of sight
and beauty, you have had consideration
for Blind Bertha, even when we
two were children, or when Bertha
was as much a child as ever blindness
can be! Every bless- ing on your
head! Light upon your happy course!
Not the less, my dear May'; and
she drew towards her, in a closer
grasp; 'not the less, my bird,
because, to-day, the knowledge
that you are to be His wife has
wrung my heart almost to breaking!
Father, May, Mary! oh forgive
me that it is so, for the sake
of all he has done to relieve
the weariness of my dark life:
and for the sake of the belief
you have in me, when I call Haven
to witness that I could not wish
him married to a wife more worthy
of his goodness!'
While speaking, she had released
May Fielding's hands, and clasped
her garments in an attitude of
mingled supplication and love.
Sinking lower and lower down,
as she proceeded in her strange
confes- sion, she dropped at
last at the feet of her friend,
and hid her blind face in the
folds of her dress.
'Great Power!' exclaimed her
father, smitten at one blow with
the truth, 'have I deceived her
from her cradle, but to break
her heart at last!'
It was well for all of them
that Dot, that beaming, useful,
busy little Dot -- for such she
was, whatever faults she had,
and however you may learn to
hate her, in good time -- it
was well for all of them, I say,
that she was there: or where
this would have ended, it were
hard to tell. But Dot, recovering
her self- possession, interposed,
before May could reply, or Caleb
say another word.
'Come come, dear Bertha! come
away with me! Give her your arm,
May. So! How composed she is,
you see, already; and how good
it is of her to mind us,' said
the cheery little woman, kissing
her upon the forehead. 'Come
away, dear Bertha. Come! and
here's her good father will come
with her; won't you, Caleb? To
-- be -- sure!'
Well, well! she was a noble
little Dot in such things, and
it must have been an obdurate
nature that could have withstood
her influence. When she had got
poor Caleb and his Bertha away,
that they might comfort and console
each other, as she knew they
only could, she presently came
bouncing back, -- the saying
is, as fresh as any daisy; I
say fresher -- to mount guard
over that bridling little piece
of consequence in the cap and
gloves, and prevent the dear
old crea- ture from making discoveries.
'So bring me the precious Baby,
Tilly,' said she drawing a chair
to the fire; 'and while I have
it in my lap, here's Mrs. Fielding,
Tilly, will tell me all about
the management of Babies, and
put me right in twenty points
where I'm as wrong as can be
Won't you, Mrs. Fielding~'
Not even the Welsh Giant, who
according to the popular expression,
was so 'slow' as to perform a
fatal surgical operation upon
himself, in emulation of a juggling-trick
achieved by his arch-enemy at
break- fast-time; not even he
fell half so readily into the
snare prepared for him, as the
old lady did into this artful
pitfall. The fact of Tackleton
having walked out; and furthermore,
of two or three people having
been talking together at a distance,
for two minutes, leaving her
to her own resources; was quite
enough to have put her on her
dignity, and the bewailment of
that mysterious convulsion in
the Indigo trade, for four-and-twenty
hours. But this becoming deference
to her experience, on the part
of the young mother; was so irresistible,
that after a short affectation
of humility, she began to enlighten
her with the best grace in the
world; and sitting bolt upright
before the wicked Dot, she did,
half an hour, deliver more in-
fallible domestic recipes and
precepts, that would (if acted
on) have utterly destroyed and
done up that Young Peerybingle,
though he had been an Infant
Samson.
To change the theme, Dot did
a little needlework -- she carried
the contents of a whole workbox
in her pocket; however she contrived
it, I don't know -- then did
a little nursing; then a little
more needlework; then had a little
whispering chat with May, while
the old lady dozed; and so in
little bits of bustle, which
was quite her manner always,
found it a very short afternoon.
Then, as it grew dark, and as
it was a solemn part of this
Institution of the Pic-Nic that
she should perform all Bertha's
household tasks, she trimmed
the fire, and swept the hearth,
and set the tea-board out, and
drew the curtain, and lighted
a candle. Then she played an
air or two on a rude kind of
harp, which Caleb had contrived
for Bertha, and played them very
well; for Nature had made her
delicate little ear as choice
a one for music as it would have
been for jewels, if she had had
any to wear. By this time it
was the established hour for
having tea; and Tackleton came
back again, to share the meal,
and spend the evening.
Caleb and Bertha had returned
some time before, and Caleb had
sat down to his afternoon's work.
But he couldn't settle to it,
poor fellow, being anxious and
remorseful for his daughter.
It was touching to see him sitting
idle on his working-stool, regarding
her so wistfully, and always
saying in his face, 'Have I deceived
her from her cradle, but to break
her Heart!'
When it was night, and tea was
done, and Dot had nothing more
to do in washing up the cups
and sau- cers; in a word -- for
I must come to it, and there
is no use in putting it off --
when the time drew nigh for expecting
the Carrier's return in every
sound of dis- tant wheels, her
manner changed again, her colour
came and went, and she was very
restless. Not as good wives are,
when listening for their husbands.
No, no, no. It was another sort
of restlessness from that.
Wheels heard. A horse's feet.
The barking of a dog. The gradual
approach of all the sounds. The
scratching paw of Boxer at the
door!
'Whose step is that!' cried
Bertha, starting up.
'Whose step?' returned the Carrier,
standing in the portal, with
his browr face ruddy as a winter
berry from the keen night air.
'Why, mine.'
'The other step,' said Bertha.
'The man's tread behind you!'
'She is not to be deceived,'
observed the Carrier, laughing.
'Come along, sir. You'll be welcome
never fear!'
He spoke in a loud tone; and
as he spoke, the deaf old gentleman
entered.
He's not so much a stranger,
that you haven't seen him once,
Caleb,' said the Carrier. 'You
give him house-room till we go?'
'Oh surely, John, and take it
as an honour.'
'He's the best company on earth,
to talk secrets in,' said John.
'I have reasonable good lungs,
but he tries 'em, I can tell
you. Sit down, sir. All friends
here, and glad to see you!'
When he had imparted this assurance,
in a voice that amply corroborated
what he had said about his lungs,
he added in his natural tone,
'A chair in the chimney-corner,
and leave to sit quite silent
and look pleasantly about him,
is all he cares for. He's easily
pleased.'
Bertha had been listening intently.
She called Caleb to her side,
when he had set the chair, and
asked him, in a low voice, to
describe their visitor. When
he had done so (truly now: with
scrupulous fidelity), she moved,
for the first time since he had
come in, and sighed, and seemed
to have no further interest concerning
him.
The Carrier was in high spirits,
good fellow that he was, and
fonder of his little wife than
ever.
'A clumsy Dot she was, this
afternoon!' he said, encircling
her with his rough arm, as she
stood, re- moved from the rest;
'and yet I like her somehow.
See yonder, Dot!'
He pointed to the old man. She
looked down. I think she trembled.
'He's -- ha ha ha! -- he's full
of admiration for you!' said
the Carrier. 'Talked of nothing
else, the whole way here. Why,
he's a brave old boy. I like
him for it!'
'I wish he had had a better
subject, John,' she said, with
an uneasy glance about the room.
At Tackleton especially.
'A better subject!' cried the
jovial John. 'There's no such
thing. Come, off with the great-coat,
off with the thick shawl, off
with the heavy wrappers! and
a cosy half-hour by the fire!
My humble service, Mistress.
A game at cribbage, you and I?
That's hearty. The cards and
board, Dot. And a glass of beer
here, if there's any left, small
wife!'
His challenge was addressed
to the old lady, who accepting
it with gracious readiness, they
were soon engaged upon the game.
At first, the Carrier looked
about him sometimes, with a smile,
or now and then called Dot to
peep over his shoulder at his
hand, and advise him on some
knotty point. But his ad- versary
being a rigid disciplinarian,
and subject to an occasional
weakness in respect of pegging
more than she was entitled to,
required such vigilance on his
part, as left him neither eyes
nor ears to spare. Thus, his
whole attention gradually became
absorbed upon the cards; and
he thought of nothing else, until
a hand upon his shoulder restored
him to a conscious- ness of Tackleton.
'I am sorry to disturb you --
but a word, directly.'
'I'm going to deal,' returned
the Carrier. 'It's a crisis.'
'It is,' said Tackleton. 'Come
here, man!'
There was that in his pale face
which made the other rise immediately,
and ask him, in a hurry, what
the matter was.
'Hush! John Peerybingle,' said
Tackleton. 'I am sorry for this.
I am indeed. I have been afraid
of it. I have suspected it from
the first.'
'What is it?' asked the Carrier,
with a frightened aspect.
'Hush! I'll show you, if you'll
come with me.'
The Carrier accompanied him,
without another word. They went
across a yard, where the stars
were shining, and by a little
side-door, into Tackleton's own
counting-house, where there was
a glass window commanding the
ware-room, which was closed for
the night. There was no light
in the counting-house itself,
but there were lamps in the long
narrow ware- room; and consequently
the window was bright.
'A moment! ' said Tackleton.
'Can you bear to look through
that window, do you think?'
'Why not?' returned the Carrier.
'A moment more,' said Tackleton.
'Don't commit any violence. It's
of no use. It's dangerous too.
You're a strong-made man; and
you might do mur- der before
you know it.'
The carrier looked him in the
face. and recoiled a step as
if he had been struck. In one
stride he was at the window,
and he saw --
Oh Shadow on the Hearth! Oh
truthful Cricket! Oh perfidious
Wife!
He saw her, with the oId man
-- old no longer, but erect and
gallant -- bearing in his hand
the false white hair that had
won his way into their desolate
and miserable home. He saw her
listening to him, as he bent
his head to whisper in her ear;
and suffering him to clasp her
round the waist, as they moved
slowly down the dim wooden gallery
towards the door by which they
had entered it. He saw them stop,
and saw her turn -- to have the
face, the face he loved so, so
presented to his view! -- and
saw her, with her own hands,
adjust the lie upon his head,
laughing, as she did it, at his
unsuspicious nature!
He clenched his strong right
hand at first, as if it would
have beaten down a lion. But
opening it immediately again,
he spread it out before the eyes
of Tackleton (for he was tender
of her, even then), and so, as
they passed out, fell down upon
a desk, and was as weak as any
infant.
He was wrapped up to the chin,
and busy with his horse and parcels,
when she came into the room,
prepared for going home.
'Now John, dear! Good night
May! Good night Bertha!'
Could she kiss them? Could she
be blithe and cheerful in her
parting? Could she venture to
re- veal her face to them without
a blush? Yes. Tackle- ton observed
her closely, and she did all
this.
Tilly was hushing the Baby,
and she crossed and re-crossed
Tackleton, a dozen times, repeating
drowsily:
'Did the knowledge that it was
to be its wifes, then, wring
its hearts almost to breaking;
and did its fathers deceive it
from its cradles but to break
its hearts at last!'
'Now Tilly, give me the Baby!
Good-night, Mr. Tackleton. Where's
John, for goodness' sake?'
'He's going to walk, beside
the horse's head,' said Tackleton;
who helped her to her seat.
'My dear John. Walk? To-night?'
The muffled figure of her husband
made a hasty sign in the affirmative;
and the false stranger and the
little nurse being in their places,
the old horse moved off. Boxer,
the unconscious Boxer, running
on before, running back, running
round and round the cart, and
barking as triumphantly and merrily
as ever.
When Tackleton had gone off
likewise, escorting May and her
mother home, poor Caleb sat down
by the fire beside his daughter;
anxious and remorse- ful at the
core; and still saying in his
wistful con- templation of her,
'Have I deceived her from her
cradle, but to break her heart
at last!'
The toys that had been set in
motion for the Baby, had all
stopped, and run down, long ago.
In the faint light and silence,
the imperturbably calm dolls,
the agitated rocking-horses with
distended eyes and nostrils,
the old gentlemen at the street-doors,
stand- ing half doubled up upon
their failing knees and ankles,
the wry-faced nut-crackers, the
very Beasts upon their way into
the Ark, in twos, like a Boarding
School out walking, might have
been imagined to be stricken
motionless with fantastic wonder,
at Dot being false, or Tackleton
beloved, under any com- bination
of circumstances. |