第 35 页

looked so serene as he did then. I used to fancy, as I sat by him of an

evening, on a green slope, and saw him watch the kite high in the quiet

air, that it lifted his mind out of its confusion, and bore it (such was

my boyish thought) into the skies. As he wound the string in and it came

lower and lower down out of the beautiful light, until it fluttered to

the ground, and lay there like a dead thing, he seemed to wake gradually

out of a dream; and I remember to have seen him take it up, and look

about him in a lost way, as if they had both come down together, so that

I pitied him with all my heart.

While I advanced in friendship and intimacy with Mr. Dick, I did not

go backward in the favour of his staunch friend, my aunt. She took

so kindly to me, that, in the course of a few weeks, she shortened my

adopted name of Trotwood into Trot; and even encouraged me to hope, that

if I went on as I had begun, I might take equal rank in her affections

with my sister Betsey Trotwood.

‘Trot,’ said my aunt one evening, when the backgammon-board was placed

as usual for herself and Mr. Dick, ‘we must not forget your education.’

This was my only subject of anxiety, and I felt quite delighted by her

referring to it.

‘Should you like to go to school at Canterbury?’ said my aunt.

I replied that I should like it very much, as it was so near her.

‘Good,’ said my aunt. ‘Should you like to go tomorrow?’

Being already no stranger to the general rapidity of my aunt’s

evolutions, I was not surprised by the suddenness of the proposal, and

said: ‘Yes.’

‘Good,’ said my aunt again. ‘Janet, hire the grey pony and chaise

tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, and pack up Master Trotwood’s clothes

tonight.’

I was greatly elated by these orders; but my heart smote me for my

selfishness, when I witnessed their effect on Mr. Dick, who was so

low-spirited at the prospect of our separation, and played so ill in

consequence, that my aunt, after giving him several admonitory raps on

the knuckles with her dice-box, shut up the board, and declined to play

with him any more. But, on hearing from my aunt that I should sometimes

come over on a Saturday, and that he could sometimes come and see me

on a Wednesday, he revived; and vowed to make another kite for those

occasions, of proportions greatly surpassing the present one. In the

morning he was downhearted again, and would have sustained himself by

giving me all the money he had in his possession, gold and silver too,

if my aunt had not interposed, and limited the gift to five shillings,

which, at his earnest petition, were afterwards increased to ten. We

parted at the garden-gate in a most affectionate manner, and Mr. Dick

did not go into the house until my aunt had driven me out of sight of

it.

My aunt, who was perfectly indifferent to public opinion, drove the grey

pony through Dover in a masterly manner; sitting high and stiff like

a state coachman, keeping a steady eye upon him wherever he went, and

making a point of not letting him have his own way in any respect. When

we came into the country road, she permitted him to relax a little,

however; and looking at me down in a valley of cushion by her side,

asked me whether I was happy?

‘Very happy indeed, thank you, aunt,’ I said.

She was much gratified; and both her hands being occupied, patted me on

the head with her whip.

‘Is it a large school, aunt?’ I asked.

‘Why, I don’t know,’ said my aunt. ‘We are going to Mr. Wickfield’s

first.’

‘Does he keep a school?’ I asked.

‘No, Trot,’ said my aunt. ‘He keeps an office.’

I asked for no more information about Mr. Wickfield, as she offered

none, and we conversed on other subjects until we came to Canterbury,

where, as it was market-day, my aunt had a great opportunity of

insinuating the grey pony among carts, baskets, vegetables, and

huckster’s goods. The hair-breadth turns and twists we made, drew down

upon us a variety of speeches from the people standing about, which

were not always complimentary; but my aunt drove on with perfect

indifference, and I dare say would have taken her own way with as much

coolness through an enemy’s country.

At length we stopped before a very old house bulging out over the road;

a house with long low lattice-windows bulging out still farther, and

beams with carved heads on the ends bulging out too, so that I fancied

the whole house was leaning forward, trying to see who was passing on

the narrow pavement below. It was quite spotless in its cleanliness.

The old-fashioned brass knocker on the low arched door, ornamented with

carved garlands of fruit and flowers, twinkled like a star; the two

stone steps descending to the door were as white as if they had been

covered with fair linen; and all the angles and corners, and carvings

and mouldings, and quaint little panes of glass, and quainter little

windows, though as old as the hills, were as pure as any snow that ever

fell upon the hills.

When the pony-chaise stopped at the door, and my eyes were intent upon

the house, I saw a cadaverous face appear at a small window on the

ground floor (in a little round tower that formed one side of the

house), and quickly disappear. The low arched door then opened, and

the face came out. It was quite as cadaverous as it had looked in the

window, though in the grain of it there was that tinge of red which is

sometimes to be observed in the skins of red-haired people. It belonged

to a red-haired person--a youth of fifteen, as I take it now, but

looking much older--whose hair was cropped as close as the closest

stubble; who had hardly any eyebrows, and no eyelashes, and eyes of a

red-brown, so unsheltered and unshaded, that I remember wondering how he

went to sleep. He was high-shouldered and bony; dressed in decent black,

with a white wisp of a neckcloth; buttoned up to the throat; and had a

long, lank, skeleton hand, which particularly attracted my attention, as

he stood at the pony’s head, rubbing his chin with it, and looking up at

us in the chaise.

‘Is Mr. Wickfield at home, Uriah Heep?’ said my aunt.

‘Mr. Wickfield’s at home, ma’am,’ said Uriah Heep, ‘if you’ll please to

walk in there’--pointing with his long hand to the room he meant.

We got out; and leaving him to hold the pony, went into a long low

parlour looking towards the street, from the window of which I caught a

glimpse, as I went in, of Uriah Heep breathing into the pony’s nostrils,

and immediately covering them with his hand, as if he were putting

some spell upon him. Opposite to the tall old chimney-piece were two

portraits: one of a gentleman with grey hair (though not by any means

an old man) and black eyebrows, who was looking over some papers tied

together with red tape; the other, of a lady, with a very placid and

sweet expression of face, who was looking at me.

I believe I was turning about in search of Uriah’s picture, when, a door

at the farther end of the room opening, a gentleman entered, at sight of

whom I turned to the first-mentioned portrait again, to make quite sure

that it had not come out of its frame. But it was stationary; and as the

gentleman advanced into the light, I saw that he was some years older

than when he had had his picture painted.

‘Miss Betsey Trotwood,’ said the gentleman, ‘pray walk in. I was engaged

for a moment, but you’ll excuse my being busy. You know my motive. I

have but one in life.’

Miss Betsey thanked him, and we went into his room, which was furnished

as an office, with books, papers, tin boxes, and so forth. It looked

into a garden, and had an iron safe let into the wall; so immediately

over the mantelshelf, that I wondered, as I sat down, how the sweeps got

round it when they swept the chimney.

‘Well, Miss Trotwood,’ said Mr. Wickfield; for I soon found that it

was he, and that he was a lawyer, and steward of the estates of a rich

gentleman of the county; ‘what wind blows you here? Not an ill wind, I

hope?’

‘No,’ replied my aunt. ‘I have not come for any law.’

‘That’s right, ma’am,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘You had better come for

anything else.’ His hair was quite white now, though his eyebrows were

still black. He had a very agreeable face, and, I thought, was handsome.

There was a certain richness in his complexion, which I had been long

accustomed, under Peggotty’s tuition, to connect with port wine; and I

fancied it was in his voice too, and referred his growing corpulency

to the same cause. He was very cleanly dressed, in a blue coat, striped

waistcoat, and nankeen trousers; and his fine frilled shirt and cambric

neckcloth looked unusually soft and white, reminding my strolling fancy

(I call to mind) of the plumage on the breast of a swan.

‘This is my nephew,’ said my aunt.

‘Wasn’t aware you had one, Miss Trotwood,’ said Mr. Wickfield.

‘My grand-nephew, that is to say,’ observed my aunt.

‘Wasn’t aware you had a grand-nephew, I give you my word,’ said Mr.

Wickfield.

‘I have adopted him,’ said my aunt, with a wave of her hand, importing

that his knowledge and his ignorance were all one to her, ‘and I have

brought him here, to put to a school where he may be thoroughly well

taught, and well treated. Now tell me where that school is, and what it

is, and all about it.’

‘Before I can advise you properly,’ said Mr. Wickfield--‘the old

question, you know. What’s your motive in this?’

‘Deuce take the man!’ exclaimed my aunt. ‘Always fishing for motives,

when they’re on the surface! Why, to make the child happy and useful.’

‘It must be a mixed motive, I think,’ said Mr. Wickfield, shaking his

head and smiling incredulously.

‘A mixed fiddlestick,’ returned my aunt. ‘You claim to have one plain

motive in all you do yourself. You don’t suppose, I hope, that you are

the only plain dealer in the world?’

‘Ay, but I have only one motive in life, Miss Trotwood,’ he rejoined,

smiling. ‘Other people have dozens, scores, hundreds. I have only one.

There’s the difference. However, that’s beside the question. The best

school? Whatever the motive, you want the best?’

My aunt nodded assent.

‘At the best we have,’ said Mr. Wickfield, considering, ‘your nephew

couldn’t board just now.’

‘But he could board somewhere else, I suppose?’ suggested my aunt.

Mr. Wickfield thought I could. After a little discussion, he proposed to

take my aunt to the school, that she might see it and judge for herself;

also, to take her, with the same object, to two or three houses where he

thought I could be boarded. My aunt embracing the proposal, we were all

three going out together, when he stopped and said:

‘Our little friend here might have some motive, perhaps, for objecting

to the arrangements. I think we had better leave him behind?’

My aunt seemed disposed to contest the point; but to facilitate matters

I said I would gladly remain behind, if they pleased; and returned into

Mr. Wickfield’s office, where I sat down again, in the chair I had first

occupied, to await their return.

It so happened that this chair was opposite a narrow passage, which

ended in the little circular room where I had seen Uriah Heep’s pale

face looking out of the window. Uriah, having taken the pony to a

neighbouring stable, was at work at a desk in this room, which had a

brass frame on the top to hang paper upon, and on which the writing he

was making a copy of was then hanging. Though his face was towards me, I

thought, for some time, the writing being between us, that he could not

see me; but looking that way more attentively, it made me uncomfortable

to observe that, every now and then, his sleepless eyes would come below

the writing, like two red suns, and stealthily stare at me for I dare

say a whole minute at a time, during which his pen went, or pretended

to go, as cleverly as ever. I made several attempts to get out of their

way--such as standing on a chair to look at a map on the other side of

the room, and poring over the columns of a Kentish newspaper--but they

always attracted me back again; and whenever I looked towards those two

red suns, I was sure to find them, either just rising or just setting.

At length, much to my relief, my aunt and Mr. Wickfield came back,

after a pretty long absence. They were not so successful as I could have

wished; for though the advantages of the school were undeniable, my aunt

had not approved of any of the boarding-houses proposed for me.

‘It’s very unfortunate,’ said my aunt. ‘I don’t know what to do, Trot.’

‘It does happen unfortunately,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘But I’ll tell you

what you can do, Miss Trotwood.’

‘What’s that?’ inquired my aunt.

‘Leave your nephew here, for the present. He’s a quiet fellow. He

won’t disturb me at all. It’s a capital house for study. As quiet as a

monastery, and almost as roomy. Leave him here.’

My aunt evidently liked the offer, though she was delicate of accepting

it. So did I. ‘Come, Miss Trotwood,’ said Mr. Wickfield. ‘This is the

way out of the difficulty. It’s only a temporary arrangement, you know.

If it don’t act well, or don’t quite accord with our mutual convenience,

he can easily go to the right-about. There will be time to find some

better place for him in the meanwhile. You had better determine to leave

him here for the present!’

‘I am very much obliged to you,’ said my aunt; ‘and so is he, I see;

but--’

‘Come! I know what you mean,’ cried Mr. Wickfield. ‘You shall not be

oppressed by the receipt of favours, Miss Trotwood. You may pay for

him, if you like. We won’t be hard about terms, but you shall pay if you

will.’

‘On that understanding,’ said my aunt, ‘though it doesn’t lessen the

real obligation, I shall be very glad to leave him.’

‘Then come and see my little housekeeper,’ said Mr. Wickfield.

We accordingly went up a wonderful old staircase; with a balustrade

so broad that we might have gone up that, almost as easily; and into

a shady old drawing-room, lighted by some three or four of the quaint

windows I had looked up at from the street: which had old oak seats

in them, that seemed to have come of the same trees as the shining oak

floor, and the great beams in the ceiling. It was a prettily furnished