第 18 页

shutters below, were black with the darkness of the inside. Some of

the glass in the window he had so often watched, had been broken in the

rough hurry of the morning, and that room looked more deserted and dull

than any. A group of idle urchins had taken possession of the

door-steps; some were plying the knocker and listening with delighted

dread to the hollow sounds it spread through the dismantled house;

others were clustered about the keyhole, watching half in jest and half

in earnest for 'the ghost,' which an hour's gloom, added to the mystery

that hung about the late inhabitants, had already raised. Standing all

alone in the midst of the business and bustle of the street, the house

looked a picture of cold desolation; and Kit, who remembered the

cheerful fire that used to burn there on a winter's night and the no

less cheerful laugh that made the small room ring, turned quite

mournfully away.

It must be especially observed in justice to poor Kit that he was by no

means of a sentimental turn, and perhaps had never heard that adjective

in all his life. He was only a soft-hearted grateful fellow, and had

nothing genteel or polite about him; consequently, instead of going

home again, in his grief, to kick the children and abuse his mother

(for, when your finely strung people are out of sorts, they must have

everybody else unhappy likewise), he turned his thoughts to the vulgar

expedient of making them more comfortable if he could.

Bless us, what a number of gentlemen on horseback there were riding up

and down, and how few of them wanted their horses held! A good city

speculator or a parliamentary commissioner could have told to a

fraction, from the crowds that were cantering about, what sum of money

was realised in London, in the course of a year, by holding horses

alone. And undoubtedly it would have been a very large one, if only a

twentieth part of the gentlemen without grooms had had occasion to

alight; but they had not; and it is often an ill-natured circumstance

like this, which spoils the most ingenious estimate in the world.

Kit walked about, now with quick steps and now with slow; now lingering

as some rider slackened his horse's pace and looked about him; and now

darting at full speed up a bye-street as he caught a glimpse of some

distant horseman going lazily up the shady side of the road, and

promising to stop, at every door. But on they all went, one after

another, and there was not a penny stirring. 'I wonder,' thought the

boy, 'if one of these gentlemen knew there was nothing in the cupboard

at home, whether he'd stop on purpose, and make believe that he wanted

to call somewhere, that I might earn a trifle?'

He was quite tired out with pacing the streets, to say nothing of

repeated disappointments, and was sitting down upon a step to rest,

when there approached towards him a little clattering jingling

four-wheeled chaise, drawn by a little obstinate-looking rough-coated

pony, and driven by a little fat placid-faced old gentleman. Beside

the little old gentleman sat a little old lady, plump and placid like

himself, and the pony was coming along at his own pace and doing

exactly as he pleased with the whole concern. If the old gentleman

remonstrated by shaking the reins, the pony replied by shaking his

head. It was plain that the utmost the pony would consent to do, was

to go in his own way up any street that the old gentleman particularly

wished to traverse, but that it was an understanding between them that

he must do this after his own fashion or not at all.

As they passed where he sat, Kit looked so wistfully at the little

turn-out, that the old gentleman looked at him. Kit rising and putting

his hand to his hat, the old gentleman intimated to the pony that he

wished to stop, to which proposal the pony (who seldom objected to that

part of his duty) graciously acceded.

'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Kit. 'I'm sorry you stopped, sir. I

only meant did you want your horse minded.'

'I'm going to get down in the next street,' returned the old gentleman.

'If you like to come on after us, you may have the job.'

Kit thanked him, and joyfully obeyed. The pony ran off at a sharp

angle to inspect a lamp-post on the opposite side of the way, and then

went off at a tangent to another lamp-post on the other side. Having

satisfied himself that they were of the same pattern and materials, he

came to a stop apparently absorbed in meditation.

'Will you go on, sir,' said the old gentleman, gravely, 'or are we to

wait here for you till it's too late for our appointment?'

The pony remained immoveable.

'Oh you naughty Whisker,' said the old lady. 'Fie upon you! I'm

ashamed of such conduct.'

The pony appeared to be touched by this appeal to his feelings, for he

trotted on directly, though in a sulky manner, and stopped no more

until he came to a door whereon was a brass plate with the words

'Witherden--Notary.' Here the old gentleman got out and helped out the

old lady, and then took from under the seat a nosegay resembling in

shape and dimensions a full-sized warming-pan with the handle cut short

off. This, the old lady carried into the house with a staid and

stately air, and the old gentleman (who had a club-foot) followed close

upon her.

They went, as it was easy to tell from the sound of their voices, into

the front parlour, which seemed to be a kind of office. The day being

very warm and the street a quiet one, the windows were wide open; and

it was easy to hear through the Venetian blinds all that passed inside.

At first there was a great shaking of hands and shuffling of feet,

succeeded by the presentation of the nosegay; for a voice, supposed by

the listener to be that of Mr Witherden the Notary, was heard to

exclaim a great many times, 'oh, delicious!' 'oh, fragrant, indeed!'

and a nose, also supposed to be the property of that gentleman, was

heard to inhale the scent with a snuffle of exceeding pleasure.

'I brought it in honour of the occasion, Sir,' said the old lady.

'Ah! an occasion indeed, ma'am, an occasion which does honour to me,

ma'am, honour to me,' rejoined Mr Witherden, the notary. 'I have had

many a gentleman articled to me, ma'am, many a one. Some of them are

now rolling in riches, unmindful of their old companion and friend,

ma'am, others are in the habit of calling upon me to this day and

saying, "Mr Witherden, some of the pleasantest hours I ever spent in my

life were spent in this office--were spent, Sir, upon this very stool";

but there was never one among the number, ma'am, attached as I have

been to many of them, of whom I augured such bright things as I do of

your only son.'

'Oh dear!' said the old lady. 'How happy you do make us when you tell

us that, to be sure!'

'I tell you, ma'am,' said Mr Witherden, 'what I think as an honest man,

which, as the poet observes, is the noblest work of God. I agree with

the poet in every particular, ma'am. The mountainous Alps on the one

hand, or a humming-bird on the other, is nothing, in point of

workmanship, to an honest man--or woman--or woman.'

'Anything that Mr Witherden can say of me,' observed a small quiet

voice, 'I can say, with interest, of him, I am sure.'

'It's a happy circumstance, a truly happy circumstance,' said the

Notary, 'to happen too upon his eight-and-twentieth birthday, and I

hope I know how to appreciate it. I trust, Mr Garland, my dear Sir,

that we may mutually congratulate each other upon this auspicious

occasion.'

To this the old gentleman replied that he felt assured they might.

There appeared to be another shaking of hands in consequence, and when

it was over, the old gentleman said that, though he said it who should

not, he believed no son had ever been a greater comfort to his parents

than Abel Garland had been to his.

'Marrying as his mother and I did, late in life, sir, after waiting for

a great many years, until we were well enough off--coming together when

we were no longer young, and then being blessed with one child who has

always been dutiful and affectionate--why, it's a source of great

happiness to us both, sir.'

'Of course it is, I have no doubt of it,' returned the Notary in a

sympathising voice. 'It's the contemplation of this sort of thing,

that makes me deplore my fate in being a bachelor. There was a young

lady once, sir, the daughter of an outfitting warehouse of the first

respectability--but that's a weakness. Chuckster, bring in Mr Abel's

articles.'

'You see, Mr Witherden,' said the old lady, 'that Abel has not been

brought up like the run of young men. He has always had a pleasure in

our society, and always been with us. Abel has never been absent from

us, for a day; has he, my dear?'

'Never, my dear,' returned the old gentleman, 'except when he went to

Margate one Saturday with Mr Tomkinley that had been a teacher at that

school he went to, and came back upon the Monday; but he was very ill

after that, you remember, my dear; it was quite a dissipation.'

'He was not used to it, you know,' said the old lady, 'and he couldn't

bear it, that's the truth. Besides he had no comfort in being there

without us, and had nobody to talk to or enjoy himself with.'

'That was it, you know,' interposed the same small quiet voice that had

spoken once before. 'I was quite abroad, mother, quite desolate, and

to think that the sea was between us--oh, I never shall forget what I

felt when I first thought that the sea was between us!'

'Very natural under the circumstances,' observed the Notary. 'Mr

Abel's feelings did credit to his nature, and credit to your nature,

ma'am, and his father's nature, and human nature. I trace the same

current now, flowing through all his quiet and unobtrusive

proceedings.--I am about to sign my name, you observe, at the foot of

the articles which Mr Chuckster will witness; and placing my finger

upon this blue wafer with the vandyked corners, I am constrained to

remark in a distinct tone of voice--don't be alarmed, ma'am, it is

merely a form of law--that I deliver this, as my act and deed. Mr Abel

will place his name against the other wafer, repeating the same

cabalistic words, and the business is over. Ha ha ha! You see how

easily these things are done!'

There was a short silence, apparently, while Mr Abel went through the

prescribed form, and then the shaking of hands and shuffling of feet

were renewed, and shortly afterwards there was a clinking of

wine-glasses and a great talkativeness on the part of everybody. In

about a quarter of an hour Mr Chuckster (with a pen behind his ear and

his face inflamed with wine) appeared at the door, and condescending to

address Kit by the jocose appellation of 'Young Snob,' informed him

that the visitors were coming out.

Out they came forthwith; Mr Witherden, who was short, chubby,

fresh-coloured, brisk, and pompous, leading the old lady with extreme

politeness, and the father and son following them, arm in arm. Mr

Abel, who had a quaint old-fashioned air about him, looked nearly of

the same age as his father, and bore a wonderful resemblance to him in

face and figure, though wanting something of his full, round,

cheerfulness, and substituting in its place a timid reserve. In all

other respects, in the neatness of the dress, and even in the

club-foot, he and the old gentleman were precisely alike.

Having seen the old lady safely in her seat, and assisted in the

arrangement of her cloak and a small basket which formed an

indispensable portion of her equipage, Mr Abel got into a little box

behind which had evidently been made for his express accommodation, and

smiled at everybody present by turns, beginning with his mother and

ending with the pony. There was then a great to-do to make the pony

hold up his head that the bearing-rein might be fastened; at last even

this was effected; and the old gentleman, taking his seat and the

reins, put his hand in his pocket to find a sixpence for Kit.

He had no sixpence, neither had the old lady, nor Mr Abel, nor the

Notary, nor Mr Chuckster. The old gentleman thought a shilling too

much, but there was no shop in the street to get change at, so he gave

it to the boy.

'There,' he said jokingly, 'I'm coming here again next Monday at the

same time, and mind you're here, my lad, to work it out.'

'Thank you, Sir,' said Kit. 'I'll be sure to be here.'

He was quite serious, but they all laughed heartily at his saying so,

especially Mr Chuckster, who roared outright and appeared to relish the

joke amazingly. As the pony, with a presentiment that he was going

home, or a determination that he would not go anywhere else (which was

the same thing) trotted away pretty nimbly, Kit had no time to justify

himself, and went his way also. Having expended his treasure in such

purchases as he knew would be most acceptable at home, not forgetting

some seed for the wonderful bird, he hastened back as fast as he could,

so elated with his success and great good fortune, that he more than

half expected Nell and the old man would have arrived before him.

CHAPTER 15

Often, while they were yet pacing the silent streets of the town on the

morning of their departure, the child trembled with a mingled sensation

of hope and fear as in some far-off figure imperfectly seen in the

clear distance, her fancy traced a likeness to honest Kit. But

although she would gladly have given him her hand and thanked him for

what he had said at their last meeting, it was always a relief to find,

when they came nearer to each other, that the person who approached was