第 48 页

make holiday without one), and when the bell rang for them to go up

stairs and receive their quarter's money in gold and silver.

Well, wasn't Mr Garland kind when he said 'Christopher, here's your

money, and you have earned it well;' and wasn't Mrs Garland kind when

she said 'Barbara, here's yours, and I'm much pleased with you;' and

didn't Kit sign his name bold to his receipt, and didn't Barbara sign

her name all a trembling to hers; and wasn't it beautiful to see how

Mrs Garland poured out Barbara's mother a glass of wine; and didn't

Barbara's mother speak up when she said 'Here's blessing you, ma'am, as

a good lady, and you, sir, as a good gentleman, and Barbara, my love to

you, and here's towards you, Mr Christopher;' and wasn't she as long

drinking it as if it had been a tumblerful; and didn't she look

genteel, standing there with her gloves on; and wasn't there plenty of

laughing and talking among them as they reviewed all these things upon

the top of the coach, and didn't they pity the people who hadn't got a

holiday!

But Kit's mother, again--wouldn't anybody have supposed she had come of

a good stock and been a lady all her life! There she was, quite ready

to receive them, with a display of tea-things that might have warmed

the heart of a china-shop; and little Jacob and the baby in such a

state of perfection that their clothes looked as good as new, though

Heaven knows they were old enough! Didn't she say before they had sat

down five minutes that Barbara's mother was exactly the sort of lady

she expected, and didn't Barbara's mother say that Kit's mother was the

very picture of what she had expected, and didn't Kit's mother

compliment Barbara's mother on Barbara, and didn't Barbara's mother

compliment Kit's mother on Kit, and wasn't Barbara herself quite

fascinated with little Jacob, and did ever a child show off when he was

wanted, as that child did, or make such friends as he made!

'And we are both widows too!' said Barbara's mother. 'We must have

been made to know each other.'

'I haven't a doubt about it,' returned Mrs Nubbles. 'And what a pity

it is we didn't know each other sooner.'

'But then, you know, it's such a pleasure,' said Barbara's mother, 'to

have it brought about by one's son and daughter, that it's fully made

up for. Now, an't it?'

To this, Kit's mother yielded her full assent, and tracing things back

from effects to causes, they naturally reverted to their deceased

husbands, respecting whose lives, deaths, and burials, they compared

notes, and discovered sundry circumstances that tallied with wonderful

exactness; such as Barbara's father having been exactly four years and

ten months older than Kit's father, and one of them having died on a

Wednesday and the other on a Thursday, and both of them having been of

a very fine make and remarkably good-looking, with other extraordinary

coincidences. These recollections being of a kind calculated to cast a

shadow on the brightness of the holiday, Kit diverted the conversation

to general topics, and they were soon in great force again, and as

merry as before. Among other things, Kit told them about his old

place, and the extraordinary beauty of Nell (of whom he had talked to

Barbara a thousand times already); but the last-named circumstance

failed to interest his hearers to anything like the extent he had

supposed, and even his mother said (looking accidentally at Barbara at

the same time) that there was no doubt Miss Nell was very pretty, but

she was but a child after all, and there were many young women quite as

pretty as she; and Barbara mildly observed that she should think so,

and that she never could help believing Mr Christopher must be under a

mistake--which Kit wondered at very much, not being able to conceive

what reason she had for doubting him. Barbara's mother too, observed

that it was very common for young folks to change at about fourteen or

fifteen, and whereas they had been very pretty before, to grow up quite

plain; which truth she illustrated by many forcible examples,

especially one of a young man, who, being a builder with great

prospects, had been particular in his attentions to Barbara, but whom

Barbara would have nothing to say to; which (though everything happened

for the best) she almost thought was a pity. Kit said he thought so

too, and so he did honestly, and he wondered what made Barbara so

silent all at once, and why his mother looked at him as if he shouldn't

have said it.

However, it was high time now to be thinking of the play; for which

great preparation was required, in the way of shawls and bonnets, not

to mention one handkerchief full of oranges and another of apples,

which took some time tying up, in consequence of the fruit having a

tendency to roll out at the corners. At length, everything was ready,

and they went off very fast; Kit's mother carrying the baby, who was

dreadfully wide awake, and Kit holding little Jacob in one hand, and

escorting Barbara with the other--a state of things which occasioned

the two mothers, who walked behind, to declare that they looked quite

family folks, and caused Barbara to blush and say, 'Now don't, mother!'

But Kit said she had no call to mind what they said; and indeed she

need not have had, if she had known how very far from Kit's thoughts

any love-making was. Poor Barbara!

At last they got to the theatre, which was Astley's: and in some two

minutes after they had reached the yet unopened door, little Jacob was

squeezed flat, and the baby had received divers concussions, and

Barbara's mother's umbrella had been carried several yards off and

passed back to her over the shoulders of the people, and Kit had hit a

man on the head with the handkerchief of apples for 'scrowdging' his

parent with unnecessary violence, and there was a great uproar. But,

when they were once past the pay-place and tearing away for very life

with their checks in their hands, and, above all, when they were fairly

in the theatre, and seated in such places that they couldn't have had

better if they had picked them out, and taken them beforehand, all this

was looked upon as quite a capital joke, and an essential part of the

entertainment.

Dear, dear, what a place it looked, that Astley's; with all the paint,

gilding, and looking-glass; the vague smell of horses suggestive of

coming wonders; the curtain that hid such gorgeous mysteries; the clean

white sawdust down in the circus; the company coming in and taking

their places; the fiddlers looking carelessly up at them while they

tuned their instruments, as if they didn't want the play to begin, and

knew it all beforehand! What a glow was that, which burst upon them

all, when that long, clear, brilliant row of lights came slowly up; and

what the feverish excitement when the little bell rang and the music

began in good earnest, with strong parts for the drums, and sweet

effects for the triangles! Well might Barbara's mother say to Kit's

mother that the gallery was the place to see from, and wonder it wasn't

much dearer than the boxes; well might Barbara feel doubtful whether to

laugh or cry, in her flutter of delight.

Then the play itself! the horses which little Jacob believed from the

first to be alive, and the ladies and gentlemen of whose reality he

could be by no means persuaded, having never seen or heard anything at

all like them--the firing, which made Barbara wink--the forlorn lady,

who made her cry--the tyrant, who made her tremble--the man who sang

the song with the lady's-maid and danced the chorus, who made her

laugh--the pony who reared up on his hind legs when he saw the

murderer, and wouldn't hear of walking on all fours again until he was

taken into custody--the clown who ventured on such familiarities with

the military man in boots--the lady who jumped over the nine-and-twenty

ribbons and came down safe upon the horse's back--everything was

delightful, splendid, and surprising! Little Jacob applauded till his

hands were sore; Kit cried 'an-kor' at the end of everything, the

three-act piece included; and Barbara's mother beat her umbrella on the

floor, in her ecstasies, until it was nearly worn down to the gingham.

In the midst of all these fascinations, Barbara's thoughts seemed to

have been still running on what Kit had said at tea-time; for, when

they were coming out of the play, she asked him, with an hysterical

simper, if Miss Nell was as handsome as the lady who jumped over the

ribbons.

'As handsome as her?' said Kit. 'Double as handsome.'

'Oh Christopher! I'm sure she was the beautifullest creature ever was,'

said Barbara.

'Nonsense!' returned Kit. 'She was well enough, I don't deny that; but

think how she was dressed and painted, and what a difference that made.

Why YOU are a good deal better looking than her, Barbara.'

'Oh Christopher!' said Barbara, looking down.

'You are, any day,' said Kit, '--and so's your mother.'

Poor Barbara!

What was all this though--even all this--to the extraordinary

dissipation that ensued, when Kit, walking into an oyster-shop as bold

as if he lived there, and not so much as looking at the counter or the

man behind it, led his party into a box--a private box, fitted up with

red curtains, white table-cloth, and cruet-stand complete--and ordered

a fierce gentleman with whiskers, who acted as waiter and called him,

him Christopher Nubbles, 'sir,' to bring three dozen of his

largest-sized oysters, and to look sharp about it! Yes, Kit told this

gentleman to look sharp, and he not only said he would look sharp, but

he actually did, and presently came running back with the newest

loaves, and the freshest butter, and the largest oysters, ever seen.

Then said Kit to this gentleman, 'a pot of beer'--just so--and the

gentleman, instead of replying, 'Sir, did you address that language to

me?' only said, 'Pot o' beer, sir? Yes, sir,' and went off and fetched

it, and put it on the table in a small decanter-stand, like those which

blind-men's dogs carry about the streets in their mouths, to catch the

half-pence in; and both Kit's mother and Barbara's mother declared as

he turned away that he was one of the slimmest and gracefullest young

men she had ever looked upon.

Then they fell to work upon the supper in earnest; and there was

Barbara, that foolish Barbara, declaring that she could not eat more

than two, and wanting more pressing than you would believe before she

would eat four: though her mother and Kit's mother made up for it

pretty well, and ate and laughed and enjoyed themselves so thoroughly

that it did Kit good to see them, and made him laugh and eat likewise

from strong sympathy. But the greatest miracle of the night was little

Jacob, who ate oysters as if he had been born and bred to the

business--sprinkled the pepper and the vinegar with a discretion beyond

his years--and afterwards built a grotto on the table with the shells.

There was the baby too, who had never closed an eye all night, but had

sat as good as gold, trying to force a large orange into his mouth, and

gazing intently at the lights in the chandelier--there he was, sitting

up in his mother's lap, staring at the gas without winking, and making

indentations in his soft visage with an oyster-shell, to that degree

that a heart of iron must have loved him! In short, there never was a

more successful supper; and when Kit ordered in a glass of something

hot to finish with, and proposed Mr and Mrs Garland before sending it

round, there were not six happier people in all the world.

But all happiness has an end--hence the chief pleasure of its next

beginning--and as it was now growing late, they agreed it was time to

turn their faces homewards. So, after going a little out of their way

to see Barbara and Barbara's mother safe to a friend's house where they

were to pass the night, Kit and his mother left them at the door, with

an early appointment for returning to Finchley next morning, and a

great many plans for next quarter's enjoyment. Then, Kit took little

Jacob on his back, and giving his arm to his mother, and a kiss to the

baby, they all trudged merrily home together.

CHAPTER 40

Full of that vague kind of penitence which holidays awaken next

morning, Kit turned out at sunrise, and, with his faith in last night's

enjoyments a little shaken by cool daylight and the return to every-day

duties and occupations, went to meet Barbara and her mother at the

appointed place. And being careful not to awaken any of the little

household, who were yet resting from their unusual fatigues, Kit left

his money on the chimney-piece, with an inscription in chalk calling

his mother's attention to the circumstance, and informing her that it

came from her dutiful son; and went his way, with a heart something

heavier than his pockets, but free from any very great oppression

notwithstanding.

Oh these holidays! why will they leave us some regret? why cannot we

push them back, only a week or two in our memories, so as to put them

at once at that convenient distance whence they may be regarded either

with a calm indifference or a pleasant effort of recollection! why will

they hang about us, like the flavour of yesterday's wine, suggestive of

headaches and lassitude, and those good intentions for the future,

which, under the earth, form the everlasting pavement of a large

estate, and, upon it, usually endure until dinner-time or thereabouts!

Who will wonder that Barbara had a headache, or that Barbara's mother

was disposed to be cross, or that she slightly underrated Astley's, and